Chapter One
Trigonometry. Differentiation. Integration.
Who ever created these subtopics truly had a problem. I mean, what is the whole point of deriving the sines, cosines and tangents of something. And then one has to farther differentiate and intergrate them? Abso-freaking-lutely makes no sense.
Mr. Matthews goes on teaching like the World War II never happened, and I glance around to see if I'm the only one that's not getting this.
Apparently, I'm the only rotten tomato in the basket, because everyone freaking looks like Einsten, even though I'm sure half the female population (if not all) is ogling Mr. Matthews muscles that keep on clenching in his grey shirt.
I can't blame them though, Mr. Matthews is young, no less than twenty eight. He's blonde, with sparkly ice blue eyes, that are filled with warmth. He's kind, and I always wonder how this teaching profession hasn't sucked the life out of him.
The fact that he's assistant football team coach is the final icing on the cake. They get to oggle him in tight shirts.
Heck, even Hector, the lousiest guy on the school's football team is paying attention, yet half the time of every class we share, his head is buried in his phone.
I don't bother with the two people on either side of me. On my left, Veronica, a cheerleader applies her lipstick, careful not to smudge any on the corners of her lips. The last time I asked her if she understood a thing, she said the only thing she needed was C in the subject, her eyes glued on some guy.
Hello, I need a freaking A on this. Clearly, attention wasn't something she required. She proceeded to make a mean comment about my hair, but I paid no attention to her.
On my right, Thomas, head of the Science Club doesn't blink, busily scribbling everything he can access from whatever the teacher's saying.
He's explanation was even more bizzare. I remember him saying differentiation and integration were kind of yin and yang since the other could reverse the other, kinda like opposites.
When I could only stare and blink at him, he didn't spare me another glance, and neither did I ask him again,nor anyone for that matter.
"Alright, class. It's time you received last week's test results." Mr. Matthews announces, and the room fills with excited murmurs and collective groans. I can only say I'm in the latter category. Luckily, he hands out our papers flipped on the underside,and I sigh in relief. It's short lived when my eyes find my test scores.
F
A giant red F sits comfortably on the top left corner of my paper. I blink, closing my eyes and praying it's only a dream. When my eyes are reopened, the enormous letter is still there. Of course it is. When has my life been perfect when I wish it to?
I glare at the red mark and it glares back, and for a minute, I consider tearing the paper up. My little imagination comes to a halt when the neat freak within me growls. I smother the little dog ears and wrinkles on it, before carefully tucking it in my backpack.
The rest of the class passes in a haze and it's not long before the bell rings. I do an inward little dance as I think of the free time I'm going to get for myself.
The room fills with sounds of chairs squeaking against the floor as students rise from their seats and head for the door. Soon, the classroom is almost empty and I rise to leave too. I shuffle, careful not to make body contact with the students still lingering in the room.
"Ms. Hunter."
The sound of Mr. Matthews voice halts my movements, causing me to face his direction. Before I'm fully in his vicinity, I let more of my hair to fall in my face, till I'm confident it's not openly visible. Satisfied with the results, I stroll to his desk.
"Take a seat, please." He gestures to the chair on his right. I do, and when he's sure my attention is undivided, Mr. Matthews speaks.
"You must know or guess why I asked you here." I feel his gaze on my face, clearly waiting for my response. I don't know why he asked me here, but nevertheless, I nod, keeping my eyes on anything but him. Finally finding the cover of a text book on his desk interesting, I keep them there.
"Considering your past grades, this is a rather an unexpected...uh... decline." Mr. Matthews continues speaking after finding the right words that don't involve him mentioning my outright failure. Ah, so this is why. Bingo.
" For this very reason, I have come to a conclusion. I'm getting you a tutor."
That captures my attention, and my head snaps up. I stare at my teacher through my curtain of dark hair, and I find his sky blue gaze is fixed on me.
A heavy silence stretches between us for what seems like hours and eventually, I manage to say or more correctly, choke out. "A t-tutor?"
"Yes, Ms. Hunter. A tutor. Clearly, you need one since you're the only one that failed this past test."
Wait, what? The only one who failed? I don't believe him. That is very impossible.
It clearly is. My mind taunts.
"Besides.." Mr. Matthews continues, oblivious to my train of thoughts. "..since you're a straight 'A' student, I'm willing to let you redo this test, on the condition you take up a tutor."
A little light goes off in my brain when he mentions letting me redo the test, but then I register the finality in his voice and the meaning of his words. If I don't take a tutor, he's not going to let me redo it, and that's something I don't want.
For a minute, I consider rejecting his offer but then inwardly wince as I imagine myself freely walking around with an F. Weighing my options and knowing I only have one way out, I look at my teacher. I heave out a sigh, then say the words that seal my fate.
"I'll get a tutor."
Mr. Matthews beams, looking like he just won the lottery. He mumbles, letting me know where I'll meet my tutor, and that I'll be starting on Monday.
The situation finally sinks in and I keep asking myself if what I have done is right.
Getting a tutor isn't so bad. Right?
Who ever created these subtopics truly had a problem. I mean, what is the whole point of deriving the sines, cosines and tangents of something. And then one has to farther differentiate and intergrate them? Abso-freaking-lutely makes no sense.
Mr. Matthews goes on teaching like the World War II never happened, and I glance around to see if I'm the only one that's not getting this.
Apparently, I'm the only rotten tomato in the basket, because everyone freaking looks like Einsten, even though I'm sure half the female population (if not all) is ogling Mr. Matthews muscles that keep on clenching in his grey shirt.
I can't blame them though, Mr. Matthews is young, no less than twenty eight. He's blonde, with sparkly ice blue eyes, that are filled with warmth. He's kind, and I always wonder how this teaching profession hasn't sucked the life out of him.
The fact that he's assistant football team coach is the final icing on the cake. They get to oggle him in tight shirts.
Heck, even Hector, the lousiest guy on the school's football team is paying attention, yet half the time of every class we share, his head is buried in his phone.
I don't bother with the two people on either side of me. On my left, Veronica, a cheerleader applies her lipstick, careful not to smudge any on the corners of her lips. The last time I asked her if she understood a thing, she said the only thing she needed was C in the subject, her eyes glued on some guy.
Hello, I need a freaking A on this. Clearly, attention wasn't something she required. She proceeded to make a mean comment about my hair, but I paid no attention to her.
On my right, Thomas, head of the Science Club doesn't blink, busily scribbling everything he can access from whatever the teacher's saying.
He's explanation was even more bizzare. I remember him saying differentiation and integration were kind of yin and yang since the other could reverse the other, kinda like opposites.
When I could only stare and blink at him, he didn't spare me another glance, and neither did I ask him again,nor anyone for that matter.
"Alright, class. It's time you received last week's test results." Mr. Matthews announces, and the room fills with excited murmurs and collective groans. I can only say I'm in the latter category. Luckily, he hands out our papers flipped on the underside,and I sigh in relief. It's short lived when my eyes find my test scores.
F
A giant red F sits comfortably on the top left corner of my paper. I blink, closing my eyes and praying it's only a dream. When my eyes are reopened, the enormous letter is still there. Of course it is. When has my life been perfect when I wish it to?
I glare at the red mark and it glares back, and for a minute, I consider tearing the paper up. My little imagination comes to a halt when the neat freak within me growls. I smother the little dog ears and wrinkles on it, before carefully tucking it in my backpack.
The rest of the class passes in a haze and it's not long before the bell rings. I do an inward little dance as I think of the free time I'm going to get for myself.
The room fills with sounds of chairs squeaking against the floor as students rise from their seats and head for the door. Soon, the classroom is almost empty and I rise to leave too. I shuffle, careful not to make body contact with the students still lingering in the room.
"Ms. Hunter."
The sound of Mr. Matthews voice halts my movements, causing me to face his direction. Before I'm fully in his vicinity, I let more of my hair to fall in my face, till I'm confident it's not openly visible. Satisfied with the results, I stroll to his desk.
"Take a seat, please." He gestures to the chair on his right. I do, and when he's sure my attention is undivided, Mr. Matthews speaks.
"You must know or guess why I asked you here." I feel his gaze on my face, clearly waiting for my response. I don't know why he asked me here, but nevertheless, I nod, keeping my eyes on anything but him. Finally finding the cover of a text book on his desk interesting, I keep them there.
"Considering your past grades, this is a rather an unexpected...uh... decline." Mr. Matthews continues speaking after finding the right words that don't involve him mentioning my outright failure. Ah, so this is why. Bingo.
" For this very reason, I have come to a conclusion. I'm getting you a tutor."
That captures my attention, and my head snaps up. I stare at my teacher through my curtain of dark hair, and I find his sky blue gaze is fixed on me.
A heavy silence stretches between us for what seems like hours and eventually, I manage to say or more correctly, choke out. "A t-tutor?"
"Yes, Ms. Hunter. A tutor. Clearly, you need one since you're the only one that failed this past test."
Wait, what? The only one who failed? I don't believe him. That is very impossible.
It clearly is. My mind taunts.
"Besides.." Mr. Matthews continues, oblivious to my train of thoughts. "..since you're a straight 'A' student, I'm willing to let you redo this test, on the condition you take up a tutor."
A little light goes off in my brain when he mentions letting me redo the test, but then I register the finality in his voice and the meaning of his words. If I don't take a tutor, he's not going to let me redo it, and that's something I don't want.
For a minute, I consider rejecting his offer but then inwardly wince as I imagine myself freely walking around with an F. Weighing my options and knowing I only have one way out, I look at my teacher. I heave out a sigh, then say the words that seal my fate.
"I'll get a tutor."
Mr. Matthews beams, looking like he just won the lottery. He mumbles, letting me know where I'll meet my tutor, and that I'll be starting on Monday.
The situation finally sinks in and I keep asking myself if what I have done is right.
Getting a tutor isn't so bad. Right?
