Konin lay face down on his desk, ears plugged, eyes fixed on the page; his pencil trembled like a leaf. Black scribbles smudged the margins into a mist.

A man a few feet away wrote equations on the whiteboard. "Konin? Konin?" he called; there was no answer. He glanced down and sighed. The man clicked the marker closed and flicked his wrist, in a quick haze, the marker flew. Konin swatted at it; it struck the window's corner with a sharp crack.

For a heartbeat the glass held, then disintegrated into a million crystalline pebbles. The spent marker bounced off the crumbling frame and rolled across the stark, white room—settling at Konin's feet amid two lone desks and a whiteboard

The man clicked his tongue, meeting the boy’s eyes. "Am I boring you?"

"Yes," Konin said, and returned to his work. The man shook his head, picked up a plate with a half-eaten slice of cake from his desk, and walked over.

He stood beside him. Konin didn't flinch. The man bent to retrieve the marker; as he rose, a cold wind rushed in. Beyond the shattered frame, a dripping tree leaned over a fence that bordered the road; little else showed. Distant children's laughter threaded through the damp air. The man checked his watch—12:30—and tugged an EarPod free. Konin glared.

"Wanna play video games?" the man asked.

"Not today," Konin replied, keeping his face set. He raised an open palm; the man replaced the EarPod. Konin kept his hand up.

"What?" the man said.

Konin flashed a smile at the cake. 

"Hell no." Mr. Smith grunted.

The smile faded. "C'mon, Unc."

"What did you call me?"

"Please, Mr. Smith—I haven't eaten at all today," Konin begged, hands clasped.

"What about your lunch?" the man asked, pulling the plate back.

"My mum made it."

Mr. Smith's mouth opened, then closed. He stared into Konin's bright eyes and sighed. He handed the plate back. His other hand shimmered silver, formed a fork, then snapped normal. He placed it in Konin's hand; the boy ate eagerly.

Mr. Smith returned to his seat. "Enjoy it—we've got a test after this."

"Oh, come on," Konin whined.

Mr. Smith smiled and pulled the test sheets onto his desk.

Konin ate, but the expression on his face soon dulled. He became still, turned from Mr. Smith, and stared straight ahead. He took the cake in measured bites.

When he finished he laid his finger against the table.

His fingertip was a drum, beating a steady rhythm.

Mr. Smith murmured as he placed the test on Konin's desk. Konin nodded and stared at the page. "Shut up," he whispered; rage rippled across his face as he picked up his pencil.

"Shut up." He wrote the first line.

"Shut up. Shut up..." he murmured, each repeat harder than the last.

He stopped, dropped the pencil, leaned back, and whispered it again. "Shut up."

He stared out the broken window as the word pushed through him, louder and louder, the room's edges narrowing until—everything went dark.