Ashton paced back and forth tugging at his caramel curls perched on top of his head, muttering to himself rapidly. If anyone would have walked by him they would've thought he had gone insane. But he's not insane, just stressed. Really, really, really, stressed. He has 2 exam papers due next friday, a complex science fair project that was mandatory for the high level of science he was taking at his private school, and he had to read The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald by the end of this semester, which was also 2 weeks from now. To say he was "stressed" was putting it generously indeed. He was beyond stressed, he wasn't even sure what he was feeling was human; it was as if he wasn't even made of blood or muscles anymore, but of lined papers and red ink and the letters he pressed down continually on his laptop. He was a walking A plus. He was the smartest kid in the school and everyone knew it. The teachers, the students, the janitors, the rats in the science lab, you name it. It was no doubt Ashton would be valedictorian and move on to bigger & better things. He planned on going to Harvard to become a lawyer, or at least, that's what his parents planned. He wanted to be a writer. He loved the way they made life seem so much more …show more content…
It was a shabby brown shack with bold red letters advertising their trains and telling what train went where and how long each trip took. There were several benches scattered on the little slab of pavement the shack was connected to, all of them unbalanced with the paint on them dull from years of harsh winds and stormy nights. Not a lot of people took trains except shady men and women with suitcases and hoods on, most likely escaping from bad environments and vintage boys and girls who thought it was less mainstream than planes or taxis. But still, even then it was empty most days and Ashton learned to appreciate