1Alice smiled at the note and looked over at her best friend, who was furiously tapping her hand on the table in an effort to keep awake. Gwen was totally right, of course. Whichever guidance councilor had put Theology with Mr. Warner up for first period must have had a vindictive streak.
There was a particularly loud tap and Gwen suddenly sat bolt upright. "No!" she yelled.
Everyone in the class looked around or jumped in their own chairs. Gwen hadn't been the only one fighting off sleep. Now she was shaking a little, and blushing a lot. Mr. Warner turned from the blackboard.
"Do you need to see the guidance counselor, Miss Parker?"
Gwen stared at him. "No," she said again, but quietly this time. She shook her sand-colored hair out of her eyes. "No, Mr. Warner, I'm fine. I just had a bad dream."
This was apparently the wrong thing to say. "Miss Parker, why were you dreaming in my class?" He didn't wait for an answer, which was a good thing. Alice knew Gwen would be honest enough to reply with the truth: "Because for a class designed to get us into Heaven, this one's as boring as all hell."
Instead, he ripped a piece of paper from a notepad inside his podium, scribbled something on it, and handed it to her. "Your ticket to in-school- detention, Miss Parker."
Gwen grabbed it, stood up, and walked out of the room, still blushing furiously. Twenty-seven sleepy faces watched her go,
**
Gwen glanced at the sheet. Room 211, it said. Right. So. Senior hall.
She walked down the stairs slowly. What had she been dreaming about? She couldn't remember. Sick with embarrassment, she let out a small sigh. Night terrors had been bothering her lately. She hadn't gotten four hours of sleep last night, and now it was happening during school? She mentally kissed her sanity, and hell, her social life, goodbye.
Room 211 was a large classroom, but only a few people were in it. The teacher was slumped over her desk, snoring loudly. Gwen gingerly dropped her pass in the trashcan and turned to leave again. Maybe she could find a place to sleep in the basement, where it no one could hear if she screamed.
"Hold it right there," said a commanding voice from behind her. Gwen turned to face a black-haired boy who was seated in the far corner of the classroom. He arched an eyebrow at her. "Where are you going, young lady?"
She looked at him straight-faced. Why did he care? He wasn't in charge. "To go give Mr. Johnson a lap dance in exchange for some cookies," she said. "Why do you ask?"
He grinned cheekily. "Well, first of all, you're not allowed to leave detention, my bonnie lass. And you give me one too?"
Gwen smiled in spite of herself. "That would depend entirely on how many cookies you have." She winked and walked out the door.