The Guide

The most beautiful girl in the world passed by my class again. And I didn’t waive back.

She walked on the brown square in the hall and disappeared.

I kept looking at the locker she passed. Wonder if she had left a star. She always puts stickers everywhere. Once I passed her table at lunch. I found three stars. If I could check, I bet my left shoe that there was a shiny star plastered on the locker. If only I had a different chair. This blue chair is attached to a small table that can barely fit a notebook. There’s a noise. I turn to find my pencil on the ground. Seeing it go towards the door. As I’m standing to get my pencil I notice that it was quiet.

Mr. Jones stopped his lecture, no one was talking. All eyes are in my direction.

I looked around to see what they were looking at. They were all looking at the damn pencil. Slowly, I reach to pick up the pencil until Darren beats me to it. Incredibly rude. He sets it on my table and goes back to his seat. The previous comment is retracted. I quietly thank him, but he doesn’t pay any attention. I sit back in my seat too. Whispers pass through the class until a cough cuts the discussions and everyone turns to the board. Mr. Jones continues his lesson on metaphors and everyone starts to write. Weirded out by the attention it takes me a second before I start looking at the board. Bored at the sight of the word “metaphor”, I stand from my seat and walk across the class. As I walk, I feel shivers all over. No one looks at me.

Jonesy needs to get some new material if he wants me to stick around for his lesson. I stand near the board looking at the projection on the board. All the lights in the room are blinding. I hadn’t noticed my discomfort until I passed the doorway. There’s a sense of ease walking out the door. I get to the brown square in the hall. No stars on the locker. I turn towards the corner and right on cue, I exit the building with Mr. Jones’ encouraging chant “Life is a metaphor!”.

Life. Funny choice of words there Jonesy. I laugh at the ridiculousness of hearing it again. He says it with such confidence, his attempt to embolden his students to think about what it means. They don’t know anything about life. At least not yet. They’ve barely started it and still have a long way to go. I’m not sure if I knew. I think I did once. As I cross the hall I think back to the lesson. A minute later I hear the bell ring as the hall fills with more people I need to avoid. Great.

I’ve made it to World History before I ran into anyone. Going up the stairs only slightly winded when I reach the third floor. I go to Ms. Day’s room right as her last class’ students try and escape. I find my seat in the back, like always, completely abandoned. The good thing is that I can at least see without glasses now. I no longer worry over the greasy residue of sebum at the bridge of my nose. I see the designated pencil on my desk and stare at it. It’s a different one today. Wonder who left an unbitten pencil for me? I usually get old stubby pencils that someone used up and needed to get rid of soon. Lead pencils never reach my desk, unless they’re ruined in some way. I got one once from this one girl who was really nervous being next to me. She left me a little note I read when no one was looking. It was a ridiculous request to please not be real. Sweet kid. I still kept an eye on her. Just out of human kindness.

Yesterday I had an old pencil that was missing its eraser and had prominent teeth marks on its yellow skin. I kinda wanted to look at the marks and stare at some people’s mouths for a bit. Maybe all my people-watching was gonna be of use. But now, my teeth-marked pencil guide is gone and I have no way of being entertained through the whole class besides Ms. Day’s historical crush. Ms. Day’s going through some new history hottie from the 19th century today. When she introduces the beginning of a new unit she starts with an old dead guy she’s into. It grabs our attention at least. The first time I saw her rambling about Alexander Hamilton, she wasn’t wrong, until I saw she showed the actual Hamilton and I judged. The bell rang and by the time I looked up from the pencil people were everywhere and the lesson began.

She pulled out a picture of John Quincy Adams from her desk. He looks like an old crank. With his arms crossed sitting on an old chair. He’s wearing a fine black suit that makes him look more ominous. She goes on to explain how John Adams was the first to start a daddy and son as president. He’s a new one at least. I think she’s trying to get us to remember the presidents this year. Last year was all about bad boys, this year is for suits.

While Ms. Day went through her lesson I got to observe the students before me. I haven’t sat in on her class in a few weeks. Specifically this period. Third period is the strangest time. There are both people who are falling asleep due to hunger, inattention because they’ve been sitting for a couple of hours already, or the ones who have a strange burst of energy and are more attentive because there’s a promise of sustenance at the end. I count the number of redheads and brunettes. The number of beanies that surround me is astounding. More than two is too many in the midst of Winter. I hear some light breathing near me. I turn to find the person to my left lightly snoozing through baby Adams’ presidency fact sheet. It takes me a second to recognize him. Poor Ernesto. Those long hours at work are getting to him. He looks a mess with grease stains on his uniform and disheveled hair peeking out of his beanie. I look up to check if anyone’s looking back here. I begin to grab Ernesto’s paper and pencil until I look up and see Ms. Day walking around. She had already finished her mini-lecture on early 19th-century politics and was checking on people’s progress on the essay prompt. I pull my hands back to my spot not risking any more attention than I got at Jonesy’s class earlier. The thought brings my arms around me.

I see Ms. Day reach Ernesto’s desk, with a sad smile and a light sigh she walks away. Once she leaves us alone and takes a seat while the other students write in response to the prompt on the board I reach for Ernesto’s stuff once more. Without much effort or noise, I manage to pull his paper onto my table and start writing. I don’t know how he likes to take notes, but I can at least write about some of the stuff that Ms. Day talked about a few minutes ago. Before I pick up my pencil I take one last look. Luckily all the teachers know to hide my desk in the back of the class where no one really looks. At first, it was annoying since I couldn’t really see what was on the board, but it’s times like these that it comes in handy.

John Q. Adams:

The first nepo president

Scary looking

According to Ms. Day is a hottie.

Broke ground for C & O Canal in 1828

The 6th president from 1825- 1829

Monroe Doctrine: Europe is not allowed to meddle with the Western Hemisphere’s affairs

I fill the front page and back with a few more things that I’ve seen Ms. Day include in tests. Since I had the time I wrote his response to the prompt. He should be able to get credit for the work I think. Ms. Day doesn’t really mind if I help out a bit every now and then. I should probably help him out a bit more in general. Maybe I’ll add Ernesto to my list of students. The notes should be of use. I doubt he’ll have time to actually look this over, but there’s no harm in providing him with the basics just in case. I hear the end of scratching pencils followed by, “Please put your pencils down. Turn to your partner and share your response. What do you think of my new boo?”The scraping of chairs makes me panic and drop my paper.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I push the paper under Ernesto’s desk. I see a foot with brown flats before I realize I’ve been made. Ms. Day bends down to pick up the paper and looks at my seat. Without much thought, I flick Ernesto on the head startling him awake. A now half-awake Ernesto looks for the paper until he sees Ms. Day holding it in her hand.

“Thanks, Ms. Day. Sorry about that,” he mumbles. Ms. Day looks a bit startled crumpling the paper a bit before she gives it back to him. Ernesto looks at his paper, confused but glad. It’s not the first time I’ve helped him. Won’t be the last it seems. I adjust myself in my seat and watch him talk to his partner. Glad he’s getting used to me. What worries me is the sound of a chair falling. I turn to see a shaking Ms. Day making her way to her desk. She apologizes to Edmund and takes a seat. Ms. Day is one of the three teachers who’s stayed since day one. Yet, she’s the easiest to spook. Oops.

I put my head down looking at my wooden desk. Gently lifting and descending my head on the desk. Reckless. I should’ve been more attentive to her if I was gonna help out. Mensa. When will you learn? I can’t believe I’ve been doing this for as long as I have and I still mess up as much. I keep replaying the class trying to plan for next time. Maybe I should just write on the floor while she teaches. That way she doesn’t see the paper fall and react to it. Slip it into the student’s unconscious hand. That might work, but it’d bring a lot of attention to hearing a pencil writing on the floor.

Not too long after I’ve been in my head trying to course correct the bell rings. I don’t get up. I just sit there for a bit this time. I lean back on my chair and look at the ceiling panels. Trying to avoid the blinding lights I cover my eyes. The chair isn’t great for leaning back, but I don’t hear any squeak or sound the farther down I go. Moping around won’t help anyone though. I start to muster up my courage to get up when I hear steps approaching me. I look straight and see a nervous Ms. Day approaching my desk. I don’t move, worried I’ll send her to another moment of shock. She places a folded post-it on my desk and walks out of her room closing the door behind her. Thanking her out loud for the privacy. Once I make sure the door is closed I unfold the post-it.

Thank you for helping Ernesto. Sorry for freaking out. I’m still not used to it. Just don’t do all the work for him, please.

Best, Ms. Day

I smile. She’s so sweet. Even when she’s terrified. I guess we’ve both still got some adjusting to do. I pick up the paper and take it to the recycling bin. I release a heavy sigh and stand next to the door waiting for her to let me out. After writing so much I pull my arm behind my neck trying to stretch.

Ms. Day’s got a point. I’ll ignore it, but she’s not wrong. It’s wrong to do all the work for him, writing some notes every now and then won’t ruin him. Plus if I have enough time to answer stuff for him I might as well. Not like I have much to do around here anyway. When school ends I’m gonna write him into my schedule. If only I could write notes and stuff on my wrist or hand like in the old days. The door opens and I wait a little longer. This is the part no one talks about in movies and stuff. The waiting. How boring it can be after a while. Once everyone comes through the door to sit for lunch I start exiting the door. Ms. Day is too distracted to look at the desk and I’m honestly not interested if she notices I was here now. She does her job and I’ll do mine. I need to get to distract myself during lunch. I’ve been too nice and panicky. Instead of walking towards my closet to hide out, I’ll walk to the library. Maybe flip through some books. That actually sounds nice.

I do my best to maneuver through the crowd of sardines that passes by and head for the door. Walking through the threshold I hear it close in the middle of my stride. If anyone could see that they’d think I’d been cut in half and severely injured. Good thing that can’t happen to me. At least not anymore.