"How old are these kids again?"
I shrug as we walk down the silent corridor. "Dunno. Second or third grade, I think."
We're on the hunt for room twelve.
"Any idea what we're supposed to talk about for thirty minutes?" The guy walking next to me yawns loudly, barely managing to cover his mouth.
I glance at him. He looks like he rolled out of bed ten minutes ago.
You're supposed to be representing here, dude. Get with the freaking program.
Jack Hillenger is a sophomore running back for the Bulldogs. He's great on the field but flies by the seat of his pants any other time. I'm the opposite. In my experience, shit gets fucked up if you don't go in with a plan. I always have an end game in mind. Half the time, it's the only thing that gets me through all the day-to-day bullshit.