Derp

"Having a nice dream there Lachlan?" The raspy, yet experienced voice of Mr. Rigby, Lachlan’s history teacher, said, as he attempting to wake the sleeping mass with the end of his ruler. "School's been over for more than half an hour now..." He continued, as he poked the obviously sleep deprived student.

He stopped for a second to run his hand threw his nearly bald head. He was the oldest teacher in the school by at least six or seven years, but he was also by far the schools favorite. His face looked old, but also experienced, the things he had seen, and the memory’s he held dear, showed in his dark blue eyes to any who would bother to look. From the whiskers on his chin, to what was left of his sideburn, his hair was a brilliant shade of grey that fit him and his personality perfectly. As he had gotten older, his eyesight had started to deteriorate, forcing him to buy a pair of eyeglasses, which he quickly had gotten used to. But to his disliking, the only hair left on his head made a U shape around his head from the top of his ears to the back of his head and down about three inches. And the little he had left was also disappearing. For somebody of his age and wisdom, besides his lack of hair, he still looked very well groomed and taken care of, which he took much pride in.

"Uhg..." Lachlan groaned as he turned over on the desk, almost to the point of falling off.

Reminded by Lachlan that he still had a student in his class asleep, he quickly turned his attention back to him. "Lachlan? Come on, you need to wake up." The teacher asked, continuing his attempts to wake him with his ruler.

"F-five more minu..." He moaned groggily, not bothering to finish the last word.

"You know Lachlan, it’s about five to three on a Friday... Don't you have better things to do then to sleep on my desks?" He asked jokingly, continuing to poke the unaware mess.

At first, Lachlan didn't seem to realize the importance of his teacher’s words, which he just brushed off, continuing to rest on his desk.

"Lachlan!" The teacher pushed, a little annoyed at the persistence of his favorite student. Rigby wasn't fond of his low grades, or his lack of effort school work wise, he actually hoped he could get him to care more about school at some point. But even then, he still saw a bit of himself in this student, he tended to care for others just as much, try the same things, have the same goals, make the same mistakes... especially the same mistakes... as himself when Rigby was his age.

As it finally hit him that he had somewhere to be right then, he instantly exploded out of his seat, almost giving his old teacher a heart attack!

"It's Friday!" He bursted, realizing he was going to be late for his favorite times of the week... dance class obviously. "Dang it, Rebecca's gonna kill me!" He rushed, grabbing his bags and darting threw the isle of chairs. Not noticing that his history teacher was in between him, and the door, till it was too late.

With a high pitched scream, a crash, and what sounded like a garage door getting tackled by a Grizzly Bear, both Lachlan and Mr. Rigby ended up face down on the ground.

A little dazed by Lachlan's sudden change from lifeless as a rock, to mobile as a Football player, Rigby slowly stood up, supporting himself with the help of a nearby chair. "Are you ok Lachlan?!" He sputtered, half way laughing, and the other half scolding.

"O-oh! Um... hi Mr. Rigby!" Lachlan answered, as he began to stand, "Sorry Rigby, but I have to go! I'm gonna be late for my dance class!" he finished as he darted out the door, accidently leaving his jacket.

With a quick wave goodbye, and a burst of speed, Lachlan raced out of his classroom, down the hall, and out of the school, running down the street towards his class. Not remembering he had left his jacket till he was more than half way there.

"Huh..." Mr. Rigby thought, stroking his white stipple beard after a minute or so to catch his breath. "Yep... Just like me." He finished, walking towards his computer to put in some grades.

X X X X X X X X X X X X X

As Lachlan ran, every so often he would stop and check his appearance on a sheet of ice next to the sidewalk, just to make sure he didn't mess up the little bit of styling he could do with his hands.

At the moment, the left side of his bangs looked combed back and stayed in place, while the bangs on his right seemed to not want to cooperate, and kept swooping back to their original spot, blocking his forehead and part of his vision. His eyes were a brilliant shade of hazel, which seemed to have dark green specs haphazardly placed around his pupil. His hair was a dark shade of blonde, commonly referred to as 'dirty blond', which unknown to anybody except himself, he hated. As its nickname stated, it always looked dirty, and nothing he could do short of dying, could change it. For his age, he had a small frame, and was much shorter than average. While his core was strong, everything else was not, he could barely perform even some of the easiest lifts there were for him to do in his dance class, causing him to start working out. This, and several other factors, have commonly discouraged him against being a dancer, but none the less, he has not given up.

"Please don't kill me for being late..." He pleaded, mainly to himself. Today was there dance teams first competitive performance, which especially for him, was a big deal. They had performed many a time, but not in a competition of any sort till today.

As he ran, he continued psyching himself up for what was about to happen, he had to give everything he had if he hoped to show everyone that he had what it takes. He kept thinking to himself things like, "You got this," or "I'll prove I have what it takes," as he ran.

After thirty minutes of straight running, he remembered he wasn't a marathoner, and stopped to catch his breath while he waited for the cars to pass so he could go on.

While Lachlan waited, he noticed some of the other pedestrians looking up towards the top of an old hospital, which he thought had been long abandoned. But as he fallowed there gazes to the top of the building, he noticed between five or six helicopters landing on the roof. He wanted to take a closer look, but the road had cleared and he had to continue on. He wouldn't realize the importance of this event for quite some time.

After another ten to twenty minutes, which seemed like hours to Lachlan, he finally reached his destination. A relatively old red brick building hidden between a car dealership and a bank, with the words, "The Dance Factory" painted on its front.

As he walked up, he noticed an excess of cars, which were planned to help carpool anyone that didn't already have a ride to the competition. It was weird to him how many cars there were, as his dance company, which had named itself, "Silhouette Ballroom", wasn't extremely popular. Probably because of its tendency to reach out to homeschooled kids, not public schooled like Lachlan was. In fact, as far as he knew, he was the only one in any of his classes who was solely public schooled.

"Well," He thought as he entered the studio, "I hope I can pull this off."