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Donovan tapped his pencil against the desk, eraser down. He wasn't really paying attention to anything the teacher was saying, and didn't bother answering any questions. He didn't know why he was in this class. He spoke fluent english and French, but the school insisted he take the class, much to his demise. He lost the battlee...he lost the war.
Donovan had quite the unfair advantage in the class. He was originally from France, born and raised. He simply sat quietly, did his work, and doodled until class was over. The teacher knew he spoke the language more fluently than he did, so he let him slide on participation points. He gave Donovan credit for simply doing his work, and that was the end of it.
His lack of participation gave him a small air of mystery, one of which he supposed made sense. He had the best grade in class, yet he never spoke a word. He'd look up form his work from time to time, to correct the teacher with just a look, but that was about it. He mostly kept to himself, and found it odd that no one bothered to talk to him as of yet. He knew he was the new kid, but still.
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