Presley walked into the seating area for the third time that year. It had however, been months since she'd been there. She really hoped Tate wasn't getting really sick of her. But, Leo had written, and asked that she ask. She sat on the edge of one of the chairs and grabbed a magazine, flipping through it, but not really seeing the pages. She set it down, and leaned back, feeling a bit restless, unable to keep still. She'd been in lessons all day and really had had her fill of sitting down. Pres never had been one for sitting. That was why her mum had gotten her into dance when she was little, because Presley had a passion for movement. Not a love, a passion. She was intrigued by it. She loved the feeling of total control she could exert. Presley shook her head. That was not why she was here. She sometimes had trouble focusing her mind. It liked to wander off on random tangents, and sometimes she would come up with something, and others would have no idea how her brain landed on that particular subject. Presley sat up straight again, and waited for her turn to talk to the headmaster.