" He stared at his screen. "Let me see what I can find that isn't either full or too simple for you." Five minutes later he seemed upset. "I could do this faster with a clay tablet and scribe." I snickered. I should have prayed to the CPU gods for deliverance.When he finally handed me the printout of what he said was the best available schedule, I whimpered. Trigonometry, chemistry and honors English were fine. Illinois history was awful, but I knew it was required of all sophomores. But the other classes were ridiculous. Artistic expression? And modern dance? And that final class was scheduled for both first and seventh periods. "Like I hate art, and dance is for sissies!" He chuckled."Artistic expression meets one of your two years of fine arts requirements. Dance also covers the physical education requirement, and doubles as a fine arts class, so don't complain. There are lots of notes here that you had all sorts of problems in gym last year, probably because of your size. And I. I moved my hand and brushed straw off the hardwood bench that was the only bed in this foul room. I sat next to her and when she leaned over into me and began to cry, I held her. Held her to my side for hours as she sobbed herself out. Held her till the light was lost, and I had to squint to see the shadowed form next to me. ‘Do something for me,’ she asked after a long silence. ‘What do you wish from me?’ ‘Tomorrow when the dawn comes and they take me into the square, will you be there? For me. So that one person there will not be there to simply see me being hurt. To hear me scream, and to see me naked. I don’t think you are that kind of man.’ She let her head lean back onto my chest. The smell of her hair came to me, an acid blend of sweat and the filth of the cells. It was permeating up to my nose from her skin as well. There was also the hint of male sweat about her, a smell that carried with it an animal-in-rut muskiness of sex that was vile. That smell reminded me of what she.
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