We Happy Few

People are getting Worse

y - 3y + 2= . . . crap. Ok. I'm not very good at math, so this is difficult. I'm gonna struggle for the rest of my life . . .
I sigh and put my homework down, the stress of it making me more frustrated. I look over at the empty bed again. It's been more of a habit than an action, looking over there. I still can't believe what I saw a few days ago. McKayla looked so sick. I'm glad I didn't catch whatever she got. My head does a replay of her image, and I shudder. She looked like . . . a zombie . . .
I shake my head and get up out of bed, slowly stretching, and walking to the window. I open the curtains and a burst of light enters the room. I look outside. Tired students walk across the campus below, some dragging their feet. They look more than tired, really. As a few students pass, I can make out a dark or yellowish color surrounding their eyes. It looks like they have been facing sleepless nights. Or . . . No . . . I'm imagining things. But could they -- could they possibly have caught the virus McKayla had?
I stand there, wondering if they were infected by the virus, or if I was imagining it. I shake it off and get back into bed, putting my homework back on my lap.
y - 3y + 2= 29

The Next Morning 72*F
I walk down the hallway. ¨Grace!¨, someone yells. I look behind me to see Oggie running down the crowded hallway after me. I pause and wait for her to catch up. "Hey." I say, smiling. "Uh . . . can I copy from your homework? I didn't finish mine last night." she asks. I nod. "As long as you don't spill anything on it." I stop to dig last night's homework from my black backpack and hand it to her.
"Thanks." she murmurs. "Oh, and uh . . . don't copy it in class or Kingston will tell. And if you do, keep a low pro." she smiles in response. We get to first period and sit at the table we sat at yesterday. "There's no sign of Kingston, I see." Oggie says. This small statement makes me smile bigger. If he's not here right now, then he won't be at all; if you're absent, you don't come in tardy.
Five minutes after Jason and Sock get to class, class starts. Still no Kingston. Today, it's just his posse. The teach walks up to the front of the room, a pile of blue papers in her hands. She passes them out. I pick mine up and start to read it;

Please concern yourselves (this means you, students) to wash your hands more often and to NOT share food or drinks. Due to a sickness that has been spreading this fall, many students and teachers have been put in the Care Center. We don't know much about this except that it is helpful to stay hygienic and be cautious. Do not make contact with anyone with this sickness. Instead, call an officer or teacher to deal with this situation. Thank you for noting. -Principal Carthy

I put down the paper and look around the classroom. Some kids were reading the paper, while others sat and stared at either the wall or other people. The ones that stared looked barely alive, like they could be dead. Soft murmurs erupted in the class when the kids whom had been reading finished. I give Jason a look. He shrugs. I raise my hand. "Yes, Miss Yung?" the teach asks. "Where is Kingston?" Sock, Jason, and Oggie look at me strangely, wondering why I cared. "He's in the Care Center." she says quietly. No wonder . . .
After 1st period, we all head towards Miss Langums' science class. When we sit at our assigned seats, Miss Langum shuffles into the room. Her once-cheerful blue eyes seem a dull grey today, her grayish-white hair is in a messy bun (which seems unusual of her to be disorganized), and her skin emits a pale flatness instead of the usual warm glow. When she turns to the board to write our homework down, I catch glimpse of a bloody bandage covering her neck underneath her button-up shirt. Is that . . . a bite mark?
Oggie and a lot of other students are staring at the bandage. A frightening whisper runs throughout the room. "Miss Langum . . ." ". . . bandage. . ." " Virus . . .?"
Oggie looks at me, both confused and frightened. I shrug. Miss Langum finishes writing on the board and turns. The whispering dies down. "Class, today's lesson is on The Declaration of Independence." she says in a 'sick voice', "The Declaration of Independence was founded in . . ."
As the rest of class goes on, every time the teacher would turn around, students stared. I myself couldn't help looking at it either. Jason taps me on the shoulder. "Hm?" I mumble. Jason leans towards me. "Do you think she -"
I nod. "And I think that bandage is covering a bite or something." I say.