Justin bit the end of his Bic, brows furrowing in concentation. Ooh, that was a good one. He scribbled "brows furrowed in concentration" on the notebook before him, it's white-and-blue-lined face littered with little phrases and half-thoughts. In the corner was his grocery list, to which he added "apples" as an after thought.
This class was kicking his ass. It was prose month, and they were all supposed to write short stories each week based on a different theme. Justin personally thought he was way better at poetry, but he'd taken the class to exapnd his horizons (or something) and not just because of the hot blond boy that sat in the front row.
He preferred to think of the hot blond boy as the reason he stayed.
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