The temporary home of the Center for Learning Arts, near the rebuilding of downtown Puerta Mibela
The members of the B Team sat next to each other wedged into the tiny school desks in the classroom. They each experienced various shades of discomfort at having to sit in the tiny desks.
Sniff! Sniff! "Jeez, Lassie, couldn't you have bathed before we came down here? And I don't even want to know how you managed to fit into the smallest desk in the classroom!"
"Egh. . .ughk. . .comrade Monkey Boy, is no time for jokes. . ." Blackwulf gasped out.
Slowly, the remaining students filed into the classroom and took a desk.
Finally, an overweight young man with dark hair and glasses came walking into the room. He was wearing a loose brown suit that seemed a size too small for him and carrying a briefcase. He was also talking into a cell phone.
". . .well, I was on this porn site last night, and now I think the FBI is after me, so I can't send you your clock." he said, walking over to the desk and setting his briefcase on top.
"What? What does that have to do with sending me my clock?" the voice on the other end of the line answered.
"Uhm. . .I gotta go, I have a class to teach now." The man said, turning off his cell phone and simultaneously knocking his briefcase off the desk onto the floor. "Uhhh. . .uhh. . .ok, uhh, class, my name is Mike Peterson. . ." he said, attempting to pick up the briefcase which consequently opened up, spilling it's contents everywhere.
"uhh. . .Mike Peterson. . .uhm. . .I'll be your teacher. . .uhm. . .uhhh. . ." he looked up at the classroom and the students, all staring at him.
