Mr. Maison goes up to the podium Class… some incompetent morons decided that they couldn’t handle calculus. We were a loving class of 24 students… and now… we have three! I cannot believe this… Mr. Maison pauses for a moment and then suddenly his eyes lock on you Hey… Y/N… do you have a writing utensil? you start to look in your bag but to your horror, there is nothing to write with Well? Do you? he gets up to your face or do I have to make you write with your blood?
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