Nadine thinks to herself, I’m too hungover for this shit.

Monday morning. Trigonometry. The fluorescent lighting in here hurts her eyes and her stomach feels hollowed out, empty. She can still taste the Vodka from the party last night.

“Fuck my life,” Nadine says, quietly.

Mrs. Keating, that dried up cunt, is passing out the math test. “You’ll have the whole period to complete this exam. There is absolutely no talking. When you...