My name is Annabel Iris
My name is Annabel Iris. I am 15 years old. My favourite colour is purple. My favourite animal is a chameleon. I like them because they can blend in anywhere. Nothing fazes them. They have great lives. I, sadly, do not relate to them at all. In fact, I sometimes fantasise about being a chameleon. No worries in my head. No school. Life would be bliss. But, the the teacher calling my name at the front of class pulls me from my imaginings, placing me back in reality. I sigh, “yes miss?” “WHY WERE YOU SLEEPING IN MY CLASS ANNABEL?!” She shrieks at me, her face turning slightly red. I look up at her, the perfect comeback sliding into my mind. “Sorry miss, your voice was just sooo relaxing!” “WELL THEN WHY IS NO ONE ELSE SLEEPING?!” She played right into my trap, I think, smirking “Well miss, that’s because they weren’t listening.” She is furious! “GO TO THE PRINCIPALS’ OFFICE!” I snicker. “NOW ANNABEL. GET OUT NOW! NOT IN 10 MINUTES! NOT IN 5! NOW!” Ok maybe I overdid it, but it was totally worth it. I put a spring in my step and bounce up to the front of the classroom, and as I step out the door I look back at my class, wink at them, and then continue on my merry journey to the principals’ office. What an excellent way to start of first period on a Monday morning.
I enter the principals’ office, making a good show of pretending to not know how the door worked. I start humming a tune, take a good look around the principals’ office, just for good measure, before plopping into the seat opposite him. “I love what you’ve done with the place Mr. Mower, by the way, how are ya, you look tired, did you do something with your glasses?” I quipped, while propping my feet up on his desk. He glared at me, and I’m honestly wondering if his eyeballs are going to pop out of his head. He looks down at his computer, looks up at me, looks at the clock, looks at me again, and finally says, “do you know why you’re here today Miss Iris?” Putting on my best innocent face, although I’m pretty sure I look more like a constipated chicken, and I say, “I haven’t the slightest clue Mr. Mower, but please, enlighten me.” Ignoring me, he replies, “Miss Iris, you are here today because you were giving cheek to your teacher. Care to explain?” I sigh, though it’s only half-heartedly, “I would not care to explain, but since you asked ’sooo nicely‘, I’ll tell you. It wasn’t even that big of a deal, I was sleeping, she wakes me up saying ‘wHy Are YOu slEepiNg iN cLAsS ANNabEl?’ and she goes all red in the face too,” I begin snickering, and doing a, in my opinion, fabulous impression of Mrs. De’ath, or as we kind, and caring students call her ‘Ms. Death’. I continue, “And so I say, ‘your voice was just sooo relaxing, it put me to sleep!’ so then she comes back at me with, ‘WeLL tHeN wHy aRenT thE oThER sTuDeNts sLeePiNg aNNaBel?!’ and so I say, ‘that’s cause they weren’t listening miss.’ It was a simple misunderstanding. I was just trying to point out in the nicest way possible that no one was listening cause she’s soo boring, but she, was very rude and took it the completely wrong way! Hmph” I finish. Mr. Mower sighs, rubbing that spot in-between his eyebrows like old people do, and says “I have more important things to do With my time Miss. Iris, please go back to class for now, but you will have detention. After school, in B19.” I almost shiver. B block is the brick block, although it looks more like a prison, which figures since we have all our worst classes in there. Social science, nature of technology, maths. Ugh. But I shake the feeling, thank the principal and wander out into the hallway, making my way to Drama.
It’s not that I don’t like drama, it’s actually one of my favourite classes, but today we have a reliever, and it’s gone from my favourite class to a godforsaken place, which is almost as bad as maths. As the reliever, who’ name i just can’t be bothered to remember, continues droning on and on, it’s like a new form of torture. I write that down; ‘New form of torture - drone on and on in monotone voice until persons ears bleed.’ Fabulous. Did you know, when you’re bored, the clock becomes a thing of great interest, and currently, all eyes are on the clock. Watching. Waiting. The suspense hangs heavy in the air, as we watch the final seconds tick down. “DRRRRRIIIIINNNNGGGG!” The teacher continues droning on. I raise my hand. “Yes,” “Mister, the bell went. No one here wants to listen to your droning. It’s rather boring. Now, onto business, LET US GO FREE!” I gesture to my classmates to start the chant, “Go free, Go free, Go free, Go free!” “EVERYONE SHUT UP! IRIS, STAY BEHIND! EVERYONE ELSE,” he looks around, ” GET, OUT!” Everyone files out, some looking at me with pity, others with disgust. Rude. “Annabel, go to the principals office.” “Yippee!” I exclaim, “I just luuuuuv the principals office. Hang on Mister, lemme just add this visit to my list, visits today 2! Bye now~” and with that, I waltz out the classroom, dancing with John -My gorgeous invisible partner- and I do that the whole way to, and into the principals office.
Mr. Mower takes one look at me, sighs, and then tells me, “you already have detention, just go.” “Okieeee, have a good day, I’ll probably see you later, but bye for now.” Don’t you just love it when you get sent somewhere so often you don’t even have to go there anymore, because, thanks to the fact that I spend my afternoons in detention, and most of my day in Mr. Mower, my good friends office, I don’t even have to get lectured! “AHA,” I shout, to no one in particular, and sit down in the perfect spot in the hallway. Time for interval.
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