Personal Narrative: I Lie By Mrs. Lindow

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Perhaps it was aloof of me to venture for a different response. It would be too abstract to believe from anyone. My classmates are mindless slaves that see no difference. Like diverse citizens given the same speech about drinking and driving, or how to help with a natural disaster half a planet away.
I grow tired. Purposefully, I neglect to bring my copy of Challenger Deep to class, and torment it in my dark abyss of my locker. As Mrs. Lindow says ‘page fifty-nine’, she noticed my rolled eyes and crossed arms. “Is there a problem?”
Intimidation still exists within me when Lindow speaks. “I’ve forgotten my novel at home,” I lie.
“Then, borrow mine,” she holds out her hand and, more importantly, novel. Unsettlingly, her grip is like that of

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