School was its usual clusterfuck of teenage drama and academic purgatory wrapped in fluorescent lights and fake smiles. I coasted through it like a Formula 1 car in a go-kart race. Enhanced intelligence will do that. Every lecture felt like déjà vu from fourth grade, and let's be honest—most of my teachers were just older versions of the kids they were teaching. Slightly better hygiene. Slightly worse patience.
God bless tenure. And low standards.
Note to self: never let them know you've already mentally rewritten the curriculum.
The only thorn in my otherwise pristine day? Lea. Death-glaring me like she'd just watched a documentary called "How to Kill Your Ex-Crush in 5 Easy Steps". And judging by the murder countdown in her eyes, she was somewhere between Step 4 and orange jumpsuit.
Still, I wasn't sweating her. Bitter feelings and bad eyeliner were the least of my concerns.
