<sub>Andrew headed into the lounge, his school books in tow. He figured it would be the best place to study, and there probably wasn’t much chance of him being bothered, because of the school book thing. He didn’t know many people at the school anyway. Which was alright by him. His distant nature kept people from getting too close, and that was exactly what he wanted. History always repeats itself, they said. And from past experiences, he knew that was true. He’d just gotten fed up with getting close to someone and then having them be taken away by one thing or another.
Even though he didn’t know many people, he still liked the school. It was a lot better than living with his grandparents, or the last boarding school he’d been at; although living in France had been nice. This school wasn’t as stuffy; it was more like his aunt’s house. Shoving the thoughts away – “it’s called the past for a reason,†he told himself – he sat down and opened his science book to the chapter on mechanics.
It most assuredly wasn’t the most interesting thing in the world, and he had a hard time concentrating. After a few minutes of trying to get through the reading, he just gave up and shut his book. Procrastination is a delicate art. And sometimes, he was a master at it.
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Even though he didn’t know many people, he still liked the school. It was a lot better than living with his grandparents, or the last boarding school he’d been at; although living in France had been nice. This school wasn’t as stuffy; it was more like his aunt’s house. Shoving the thoughts away – “it’s called the past for a reason,†he told himself – he sat down and opened his science book to the chapter on mechanics.
It most assuredly wasn’t the most interesting thing in the world, and he had a hard time concentrating. After a few minutes of trying to get through the reading, he just gave up and shut his book. Procrastination is a delicate art. And sometimes, he was a master at it.
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