Over-eager eyes met the welcoming face of the clock. 3:00, and the ringing bells of freedom bounced off the halls, weaving in and out of the masses of young bodies pouring out of their rooms in endless torrents.

However, I was left behind, unmoving in my seat and scribbling some last-minute notes as my teacher dictated it to me one by one. We were alone inside the stuffy classroom, the afternoon sun highlighting the chalk dust hanging in the air, the scratching of pen against paper and her stern voice -the only sound. I was tempted to lift my head and catch her eye, offer some small form of protest at the amount of work I had to do. But somehow I couldn't bring myself to say no.

Why? Maybe it was her scorching gaze, burning and prickling at my back, alert for mistakes. Or maybe it was my knowledge of her severe reputation, the way she hated defiance and laziness among her students.

Her lips curved in obvious approval at the sight of my lengthy list of homework, probably believing in her own judgment that I could accomplish such a magnificent feat. After all, she said, you're a model student -unlike others who waste themselves in front of the PC and play those violent games.

Model Student? I had the sudden urge to laugh out loud as it crossed my mind, stopping only at the realization she was still there. She had misunderstood my blind obedience for something else.

If only she knew.

When I'm done the school gates would open to the world and I would walk out to be myself again. No grades, no titles, just me. I would pass by my favorite computer shop and play that shooting game with my friends, not caring if any of my teachers see me for who I am, a Half-Life addict instead of a model student.