Jane lives on the brink of an adolescence about to end and an age she doesn't know how to deal with. Everything she knows about life has been taught her by Jace, the older brother, and his best friends: two guys that in common simply have a passion...
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A shrill voice pierces my ears, but I struggle to turn my attention to the direction it comes from. «Miss Raven, I would like to remind you that this is a school, not a recreation center» so, straining, I turn my head to the desk, glowering at the figure of the woman behind it. Her blue glasses rest on a horrible potato nose, while the straw-blond curls surround the tired and wrinkled face of what is Miss Karen Connor. A history teacher from the Paleolithic period, at the same time this woman is one of the main pillars of Saint Jeremy, although for her students, she is only a sort of poisonous spine in their sides. When she starts talking, sleep gets the better of good will and the eyelids, those bastards, become as heavy as boulders.
Anyway, now I stare at her and she does the same in return, challenging me from the top of her school authority. I wish I could look for support in some friendly faces, avoiding fighting this battle between the classrooms of a private school too full of sleepiness, but I give up even before trying - none of these snooty little girls in blue uniforms can help me and, least of all, there is none that I can call "friend".
It may be that the idea of having a person of the same sex next to me hits my spirit - probably because having the coordinated periods is the equivalent of outbreak of a new nuclear bomb -, or it may be because I grew up with Jace and masculinity, but there is no companion who has ever attracted my interest.
The only one that has this privilege, if one can say so, is my dearest and fiercest nemesis: Misha Jocelyn McCoy.
Our past, like the present, cannot be defined as the best, and the most vague attempt at a friendly approach has turned into an apocalypse - I hit her person so deeply that it made her become a harpy.
With a snort I close the music magazine I have on my knees, the one from which I distracted myself just long enough to look out the window and get caught.
I blink my eyelashes again and again, raising the eyebrows and preparing to sign my sentence - not that I'm not used to it, of course, but it's tiring every time. «A pity. Seriously»I put a hand under the chin. «Do you know that in some Northern European countries, it is possible to take short breaks from lessons when the mind is too tired? England should not be outdone, in my opinion, we could disfigure if someone found it out»I see the professor's face veering towards a disturbing shade of red, but it doesn't seem to be enough to stop my tongue. As I think I have already said it enough, the instinct of self-preservation must have been removed from the list of qualities that should have been delivered to my home. «Right now my brain is really tired, Miss Connor. I believe that the quarrel between Henry VIII and the Church is among the most told stories in these classrooms, so why it still so important to dig it up?»I still say, highlighting the fact that, at least, I know what we are talking about.
