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7

We hurried off to Study Hall, rushing up to the second floor.

Room 203.

We entered, per usual, took our seats in the back of the class and waited.

The teacher normally enters the classroom around 10 minutes after school starts.

I pull out my sketchbook, and begin to sketch a random drawing.

While making conspiracies.

9 minutes passed.

"Hey, kid! That drawings really good!" Bill interrupted my thinking.

I looked down at the intricate drawing, only to slam the book shut, put it away, all while my face heated up.

I had sketched Bill's human form.

"No need to be embarrassed! It's an amazing picture!"

No it's not. And stop reading my mind.

"I wasn't-"

"Clearly you were, else you wouldn't have made an excuse for yourself."

"But-"

The door slammed open, Mr. Demorath walking through.

"Class! Today's task is organizing! Hop to it!" He yelled, slamming the door shut and sitting at his desk.

I opened up my bag, and everything was in perfect coded alphabetic color order, so I didn't have to do anything.

I pulled out my sketchbook once more and went to finish the drawing of Bill.

I can't just leave a drawing unfinished!

A few minutes later, the teacher marched towards me.

I was so immersed in getting the details of Bill's lips right, I didn't even notice him looming over me.

"Mr. Pines!" His loud voice rang out.

I slammed my sketch book shut, jumping in my seat.

"Y-yes sir?"

"This is not art class, so get to organizing! That's today's assignment!"

"I-um...I keep my things organized all the time, so it's perfectly organized right now sir..."

"I'm confiscating this," he said, taking my blue sketchbook. He walked back to his desk saying, "It'll be in the office at the end of the day!"

Crap. What if...

I looked up a minute later to find him flipping through my drawings.

He looks through it?

Bill noticed my worried expression, and took action against the violation of my privacy. He stood up and walked over to the teacher, seemingly seething.

"That book you're looking through, sir, is Dipper's, and since it's his, you shouldn't be thumbing through the pages! That's a personal sketchbook! Not some stupid school assignment!" Bill shouted, taking the sketchbook from his grubby hands and snapping it shut.

He walked back to me, grabbing my wrist and my bag. "C'mon Pinetree, we're changing to art class with Shooting Star."

I had no choice but to follow him, wanting to leave the class.

Still, his hand was grabbing my wrist, leaving me a red-faced dork.