It was yet another ordinary day in Pottsmond Hill High School and Blake Summers was bored. He was bored of listening to his history teacher, Mr Evans, who was talking about the events that took place in the Cold War. Blake never really understood why he needed to know all this – he wanted to become an actor, the main character in a superhero movie, the person who had the amazing powers and stopped bad guys. That’s who Blake wanted to act as if he became a movie star in the future, not a lousy historian.
“When is this damned lesson going to finish,” he thought to himself, eyeing the clock at the front of the classroom. 10:25. Blake tutted, frustrated at having to sit through another twenty-five minutes listening about the Korean and Vietnam War.The boy who sat next to Blake was his friend, Tommy Raven, who also seemed to be suffering from boredom. He rolled his eyes at Blake and made his hand into a figure of a pistol, pretending to shoot himself.Blake laughed... a little too loud.
“Mr Summers! Would you care to give me a definition of communism?” Mr Evans asked, obviously annoyed at the interruption.“Uh...” Blake thought. He hated being asked to answer a question that he had zero knowledge about. “No clue.” “Well having ‘no clue’ is not going to help when you’re doing the pre-test for the rest of this lesson!” Mr Evans laughed at his own joke as the rest of the class groaned.
“HA HA!” Blake faked a laugh and then stopped abruptly as he saw the unimpressed look on his teacher’s face.Mr Evans scavenged around his desk. “Now... where did I put these tests?” He muttered to himself.The year ten students exchanged looks of hope as their history teacher continued to have difficulty finding the tests. Mr Evans sighed and looked at the class. “No one is to move out of their seat or even speak when I go to my office,” he said sternly as he exited the classroom.
Almost immediately, everyone started talking amongst themselves.“I hope he never finds the tests,” Tommy yawned as he stretched out his arms, “I honestly don’t know a thing about the Cold War or communism.” “I guess we got something in common then,” Blake agreed as he looked at the clock. “Twenty more minutes! Why can’t time go faster!?”
Blake strained his eyes on the clock. He imagined the minute’s hand moving so it pointed to the ten.Suddenly, he gasped. It was starting to move! The minute hand was steadily moving past the seven... the eight... until it stopped; pointing in between the nine and the ten.What was going on? He looked around the classroom, everyone was still chatting – not paying the slightest attention towards the clock – only Blake noticed the clock hand had significantly moved.
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