• I pulled my blue coat over me to shield myself from the air of the ice-cold English classroom. One of the girls in my class was at the front of the room stuttering as she read the poem she wrote for yesterday's assignment. Everyone in the room ad their coat on and was glancing around to see if they were the only ones, except for Leila. She sat next to me in English and behind me in Math, and was always quiet and never cold even through the school's lack of heat. She was staring forward with her dark brow eyes at the front of the classroom, listening to the poem with all of her concentration.
    Then I realized that she hadn't read her poem yet. I glanced back at the front of the room to the girl who was just finished reading. Her name was Sara Zimmerman, one of the last kids in out school when it was recited in alphabetical order.
    Now that I think about it, Leila had never read before; I don't even think she has ever spoken.
    "Leila?" I whispered. She turned her head towards me a bit, just so she was able to see me out of the corner of her right eye.
    "Have you read yet?" I asked.
    Leila looked down on her desk where there sat a paper that looked it had been crumpled up and smoothed under her hand. She locked her eyes on it and shook her head.
    "Why?" I asked her.
    Leila looked at me and opened her mouth to say something, but our crazy teacher grabbed onto the top of my head and turned it towards the front of the room. "This is class." she said in her unidentifiable accent. "Pay attention."
    Our English teacher, Miss Brogg, was a tall old woman who wore ankle-low skirts and puffy shirts with flower patterns on them. Her grey hair was always pulled back into a bun on her head, each hair carefully pulled out of her face so everyone could get a better look at her. It was obvious that Miss Brogg had grown up in some foreign country; she had a thick accent from who knows where and was about one of the strictest people I had ever met. She needed everything perfect, not one thing out of place, demanded attention one hundred percent of the time, and always smelled like old Coffee, Cinnamon and Fish.
    "That's the end of the Poetry assignment." Her voice boomed as she walked back to the front of the class. "Next term is Short story, I demand perfection."
    I raised my hand to tell her that Leila hadn't read yet. She was just going to call on me when the bell rang, indicating us to go to our next class.
    English was 5th period every day, which meant that Science class was last. A ran up to Leila and tapped her on the back as everyone rushed out of the room to go to their next classes.
    "Leila?" I asked when she turned around. "You didn't get to read your poem."
    Leila looked up at the ceiling deep in thought, as if to say "Yeah, you're right; I didn't read, thanks for reminding me Sam."
    But she didn't say anything, just walked away. "Did you forget to write it?" I shouted to her as she walked away.
    Leila stopped dead in her tracks, as if someone had just thrown thousands of tiny icicles at her, each one piercing into her flesh and stunning her.
    "No." she said, facing me. "I wouldn't forget to write a poem." she said, her voice as serious as hell.
    I took a couple steps back, a little afraid. "Uh, o-okay." I said, waving to her as I turned around to go to science.

    I caught up with Leila again in the courtyard after school, surprised anyone was there except for me. I normally stayed late and hung out in the Choir room to write some songs with the band I plan to make someday with my friends.
    "Leila," I said when I ran into her. "What are you doing here at this hour?"
    Leila tightened the grip on the notebook she was holding with a blue pen tucked into the spiral and looked down at the ground. "Working on my poetry assignment." she said.
    I tightened the ponytail in my hair and pulled my backpack a little farther onto my shoulder. "Eh?" I asked, not sure If I heard right. "The poetry assignment is over."
    Leila's eyes lowered into two dark slits, staring down at me in annoyance because she was about two heads taller. "I know," she said, looking out towards the parking lot. "I was just working on it."
    "That's what you just said," I sighed, tightening my ponytail again.
    Leila pushed her index finger into the spiral of the notebook, making a clicking noise when her nail rubbed against the metal. She dug her hand into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. "This," she sighed, flattening it out with her left hand. "Is my English poem."
    I blinked a couple times, in confusion from the seriousness of her voice when she spoke the last sentence to me. "Cool?" I said in the form of a question.
    Leila nodded her head and stared st the notebook pressed against her chest. "I didn't," she said, blinking a couple times, like she was going to cry. "Get to read it."
    I set my guitar case down on the ground and jammed my freezing hands into my pockets so they wouldn't fall off. "I know," I said. "Miss Brogg forgot to call on you."
    Leila looked down a little, as if she just realized something. "No," she sighed, shaking her head. "She didn't, it's not like that."
    I was getting kind of irritated with Leila, the way she was talking about s**t that I didn't understand; it was freaking me out. "Did you ask her not to?" I asked, rubbing my feet against each other.
    Leila bit her lip and looked down. "No," she said. "It's not like that."
    I sighed and threw my hand over my forehead. "For god sakes, then what the hell is going on?" I asked, throwing my head back. "You're driving me insane."
    Leila closed her eyes and began to walk away.
    "I'm sorry," she said, wiping her eyes off.
    "I didn't mean to get you wound up in anything."