"Am I dying?" I ask dramatically with the back of my hand against my forehead.
"No, Miss Weitzel. You'll live," the young paramedic said with a smile as he patted the moist cloth onto the bottom of my leg.
After the math room was attacked by well-rocks, the math teacher who's name was Mr Boyle, called the paramedics in the building and now here I was sitting on the white bed in a mini hospital looking room.
"Its pretty deep. You might need stitches," he said his award winning smile in place.
"That deep?" I groaned. I've never gotten stitches before. But according to my dear friend Lily back from my old school, it was very painful.
Oh Lord.
"Yeah," the boy said sounding breathless, "-very, very deep," he said in a low tone and I looked at him weirdly.
I was going to dismiss his stran
