Dimi ~<br/><br/>The girl stalked into her class, a math notebook in hand. Seeing someone yelling insults out the the window, she rolled her eyes and walked faster. Then suddenly the girl rushed and knocked into her, apparently in a sudden hurry to make it to class. The Russian girl slowly turned and glared. "Durocha," Dimitri hissed at her, then stalked to class, slipping into a chair near the back and smoothing her trench coat as if she were an irritated feline. The girl looked up as the teacher began writing his name on the board. Ugh. Another year. Her final year.<br/><br/>Keefe ~<br/><br/>Keefe rolled his eyes, then brought his hand up and wiggled his fingers in a form of saying farewell. He laughed softly, then winked at her, took a long drag, and wandered off to the gym. He smirked and stepped past the jocks into the old band room. A few minutes later, electric guitar could be hear spilling out of the tiny room and into the gym. Metallica. Def Leppard. Led Zepplin. America. Bands he both knew and loved. The music he played helped him forget so he played for hours, ignoring the bells that punctuated the end and start of the periods. For him, they were just slight and brief irritants to a musical world he could create.