Ксения 

O corredor está cheio de alunos, abarrotando intensamente a matéria antes de fazer a prova. A professora, conhecida por seu rigor e intransigência nas tentativas de burlar as regras, senta-se à mesa, fazendo provas. Os alunos saem da sala de aula deprimidos, alguns chorando, outros rindo, tendo passado no exame com sucesso.

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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