by Write Field
A middle school student can't handle class.
| He sits down at a desk because that’s what everyone else is doing. But he doesn’t take out a pen; that would be a leap. Nope, none of that yet. Not sure who runs this place. Who’s that kid over there in the skinny jeans with the boxers hanging out? What will he do if I throw a skittle at his head? If I’m ninja, he won’t know it’s me. Snap. Neck shot. Punk ass never even turned his head. That’s right. He knows what’ll happen. Sit there and act stupid, fool.
Who’s the joker in front? Chubby dude, looks lame. He gonna teach us? What’s he gonna do? Can’t make me work. I’ll just sit here. Listen to my headphones. See if he gets in my face. We’ll see. Last guy had a breakdown. I ran him right out of school. Heard he’s not even a teacher anymore. Left the state. Good. Hated that guy.
No cute girls in this class. Gum chomper in the hoodie ain’t bad if she fixed her teeth and combed her hair. Lucky I’m in here or she’d have nobody to talk to. “Hey. Hey. HEY!” She turned, just front. Don’t talk. Turn around. Be cool. Don’t let her see you. Chill. Nobody sees you. Don’t work. Don’t talk. Don’t smile.
I’ve got to get out of here. Why is he talking? What’s with her tapping? He’s looking at me again. She’s squeaking her shoes. I’m sweating. I’m starving. What’s he saying? What are they doing? Why are they writing? I’m out.
“Can I go get my bag from the gym?” “What?” “Because that was my last class.” “No, my jacket’s in there.” “Can I go to the nurse?” “That sucks.” “I said that’s garbage.” “Whatever. Forget you, man.” “Fine. I’m out.”
He gets up to leave with his head down. He shuffles his feet on the carpet and kicks the door. Then he stomps down the hallway to savor the moment. Now what? Who knows. The class settles for a minute, but their minds are gone. The questions linger, then fall unanswered. What time is it? When do we get out of here? Why is he talking? What’s with her tapping? He’s looking at me again.