Vance Hopper

Classes had started and summer was over; the streets were empty in the morning as we were all locked up studying in the prison, better known as high school.
High school in Denver was a shithole, a complete jungle where sweaty teenagers fought to survive bullies, exams, and drugs. Being in the middle of the hippie era, most of them were doing drugs and having sex for no reason—it was disgusting. And we were stuck in a classroom where we barely moved while they taught us math, more specifically, advanced algebra.

—"Blah, blah... this is useless and crap, we're never going to use it for anything."
The boy said irritably, "He hates math and always made it known, although he had a point, who the hell was going to ask us if we knew algebra? "
The class dragged on and Vance kept talking. We always sat together, ever since elementary school, maybe because we tried to put up with each other.