Another day, another dose of monotonous drivel.
I fought to keep my head up as the droning lulled me into an astoundingly relaxed state. It was amazing how soothing his tiresome voice could be…
"Eep!" I shrieked, then quieted myself as I felt a stab in my side. Alice had once again taken it upon herself to keep me awake for the duration of biology class, this time with a seemingly deadly ink pen.
"Ahem," Mr. Banner cleared his throat and looked pointedly at me. I straightened up, then nodded embarrassedly for him to continue. He did, without missing a beat.
So, about last weekend… Alice had scribbled on her notebook. Of course, she disturbed my nap not for my educational benefit, but so she could gush about her latest schoolgirl crush.
What about it? I scrawled back. I honestly didn't really care about him or what she did with him, but her latest fling would certainly be more interesting than the mechanism of photosynthesis.
OMG, you will not believe it… Alice happily spent minutes at a time detailing her escapade in excruciating detail, leaving me to let my mind wander in the interim. When she did demand a response, I graced her with an "Oh, how interesting," or, "Wow!"
The bell rang, much to Mr. Banner's and Alice's dismay. The students shuffled out of the classroom in their drowsy stupor.
Alice followed me as I worked my way out of the classroom. "So anyway, everything was going fine until I saw that he was wearing black socks with brown shoes, and then it was all over," she stopped and looked at me for affirmation. "Bella? Did you hear me? I said he was wearing black socks and brown shoes!"
I looked down at my hyperactive best friend. "I'm surprised you didn't confiscate his shoes right there," I managed to mumble. As much as I loved Alice, I wished she would leave me to suffer through the school day in peace.
"I know, right? Anyway…" Alice bobbed at my shoulder all the way to English class, lamenting this poor fool's lack of color coordination.
I finally made my way to English after winding my way through the herds of mindless drones and threw myself into my usual inconspicuous corner seat. Mrs. Drake, the incompetent instructor du jour, was already busy passing back last week's poetry portfolios.
"Mr. Newton, Angelina Jolie is not an appropriate topic for your portfolio, no matter how poetically you feel you described her 'lush backside,'" she tsked at one student. "Mr. Cheney, adequate work," she sighed as she tossed a folder to a quiet classmate. She caught my eye and worked her way back to my secluded corner. Oh great.
"Miss Brandon, you have some interesting insights on love in here," she said as she handed Alice her work.
Alice's face brightened. "Oh, it turns out I didn't actually love him. I just-"
"Fascinating," Mrs. Drake cut her off. "Miss Swan, see me after class," she gave me a death stare as she pushed my portfolio into my hands. I reciprocated her gaze and she marched back to the front of the room.
"What do you think it is this time?" Alice inquired, leaning over to see my work. "You weren't sexually explicit or anything, were you?"
I managed a small laugh. "No," I replied, "I left the gratuitous fanfiction to Mike up there."
"So what do you think it could be? This cow doesn't think you're plagiarizing, does she? God, I hate these stupid teachers!"
"Maybe," I shrugged. Throughout my educational career, I had experienced many an overzealous teacher bent on exposing my alleged plagiarism. In reality, these teachers simply couldn't comprehend that they had found a student with a basic mastery of the English language. Although I wouldn't put it past her, Mrs. Drake, so far, had not been so foolish as to accuse me of cheating, and I doubted she would start now. The assignment had been overly easy- we were tasked with composing our own poems around a central theme. Really, how hard could it be to slop together some words with no structure or punctuation? I personally just pulled pieces from my personal repertoire and handed them in, not caring to put effort into such a meaningless assignment.
"Or maybe she wants to publish you! You're really good, you know!" Alice bubbled.
I gave a halfhearted smile. "Maybe," I appeased her. Alice was always looking on the most optimistic side of situations. Although I'm certain it made for a rosy little outlook, I couldn't help but feel that Alice was entirely unrealistic and would someday see the error of her ways.
Alice and the rest of my peers finally quieted down when Mrs. Drake put in a movie. Hamlet. Well, at least it had a happy ending, right?
I dozed during the movie. One can really only watch Kenneth Branagh so many times before attempting suicide, and he was one of Drake's favorites. It was only last month that I had suffered through his rendition of Much Ado About Nothing. No, the only option here was to sleep, and perchance, to dream.
I did not dream. I had not been dreaming for quite a while, which was perfectly acceptable to me, as I typically had unpleasant nightmares when I did. None of which, however, were as unpleasant as waking to Drake's face next to mine.
"Ahh!" I yelled, jumping back out of my chair. The bitch had been hovering over me, leering, possibly waiting for me to wake up. I glanced around, fearful of my classmates' reaction. They were gone. It was just Drake and me, and I had the distinct impression that she was going to drag me out back and bludgeon me.
She stood up and moved to sit in another chair. I quickly stood and grabbed my backpack. "Detention, then," I stated, knowing full well the usual punishment.
Drake just gave me her blank stare. "Have a seat, Miss Swan," she gestured.
I sat uneasily. I was fully aware of the school's policy on behavioral infractions, and though I knew she couldn't legally give me more than detention, she could try, and I would have to expend more effort than I wished to get out of it.
"Your behavior has been quite alarming these past few months, Miss Swan."
I continued to stare. That statement did not require a response.
She continued, "You've been lethargic, quiet, and nonresponsive in class."
I wanted to congratulate her on stating the obvious, but she wasn't worth the energy.
She frowned when I remained mute. "Your personality has changed significantly since I met you as a freshman. You were vibrant and argumentative and brilliant, but now you appear empty, soulless. Other teachers are worried as well."
Other teachers? Since when have I become teachers' lounge gossip? And why don't these people have lives?
She sighed at my obstinate silence, "I would have let you be, and chalked it up to senioritis, but your portfolio alarmed me. As an educator, it is my responsibility to inform Dr. Harris of the self-destructive themes present in your poetry."
Oh no, I was not letting this happen. That guidance counselor was the bane of my existence, and I was not spending another free period in his office. I finally spoke, "It's fiction. This is a class over fictitious literature. Am I not allowed to explore a theme so broadly used by countless classic writers? Writers you encouraged us to read, respect, and emulate?" That's right. It's her fault. She can't report me now.
Drake sighed again, "Miss Swan, you and I both know full well that you wrote these in your extracurricular time. I heard Miss Brandon's shrill voice exclaim that she wished she wrote poetry for fun so she wouldn't have to spend her weekend writing 'this crap.'"
Shit. Damn Alice for her high, loud voice. Damn Mrs. Drake for having nothing better to do with her time. Damn me for sharing something personal and attempting to pass it off as drivel.
She continued, "Anyway, I'm not even required to inform you that I forwarded your work along to Dr. Harris, but I thought I would as a courtesy. You can expect an appointment with him sometime in the near future."
I glared at her.
She hesitated, then spoke again, "You shouldn't view this as an attack. I was merely concerned for your well-being."
I'm sure she was. I got up and left her classroom without so much as a goodbye. I stormed through the halls, burning off steam before I made it to the cafeteria. I was furious that she had the nerve to intrude on my personal life. So what if I wrote emo poetry? There was no substantial evidence that I didn't just emulate Dickinson or Poe. She just needed something to do to make herself feel powerful and needed.
My steps slowed and I no longer felt the burst of righteous anger that had fueled my marching just seconds ago. I couldn't help but feel that I had put myself in this situation by being lazy and turning in recreational poetry for the assignment. It really was my fault, not Drake's. Yeah, she was a bitch, but I fed her bitchiness by giving her something to do with it. I felt a weight drop onto my shoulders as I shuffled into the cafeteria, contemplating my own stupidity.
A/N: This is the first story I've had the nerve to publish. If you like it, review it, because I'm not going to continue without feedback.
