How to: Draw Mythical Creatures

Anastasia Novikov's POV

I blinked quickly, fighting the urge to close my eyes. An unintentional yawn escaped my lips, and naturally, the teacher noticed.

"Miss Novikov! What was the last question I asked, and what was its answer?"

I racked my brain (which only contained moderate intelligence, unfortunately) and rubbed my sharp nose at the same time, a habit that I'd developed through the years.

"Uh . . ."

Mr. Gordon raised one of his creepily thin eyebrows triumphantly, already convinced I hadn't been paying attention. He was partially right, of course, but it hadn't been my fault that I was too tired to devote my entire brain to the history lesson.

In fact, it was the fault of the person sitting right next to me: my best friend, Wednesday Chapman.

First off, we were complete opposites. She was brave, I was apprehensive. She was reckless, I was responsible. She was a leader . . . I was her follower.

Last night she'd called me, claiming she'd seen something and heard strange noises on her porch. I'd gone to her house after her horrible exaggerated exlamations and together we'd hunted for her fantasy for hours. As it'd turned out, the mystery person was a mere lost squirrel.
I'd had nightmares of squirrels during the whole night and woken up with a horrible mood, knowing that Wednesday might be the source of my insomnia, but that I was to blame as well, considering I'd been the one to agree to her ridiculous plan.

"Miss Novikov, I'll ask you a last time!"

I ripped my gaze away from Wednesday's light brown hair and directed my glare at Mr. Gordon, remembering to soften my sharp eyes just in time. Didn't want suspension now, did I?

"The question regarded the date of the attack of Pearl Harbor and the consequences it had, and the answer is Decemer 7th, 1941, the consequence being the America's involvement in the Second World War."

No, I hadn't acquired sudden intelligence. Wednesday had handed me a note with the question on it. I loved history enough to know the answer. I'd probably have better grades for science if I shared the same passion . . .

"Very well," said Mr. Gordon, slightly miffled by the correct answer. He gave me a suspicious look while I crumpled the note under the cheap, wooden table.

The lesson continued rather peacefully (with the exceptions of the obnxious, drawn-out yawns of the childish boys in class) until the bell rung, which was followed by most students springing up eagerly and rushing out of the classroom.

"Thanks for helping me out there," I said under my breath.

Wednesday shrugged. "That's all right, you would have done the same."

"Don't count on it," I muttered.

She laughed and threw a soft blow to my ribs, which I evaded clumsily. "No need to get violent."

"Awh, Ana! Do lighten up!"

"Do grow up first, Wendy."

She gasped and pretended to clutch her chest in pain. "Ana! Pain! Betrayal!"

I couldn't help laughing. "All right, calm down. I'm just a little tired from last night. I swear I can't ever look at a squirrel again."

"I thought it was hilarious."

Wednesday had a peculair sense of humor.