Why was this even a subject? Really? He spoke English, rather fluently most days, first thing in the morning or really late at night notwithstanding. It, like everything else they forced him to suffer through in school, was such an epic waste of his time. Completely irrelevant. Would it honestly matter in a hundred years whether or not he’d read Moby Dick? Was he ever going to have a job application where they made him diagram a sentence or pick out a gerund? Stop your bitching, Nick. You should try being an immortal demon who’s lived since the dawn of time having to sit through this crap when English is not my native tongue, and if you think you’re fluent in it, buddy, I actually know what a gerund is. Nick looked askance at Caleb, who sat beside him on the other row, doing the wiggy mind meld with him. Yeah, but these handful of years are just a blip in your massively long life. They’re a significant percentage of mine. Caleb scoffed in his head. Look, there you go using some of the stuff you’ve learned.
