It is morning and the sound of Mr Fritz’s voice is muffled by the haze sleep which hovers over the heads of my fellow seventh graders. Large letters appear on the board in a tilted cursive script which appears to me more like a yellow chalk coloured blotch scrawled across the blackboard. It is morning and my head is like the bear; full of fluff.
A piece of rolled up sheet music hits me in the nape of my neck, breaking me out of the monotony of the daily morning routine. Seeing the page, I know instantly which of my classmates is responsible. It is covered with sketches of cars, tanks and uniformed men with overly large heads.
As I turn around, the face of the culprit greets me from across the room. Aden’s round short-haired face is beaming and he leans across his desk.
“Can you believe we have to read this?” he says waving a small purple book with his left hand.