I stare out the window; the sky is clear but a beautiful blue. A squirrel balancing on a rooftop wiggles its tail as it tries not to fall. I see the wind playing with the trees as they sway back and forth.
The bell rings that signifies the beginning of class, but I don't turn to look at the teacher; he hasn't arrived yet. My head is still turned toward the window, not wanting to go back inside. I hear the door click behind me as the teacher walks in. He gets settled at his desk and then pulls up the projector for a movie (sorry, "film") that we are going to watch.
I still don't move my head; I long to be outside, to be anywhere but in this cramped classroom. I pretend to feel the breeze on my skin as the teacher walks to the front of the room.
During our discussions, I usually give in and take a glace out the window; it would be much nicer to be outside. But today it is unfortunate. He comes over to the window and pulls down the blinds. I am trapped in this close-minded, cold-hearted, white-walled class, and I cannot even look out the window. I guess I would have had to join in the discussions sooner or later.
Only, everytime I want to speak up about what I think is right, I know my teacher will have an answer to everything.