She made the look.  The this-is-bad-but-I'm-trying-to-cover-it-up look.  Ms. Taylor's brows furrowed, and her eyes narrowed as most people did when they read, but Cole knew the verdict wouldn't be good.<br/><br/>Oh, a C.  A C isn't that bad.  But she only looked at one side.  That made him nervous.  Cole began fidgeting with a pen, quickly and efficienty taking it apart and reassembling it in his hands, listening to Ms. Taylor intently.  This grade would mean a lot, and his GPA had slid down a few points since Christmas Break.  Cole really couldn't afford to decline like this, even though he had been already accepted by Bates.  He'd heard stories where a kid would get "Senioritis" and just stop working once accepted by a college.  He'd just lounge around in the back of the room.  Then, a month before school ended, he got a letter revoking his invitation to the university.  Every class, there was always<em>that guy</em>.  Cole really did not want to be<em>that guy</em>.<br/><br/>"Life," he said in response, fidgeting with his backpack as it started to slide off his shoulder.  "Out-of-school stuff."  There was a short, subtle twist of the head, as if Cole was about to look at Anna's desk.  He decided against it.  Ms. Taylor obviously knew.  Everyone in the fuckin' school<em>knew</em>.  Anna was so up front and obvious about the whole thing -- she just wouldn't take a hint and let it go -- that the current status of their relationship was even published in the school newsletter for a few months before Cole (rather rudely) asked them to stop.  He hated the attention.  He hated the fact that everyone assumed he was secretly going out with Anna.  He wouldn't call himself emo, but he was certainly beginning to sink into a depression, unable to shake off Anna or find a new girl whom he'd actually be happy to go out with<br/><br/>"College is coming up, and I'm feelin' pretty nervous," he continued.  "End of graded school and all that.  Just got me wound up."  Cole looked up from the rapidly moving pen parts.  "Sure, I can do essays.  I don't mind those.  How long?"  His eyes glanced at the clock, worried about being late for his next class.  He was cutting it close already, even if he didn't make up for his stale Pop-Tart by dropping by the School Store for a replacement.