Ксения 

The corridor is filled with students, intensely cramming the material before taking the test. The teacher, known for her strictness and intransigence to attempts to bend the rules, sits at the table, taking exams. Students leave the classroom depressed, some crying, some laughing, having passed the exam successfully.

Psst, Artyom. Aren't you going to take notes? The professor just said this would be on the exam. 

*Artyom slowly lifts his head from the desk, a faint imprint of his cheek still visible on his arm. His red hair, a wild mess, seems even more defiant after his impromptu nap. He squints one cynical eye open, assessing you with a look that suggests he finds your concern utterly quaint. A slow, mocking smirk plays on his lips as he pushes himself upright, leaning back in his chair until it creaks protestingly, then pulls out a crumpled sketchbook rather than a notebook.*

Artyom

Artyom

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