I hurry down the hallway to get back to class. Finally, I get to room 307, and walk in and to my desk, my porcelain face bright red. I slip into my chair, grab my pencil, and open my notebook. Mademoiselle Ambroise keeps talking to the class about usages and correct grammar and whatnot. I pretend to listen, but am totally zoned out. I am already fluent in French, but no one needs to know that.

The bell rings, jerking me from my stupor. I quickly gather up my stuff and shove it into my bag. I quickly get out of the classroom. My bae, Charlotte, (She went by Charlie or Carl. Call her Charlotte, and you may not wake up the next day. Only half joking here) and I go to English together.

Charlie is amazing. She is super smart, nice, talented, pretty, and my best friend. She has brown hair in flirty waves down her back. Her grey eyes are flecked with silver, and she wears silver eyeliner to bring them out. Her heart shaped face always has a laugh on it, and never has a single visible pimple or zit. Her full lips are always smiling to show off her perfect teeth. She plays the guitar, and she plays soccer and volleyball after school.

I, on the other hand, am not so amazing. I get straight A's, but I am not the prettiest. I have cinnamon-like dark reddish hair in loose curls down my back and dark green emerald eyes. I love to read, draw, and play violin.

Oh, yeah. And I have leukemia. It's not bad-- I can still do stuff properly, and am active to some degree, but I'd had it since I was nine years old. I am fifteen.