If you've never had the shock of a satyr knocking on your front door, consider yourself lucky. All you people out there hoping in your hearts that you are a half-blood, listen up. You may be praying that your parent is a god of Olympus and that you may someday earn their recognition to become a hero, but trust me, it's worthless. The chances of this are slim to nothing. I should know.
I'm already in the 7th grade and I've never had the opportunity to be normal in my life. You should consider yourselves very lucky if you're just a regular mortal. I've always been bad in school because of my "problems" as the school counselor, Mr. Farrell, likes to say. Mr. Farrell thinks he understands people with "problems" because he has a few "problems" himself. He's got some kind of muscular disorder in his legs that makes him pretty lame. But, he was like that start with: lame, boring and extremely old-fashioned. I mean, people stopped saying 'thy' hundreds of years ago!
My problems are the typical dyslexia and ADHD. How I got stuck with both, I'll never know. I just accept it now that it's never going to change, so it doesn't bother me any. Today, in English class, I was getting really embarrassed and annoyed at how I had to struggle to read a paragraph aloud in class. My English teacher, Ms. Benson, is pointedly nice to everyone but me. It's like she likes tomakesme read things that are difficult for me.
I was just following along with the group in the 7th Grade Literature book when she said, "My dear Ashlyn! Would you care to read the next paragraph for us?"
I wonder in my head, Am I allowed to say, um… no, thank you. I have the right to remain silent? I figured not. I bring the book really close to my face and some boy named Thomas snickers in the back of the class (I have to sit right in the front because she thinks it will 'help me see better'). I shake off the giggles and begin, "Ellen…"
"Nelle!" Ms. Benson interjects, "It's Nelle Harper Lee, my dear."
"Oh right…" My face turned a beat read. I knew that! Why didn't I just use my brain? "Nelle… often called her… uh, father… by his first name." I looked up at her after the painful minute it took me to decipher one sentence. She gave me a look that was an attempt at the encouragement to go on.
I just couldn't take it: the children stifling laughs, people picking their nails and girls talking about distracting stuff. So I stood up at looked at Ms. Benson. "I'm sorry Ms. Benson, I can't read aloud." I was so fed up with how my classmates were acting, I got up and left the room. Ms. Benson made no attempt to come after me.
Where's a girl to go when she runs out of her English class? Counseling. I headed for Mr. Farrell's room…