The digits flew at a breakneck pace across the faintly ruled notebook, being scrawled hurriedly in a deep mauve.
"Two to the power of three, eight, divided by the square root of- crap!", the lanky teen exclaimed, furiously furrowing her neat, honeycomb-hued brows.
Sighing, she rested her head against her incomplete algebra homework, willing the numbers to work themselves out as she took some respite from the bite of the summer heat and the throbbing ache of sleep-deprivation.
If she were going to make valedictorian, however, the plucky young woman couldn't afford to relax any longer. Straightening out her back, and tossing her straw-coloured hair into a lazy bun, frowned, and began working on the mind-numbing question once more.
As the hard-working scholar settled back into her arduous routine, J.J was on his way towards completing an equally arduous task - finding the perfect bouquet for his belle. Whizzing downtown on the latest version of his usual companion, an 8 inch board, souped up just last night with a fresh-faced Yogi Bear plastered-deck, he tapped his fingers against his wrist-watch, hoping to hell and back he wasn't late to pick up the dozen poppies he had ordered a fortnight ago.
Lost in thought, the young lad skidded to a halt just inches past screen door of the Deladure Boutique. Slapping one palm to his forehead in exasperation, the gangly teen wiped the other greasy hand onto his grey tank before pushing the door of the Boutique open.
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Short StoryArchiecomics/Riverdale-inspired fiction that isn't complete trash. Riverdale is a new teenybopper trashy tendon-gold adaptation of the classic Archie comics to live-action television. We all hate to love it, but boy do we love it. Complete with self...