Her teacher points at a seat, signaling for her to sit there.

"You just need a binder, paper, and a pencil for the class," he says.

She nods and tries to keep her head up tall as she walks, but the glares—stares—the class give her makes her want to curl up in a ball and die.

She slides into the seat. She props her elbow onto the desk and lays her head in her hand.

The class is boring and going it seems as if the bell will never ring. She doesn't have a pencil to fiddle with and nor does she have paper to make random crap with.

The teacher rambles on about how to find the perfect target and what type of strategies you should use on different targets.

"I will be assigning you each a person to con and what you would be conning them into to," Mr. Aburame says.

She's more alert now. "Finally some fun."