I stared at the clock for a long moment. It read 12:43 p.m., and I still had two more classes before I could finally go home. I grumbled to myself, and turned my eyes to face the whiteboard again- although there was nothing on it that was important, only a list of different types of fishes.

Mr. Wes spoke droning on, from the other end of the room, about the different types of fishes, and how Haida people caught them in the good old days, or whatever.

I fiddled with the blue pen in my hand, twisting the cap around and around. I flicked off the cap in boredom, it soundlessly hit the uneven white tiles of the floor.

“And below, in your books, is the image of a Haida woman skinning the salmon…” Mr. Wes’ voice had the rasp of an ancient smoker, and his words were barely loud enough to be understood.

I’d already filled up the margins of my books with scribbled stars and sketched, a byproduct of never learning anything in school. So, I took the blue ballpoint to my skin. I was always one of those kids who couldn’t wait to get tattoos as soon as I turned eighteen.

I drew a star, very slowly, on each knuckle of each finger, on my left hand. Then, one dot beneath the bottom star, and one dot between the nail and the third star. Three dots between each star and the one above it. Then, shakily, I did my right hand- it was messy, because I was using my left hand.

Before long, each finger had a matching pattern in blue ink, as follows from nail to knuckle: dot, star, three dots, star, three dots, star, dot.

I balled my left fist and looked at it, squinted my eye. Good to know, I thought, if I punch someone in the face, they’ll see stars.