He sings in English. He could sing in Swedish for all you care, and it would still sound the same. He's angsty voice carries from the bedside table into your unattentive ears. You lay on your large empty bed, staring at the white ceiling above you. It's late for you. You haven't kept your lights on this long in quite a while. Not since the summer.
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Kaila - No.
Me - That would be me.
Mr.C - Well, I could've been looking at you.
Mr C - *looks at Kaila* Crothers?
Kaila - No.
Mr.C - SHIT.
Mr.C - Does it start with a C?
Kaila - No.
Mr.C - DAMN.
Mr.C - Does it start with an M?
Kaila - Yes.
Mr.C - M-a-t?
Kaila - Yes.
Mr.C - I KNEW IT!
God, I really hope he's our teacher when we get back. LET'S JUST HOPE!
Oh yeah! We're hanging out over the breakkkkkkkkkk!
♥
co-piolet.
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