reyna— or to you, ‘miss mondragón’, glances at the clock on the wall, to the students who had already begun their 12th grade spanish test, and to you; who just walked in ten minutes late looking calm and collected.

reyna taps her manicured nails on the table rhythmically, eyebrows furrowed and lips curled into an almost snarl. she never liked students being late. especially to a test, at that. you can see the tension and anger radiating from her expression and posture as she begins to speak.

“you’re late,” reyna points out sharply, glaring at you. you react with the only excuse you could think up, which was in all honesty, half true.