High school, a.k.a living hell. A place where all self-confidence goes to die.
It is a known fact that there is nothing more miserable than being a pubescent teenager surrounded by other incredibly annoying, pubescent teenagers – especially when some of those pubescent teenagers get a kick out the crap out of you. Physically, mentally, and all of the above.
It isn’t like I haven’t tried to get out of this hellhole but my mother isn’t as enlightened about the benefits of home-schooling as I am. Every time I bring up the subject she goes on and on about learning how to socialize, explore new things, personal growth, self-discovery…
Blah. Blah. Blah.
It isn’t that I don’t want to learn, I just don’t want to learn in a room filled with my so-called “peers”. There are very few good things to say about high school.
At some point, you’d think it’d just be better to take a flying leap out that first-floor window. I bet I could make a beeline for the woods and never be heard from again.
Sadly, I’m on the third floor muddling through a science test. Though, I can’t help but wonder if it would be worth it to still try. I mean, how hard could it be to run away with two broken legs? Or I could practice running on my hands, a perfectly valid alternative.
I let out an exasperated sigh as I fall back down into my chair after handing in my test.
My weekly Monday blues are a product of my own stupidity. After a long weekend of procrastinating on homework, essays, and studying for this upcoming test, I’m stuck staring down the end of a stress-chewed-up number two pencil. This horrible habit may be gross but I can’t help it. I enjoy the feeling of my teeth crushing the soft wood until I feel weak resistance. Not to mention the satisfaction of hearing that gentle crunch. Though, I’m not a fan of that woodie-paint aftertaste.
The antagonizing silence of test writers completing their tasks is broken by the sudden sound of rapid-fire snapping coming from the front of the classroom. One of my classmates is standing in front of the teacher’s desk, placing his test in a file folder bin when the sound erupts. Sparks fly out making the kid jump back. I watch with absolute delight as the test sheets go up in flames.
As quickly as they came the flames died out leaving a single puff of black smoke. I look around trying to spot a pair of yellow glowing eyes through the hordes of students. Our friendly little perp usually likes to gloat. They know that I know they’re the cause of every torturous prank on Mr. Katz. However, I didn’t spot the mysterious troublemaker this time.
Overhead the sprinkler alarm goes off and everyone screams as spitting cold water drenches us.
Like an idiot, I’m maliciously grinning from ear to ear. I bite down on my pencil trying to hold in an outburst of giggles.
“WHO DID THIS!”
I can’t cover my face fast enough as Katz zeros in on me. The man has it out for me. Believing, for some reason, I’m the cause of all his misery.
Deja vu hits as Katz marches towards me with fervent rage and grabs me by the collar. Even though it’s against school policy to touch a student who isn’t under duress, Katz has dragged me to the principal’s office on multiple occasions and walked out without any consequences.
Our daily routine starts with me struggling to stay upright as the 7-foot Katz drags me by the collar barely letting my feet touch the ground. I concentrate most of my effort on holding my shirt down rather than walking. While Katz is dragging me around like a rag doll, I have to struggle to keep my modesty intact by not flashing every student and teacher who’s sticking their heads out of their classrooms to watch the commotion.
Janet, the school’s secretary, only gives us a passing glance as Katz marches toward Principal Barlowe’s office. The first time she saw Katz charging in here with me by the collar, she flipped. Now, she just rolls her eyes and goes back to her paperwork.
After enlarging the dent in the wall from the countless other times Katz has kicked in Mr. Barlowe’s door, I’m shoved into one of the chairs across from Barlowe.
“She’s done it again, Hugh. She has gone too far this time, too far,” Katz screams. He’s pacing the room like a madman, not looking at either me or Barlowe.
Barlowe is an old and tired man on the verge of retirement. And like a man who has played the role of moderator day after day, he sits back and rests his head on his hands. This poor man just wants out of this endless loop.
He looks at me with a sigh, “What now?”
“She deliberately set my test papers on fire!”
“I heard the alarm,” Barlowe rumbles, not fazed by the accusation. “Was it you, Miss Taylor?”
“She’s going to say no! She always says NO! But we both know it’s her, Hugh,” Katz gets all up in my face bug-eyed and crazy. The only thing missing would be foam dripping from the corner of his mouth. “I know it’s you,” he whispers, wafting garlic-coffee breath in my face. I pride myself on not gagging.
“Proof,” Barlowe says. “That is the magic five-letter word we need in order to take action.”
“Don’t you get it!” Katz shouts before falling into the chair next to me and starts crying. “There’s never any proof. No matter how many cameras I set up, no matter how long I guard the classroom; every week something goes wrong.”
I don’t say anything as Barlowe gently dismisses me with a wave of his hand.
Katz looks at Barlowe like he just ran over his dog. His mouth was a gape in absolute shock as tears of hopelessness ran down his face. The man was broken.
“You’re letting her go,” Katz springs from his chair and starts howling. “No, no, no. Hugh, Hugh, I can’t take this anymore,” he stutters.
“Jacob, calm down,” Barlowe gets up from behind his desk and takes my seat next to Katz.
I feel sorry for Katz as I look back to see him bawling his eyes out. Janet grabs a tissue box off her desk, walks into Barlowe’s office and closes the door behind her.
I only catch a snippet of the conversation before being broken off by the bell. "Jacob, maybe it's time... extended holiday..."
Not like the poor man couldn't use it.
Our science class only has 23 students, you’d think I would be able to find the damn witch who’s pulling these stunts.
