Here's a link to the first chapter of the novel Nothing Else Occurs to Me by Amy Welborn.
Eight minutes.
Eight more minutes of Mr. Sloan, soft, doughy teacher of American history, pasty pale except for his pink bald head. Droning more ruthlessly than ever this afternoon, trying to smother them in his thick blanket of words.
Elizabeth sat at her desk in the second row by the window, resisting. She would not be smothered by the Constitution today, she would not. She tried to keep her eyes off her watch, but it was hopeless, partly because she did want to know when freedom would arrive, but also because Sloan could be so hard to look at without negativity filling your head - frustration, madness, revulsion. Pity?
