Pencils Down

Disclaimer: I do not own Tokyo Mew Mew

Everyone was engaged in reading.

The students were resolutely digging across their documents, printing in each line neatly with sharpened pencil points. Each person was familiar with their requirements. Each student was acing through, free of difficulty. Each person was reflecting: All my hard work truly paid off.

He looked down at his own mound of questions awaiting his assistance. And immediately, all color drained from his cheeks.

Word could not cease to describe the dense front he held up. It was one abused by shock, fright, and distress.

The paper displayed numerous complex themes along with vivid, bleeding vocabulary. Many of which he could not understand.

In the next few minutes, he would succeed in completing nothing of his test. He would walk up to the front desk, legs flushed with blood, eyes blinking frantically for wise excuses. The teacher would scroll down on his sheets, her pale yellow fingernails scanning the contents, eyebrows narrowing deep upon each vacant space in the white. He then cast the image of her hand closing in on her dreaded 'never been used before failing' stamp. He would witness the terrifying 'CLUNK" of frozen metal on solid wood. His eyes would watch ungratefully at the red mark, having exposed no sooner the second the heavy tool is removed. The vital portion of his grade will suffer the unfriendly consequences. A phone call will be post instantly toward his parents as of notice. The class will treat him as the pitiful kid in Science class he was and his face would forever burn with humiliation. Afterwards, an arrival home would result as an unwelcoming explosion of lectures, penalties, and unwanted shame. He will be stuck in the house for three months; no gaming or internet connections provided.

He sucked in a massive lungful of air, merely lifting his pencil as an attempt to ensure his one member audience, the teacher, the fact that his brain still had its balance. He glanced up temporarily from his table, breathing in relief upon discovering that the instructor had her head busily glued to a newspaper. Forcing down a burning wave of saliva, he shifted his concentration back on his unfinished work.

A few days ago, this problem could have been fixed. Somehow, he could have influence his brain to trigger into studying mode and his life would be spared. However, along the week, better activities emerged from the mist, halting his plan dead in its tracks. He had made several of these mistakes before. He'd postponed millions of necessities and requests and he always traveled the entire length with no tormenting encounters. But this time, the wrong was one that'd cost him his all.

He sweated. The bottom of his medulla stung.

Chestnut colored loose tresses swung slightly alongside his cheeks due to the overdose of pressure. He hastily brushed his right foot against his left knee to decrease the anxiety. Stealing a brief look at the clock, he shakily swept his test. Time was sadly not on his side. He decided quickly trying beat doing nothing.

Name the process of cloud formation.

Cloud formation . . .

He recalled a piece of info regarding nuclei.

Water vapor . . . condensation . . .

His heart skipped a beat at a quick realization.

Sputtering mentally, he proceeded on to selecting the best choice his past knowledge whisked out.

Next question:

What does the Cornea do?

His stomach knotted. This one he was unsure. Trembling, he pondered,

Send a message . . . no . . . soak light . . . no . . . uh . . . oh, I'll just skip it . . .

He allowed his eyes to scurry past to the third.

Construct an eye diagram with accurate labels and captions.

Then the fourth . . .

The formula mass x velocity is given to decipher what problems?

And the fifth . . .

Describe an Occluded Front.

After they journeyed down to the tenth, his teeth clattered dramatically from their gums. It occurred to him that this must be one way somebody could go insane. In fact, it became a miracle he managed to keep his head straight even now. He skimmed through the rest of the remaining questions and exhaled nosily, noting their true or false forms. Upon this, he thanked nobody in particular silently for the stroke of 'love'. For he'd have an advantage; a fifty to fifty chance of stabbing them right.

Unfortunately, his self-soothing method didn't stop his anxiousness all together nor did the so called "fluke".

In actual reality, the calmness didn't reside for more than a puny minute.

Before long, a renewed surge of panic had settled beside his system.

The phrases on his page morphed into something utterly ineffectual. It would be impossible for him to determine the best one using only the mini pieces of intelligence stored inside his head. The advantage he thought he held turned out to be a flaw!

He choked.

Never. Never again would he reject studying. If he could survive this nightmare, he'd swap studying over anything. He would never ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever consider being lazy ever again.

The orbs perched on his bottom eyelids darted around the room.

Not that beseeching was about to dance into anything helpful. He was dead.

It was all over.

His reputation was ruined. The award for the stupidest kid in class was as good as his.

Only a single sentence raced through his mind as he sat. What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? Oh my god, what do I do?

Suddenly, he became aware of a slight poke on the tip of his vibrating elbow. Splintered in dismay, he fell from his reverie and twisted to his side alertly.

Purin Fon, the girl seated beside him was shooting him secretive glances, shoving a good side view of her finished test into his face. She looked cautious, trying to resist pushing it overboard. There was an odd luminescence in her face.

Unknown words bellowed inside him. He sensed a sharp ache in his left ear. Blinking warily, he shook his head twice, ridding the psychosomatic pain.

His eyes once more riveted on the urging girl and the overexposed test.

He opened his mouth, disregarding the cause of her feat.

Then, it registered.

Quickly, he copied the answers, some of which he rearranged meanings or scrambled certain words seeing that to not cause suspicion to the grader's sight.

Purin nodded approvingly as he printed the final phrase on his paper.

"Okay class, pencils down! Time's up. Please pass your quiz to the front."

The sound of the instructor wiped the room. Everyone rapidly hurried to the front. It was a messy affair.

Taruto was the last to get up. When he did, he reached over to the shoulder of his helper.

" . . . Hey, thanks . . ." he whispered thankfully.

Purin shrugged.

"Just try to study next time, okay?" she murmured back, flashing a minor grin.

By George he will!