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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Comedy · #2014108
Class isn't
“It was a windy night in Birmingham when the plague broke out. It was cold and it was rainy…“ The literature teacher drones on and on. In front of me, Georgie sighs and flips her hair so she can French-braid it back. Georgia, her twin, snaps her gum behind me. I roll my eyes and try to focus back on Mr. Fraiser. This is what happens when you attend an all-girl’s school I guess. “So, Georgie, if Sally were in this plague, how would she get out?” He asks, slightly louder and more obnoxious than usual. It’s hot outside and our uniform dresses are slowly getting drenched in sweat. “You know what Mr. Frasier? This is how.” She gives him the finger and walks out with her books, French-braided hair all tied up.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2014108