The old mechanical chimes rang up and down the school's halls. Most of the students were already in their seats, including Titus. He blinked sleepily and waited for the teacher to decide to start teaching.

“Everybody should have found their seats by now,” Mr. Wayman commented, putting the novel he was reading down on the top of his worn, wooden desk.

Mr. Wayman was an old man, balding with horn-rimmed glasses, who had somehow managed to wear the same sweater vest every day since school began. It did not have that gross, unwashed smell, and Tess assumed he had several pairs. It was pine green colored, and frayed at the neck and waist. Tess had said it had a real Mr. Rogers feel. Titus wasn't sure he agreed.

Three sets of heavy steps thudded against the fake marble f...

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