The floor was freezing through my jeans, and I still had to sit on it. But really, it wasn't the temperature that bothered me, it was the color. Ivory with spots of lime green and a few tiles that looked like overcooked chili, and smelled like it too, up close. Don't ask me how I know that.

So there I was, seated on the cold, chili-scented floor of my anorexic English teacher's classroom. She got this idea on how to make us appreciate what we have that other kids don't. Basically, we are not allowed to have desks, books, notebooks, paper, pencils, and electronic devices for her class. Now, I can understand where she got this idea from, but seriously, a whole forty-five minutes of just chilling on the floor tracing letters in sand sprinkled on a slate board was not going to make us feel bad for the uneducated. It'd make us want to transfer to their school.

"Can I please sit at a desk?" whined John Stronghold. Our teacher just smiled.

"Only if you can give me a thousand dollars," she said sarcastically, and rolled her eyes. John sat down on the floor next to me.

"Hey," he whispered. I turned my head. "Can I borrow a dollar?" I raised my eyebrows.

"Gonna write three zeros on and call it a thousand?" I asked. He just shrugged. I smirked and reached into my pocket, pulling out a crumpled up dollar bill, along with half a stick of gum and a loose thread.

"Good luck with that, Stronghold," I said and turned back to the teacher, who was still handing out slate to the kids in the front.

Just then, John reached into his sweatshirt and took out a huge wad of money. He stood up and, after adding my dollar, gave it to the teacher. She just stared at him.

"It's all there," he said. And it was. All nine-hundred and ninety-nine of his dollars, and one of mine. She counted it, over and over again, as he went to sit in a desk. He propped up his feet, lay down his head, lowered his arms, and promptly began to dose off.