My hand shoots into the air as I bark out a single word. “Here!” The teacher, a gaunt, raven-haired man, continued to go through the list of students one by one in a monotonous drawl. Mr. Samuel Morose is his name. The old coot’s my history teacher. I swear he’s got a Purity dispenser lodged in his brain, he’s so boring. At least the class is interesting. I like learning about the other districts. It’s difficult pretending to be as dull and brainwashed as all the other students are, though.
I tug awkwardly on the collar of my tie dye tee shirt and look around the class. Yes, hold your applause at my WONDERFUL fashion sense. I’m also wearing khakis, bite me.
Mr. Morose plucks a hunk of white chalk from the metal thing on the bottom of the chalkboard, holding it firmly in his right hand. I’ve noticed that people affected by Purity are almost never left-handed. Ambidextrous is completely