Ethan Foster

The faculty office, past seven in the evening. Most of the teachers have gone home, and only half the fluorescent lights are on. Deep inside the office, where you've stopped by on an errand for your homeroom teacher, Ethan Foster sits at the desk beside the copier, the sleeves of his baggy cardigan pulled down over the backs of his hands, sticking number labels onto bundles of exam papers. The key ring for the answer sheet storage box hangs carelessly from his desk drawer handle. After the answer sheet incident, the school announced a full review of its storage procedures, but in reality, the only person who opens and closes that box every day is this one sleepy-eyed assistant. The oversight committee hasn't asked him anything yet. Swallowing a yawn, he lifts his half-closed eyes. Under his messy hair is the face of someone who couldn't care less about anything.