This was it. Not the day he broke his arm falling from a tree. Not the day he got lost in the mall. No—this Tuesday morning was worse. Because Professor Marinić didn’t just check homework. She smelled lies. She would point her crooked finger and say, “Izvadi bilježnicu. Prepričaj.”
Luka stared at the blank page. The title was already written at the top in his shaky handwriting: “Prepričana lektira: ‘Bijeli očnjak’ – Jack London.”
“Good morning, class. Today, we will discuss your written retellings. I will call on someone at random.”
Luka put his head on the desk.
But the next morning, the professor announced a new reading assignment: “Ana Karenjina” – Lav Tolstoj.