"Ok class. Test day. You know the drill, I'm not gonna drone on about the same things every time. Speech 104," Mrs. Worren smiled that half smile Winter hated so much. It was so...so...fake you wanted to throw something at her. Or slap somebody. Winter fumbled around in her backpack, searching for a pencil. The class bickered and whined; the sound spilling out in a mess of fragments, "...but why not tomorrow...what chapter...SHUT UP KATE...I ain’t ready yet...your mom...did you study...dude, she’s hot..."

Winter blocked it out.

An hour more and she was free. Free to go home at the end of another long day of school. All that stood between her and freedom was a chapter 11 math test. And a migraine that had developed sometime between sixth and seventh hour. Winter's head throbbed. She closed her eyes and thought of the bell. The sacred bell. The pain lessened momentarily.

Mrs. Worren adjusted her spectacles and grabbed the pile of papers off the front desk, "Class! QUIET! I'm passing them out," another half smile. Another internal retch.

Winter absentmindedly tapped the desk with her pencil. If I just keep distracting myself... She tried to go over the formulas in her head one final time. The class still wasn't quiet, and it started to breach her wall of patience - tearing it down brick by brick. "Amy! That’s mine, give it back…can I copy your answers… oh my god that song rocks...I am SO mad at my mom…YUCK…aw, I don’t know how ta do this…Class! What did I say about being quiet? Next one to talk gets to stay after!"

She opened the test thrown at her. Mrs. Worren always liked to make tacky cover pages. This one read:

CHAPTER 11 TEST

A cheap clip-art of a stick person and a question mark resided under the announcement. Winter read the problem; it seemed familiar:

1. Let x be William's distance from the intersection and let y be George's distance. Write the rates you know. Differentiate both sides of the...

Nothing came to mind. Winter couldn't even finish reading the question because a sharp pain exploded in her head. A blank formed somewhere under the throbbing pain. Mrs. Worren was answering a question. The whole class still seemed to be talking despite her threats. Winter dropped the pencil as a sudden ache pulsed through her whole body. The migraine grew out of control; the classroom was spinning. Winter grabbed her head–the pain blocking out everything else. Everything else except the clock ticking.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Winter wanted to scream. Her head felt like it was splitting in two. The ticking slowed.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

The pain left as quickly as it came.

She looked down at her test. If Winter had bothered to look up maybe she would have noticed that the rest of the class seemed to be frozen in spot. But she didn't. She was thankful for the silence. Ominous silence. The thirty bodies didn't make a peep, not even a breath of air. And the clock was no longer ticking.

While Winter stared at her paper, it seemed to stare back at her. How can paper stare? she thought. She tried to recall what the test was about, When did we do chapter 10 anyway? We’re on chapter 11 and I can’t remember it OR the one before it? Crap. What did I do this morning for that matter? How can I forget? This is no good. I'm thinking again. Stop. Stop Winter, stop. STOP! The test in front of her was blank. She thought everybody else was done - waiting. When did they finish anyway? Thoughts! Stop! Winter sighed and slumped down on her desk. Apparently nobody could leave until she was done. That would probably be a while.

Winter's pale face peered at the test over the top of her arms, almost afraid to face the truth. I'll get it after school if I don't finish this soon. I don't wanna die. It was an instinctive thought, because she couldn’t think of anybody who would have the nerve to do it. This filled her with a new courage and she straightened. Winter grabbed the pencil off the floor. She couldn't recall dropping it. Must've fell. Rereading the problem for what seemed like the zillionth time, she unconsciously tapped the desk with her pencil:

1. Let x be William's distance from the intersection and let y be George's distance. Write the rates you know. Differentiate both sides of the

The last words of the problem grew as she read them, dancing about each other and leaving behind trails of ink. Winter's eyes wanted to puke. Her head reeled. Did the words on the paper really change like that?What am I? Crazy? They couldn't have moved. Or grown. STOP THINKING! She glanced down again - the letters were back to normal. Or they shrunk. A slight twich of her eye and Winter’s migraine came back.

Pain. Agony. Throbbing. And then came the split.

All I need to do is finish this. I can go home afterwards. Just write something. Winter grabbed the pencil off the floor. She couldn't recall dropping it. Must've fell. Rereading the problem for what seemed like the zillionth time, she unconsciously tapped the desk with her pencil:

1. Let x be William's distance from the intersection and let y be George's distance. Write the rates you know. Differentiate both sides of the...

This would be an easy test. Winter shrugged of the case of deja-vu she got just then, thinking instead of a review problem much like this one. She could hear the rest of the class muttering to themselves, trying to work out the math. The clock loudly counted down the seconds until the end of the day. Pencils scritched across papers. Winter finished the test in fifteen minutes flat. Easy.