The Angela Montenegro Guide to High School
Hello…journal? Diary? What is this supposed to be called anyway? Hello, . So… what do I write? What should I write is more like it? This is in NO way a diary. I have to hand this in near the end of the year so no way. How bout I introduce myself my name is…well… just call me Angela. I'll change my name to that anyway, plus that's what everyone calls me. Out of force. My father gave me SUCH a hiddious hideous name to begin with it is partly his fault I used to get teased so much. I am almost sixteen. I was born in Baltimore on April 16th. I also love art. Always have. Most of my classes are for art. I am only taking the bare minnimim minimum to graduate, Except French. I want to go to France. There it will be important. That's all you need to know I guess. I can talk about my day now I guess. So obviously this is one of the first few weeks of school. The idea of school being fun for the first few days is really only exciting for younger kids. It significantly drops after at least seventh grade. For me anyway. Unless it's a new school. Then its eather either exciting or terrifying maybe a mix of both. This is a new school for me. This idea of staying-in-one-place is new to me. I am used to having to go half way through the year or for a couple of months. One year, I had a tutor that traveled through Europe and Asia with me. But my dad assures me at least two years here. I don't trust it. He likes to move around too. But I like to move around because I don't like staying in one place. He just couldn't care less about the where just the why. I am more of a free-sprit type of person my dad is a musician. He goes where the band managers tell him he can play. Not that I mind that part. I'm used to that aspect of it. The touring and stuff. I just walk around and when no one was rehearsing I played on the stage. But I got off track again.
"Angela!"
"Yeah?"
"Take-outs here"
"Coming"
Sorry journalthingy food awaits.
Angela skipped down the stairs from her room to the living room, where her dad awaited with Chinese food.
"Hey dad"
"Angie" her father said as he passed his daughter the carton of food. "How's the homework coming?"
"Fine" she replied with a mouthful of food still in her mouth. "I have to write in a journal for the rest of the year"
"How do you feel about that?"
"I guess I'll get used to it. Its for the rest of the year"
"You'll do great"
"But I have to hand it in. journals are supposed to be a private thing"
"That's okay. I am sure your teacher just wants to see progression or something"
"So its not even a wee creepy"
"Angie you worrying about it aint gonna help a soul"
"What's that mean?"
"Take it for what it is"
Okay, journalthingy. Here's the deal. I am not the most thrilled about writing in you, got it? Good. But my dad says worrying isn't going to help. Well they were not those exact words. Imagine more cryptic and with a Texas accent. I don't know what he is trying to tell me. That's just my dad. I think it means –and this is just a guess- to just write things in it and not think. This is coming from the guy who found my name 'in a dream'. Then again that's how I found Angela Montenegro so I shouldn't knock the idea. What I mean as my dad can be very cryptic and it can freak people out. I find its best to try to get what you think it means then leave it. What he was actually saying. You could just wait for him tell you but its fun to write what you think it means and compare the meaning. I have made it into a game. So if I theorize like a scientist in here just ignore it. It means my dad said something that's confusing and I am playing my game.
Good night.
Angela was putting her things in her locker the next morning when she felt someone tap on her shoulder.
"Hi" the girl said. "Are you my locker partner?"
"I think so…" Angela said. "I'm Angela"
"I'm Blair." The girl introduced her self as
Angela moved to let her through.
"Are you new here?" Blair asked.
"Uh, yeah." Angela answered.
"I thought so. I didn't recognize you"
Blair was a little shorter than Angela. She was wearing canvas sneakers black jeans a neon green tee and a gray sweater. Her very light brown maybe almost blonde hair was pulled back into ponytail. She looked way different from the other students. While the other girls wanted to look 'cool' Blair looked like herself. Like she didn't care about what was 'cool' she just wore what she liked. Much like Angela herself, who was wearing boots, patterned tights and a too big tour shirt she found in Europe.
"Aren't you in my English class?" asked Angela
"I think so." Blair replied. "Doing the Journals right?"
"Yeah."
"Fun right?" she said sarcastically
"I know, oh so fun" Angela said just as sarcastically
"What classes you have today?" Blair asked
"Math, drawing/painting, art, ceramics, graphics" she replied
"Wow, fun day today."
"Minus the math yes it is."
"I think I'm also taking Painting with you"
"Really? That's awesome. I'll see you there then."
"Yeah see ya"
Angela walked to her next class. Math. Math was a subject that bored her. But it was kind of easy. But she didn't think she would ever use this stuff in her life. When would she need it? When she walked into the classroom everyone was busy talking to his or her friends. She sat at one of the vacant desks in one of the center rows. She was looking around the room. A chalkboard at the front of the room and another on the left wall. The wall behind her had math posters pinned up and stuff about pi and Pythagoras. It was in no way a nice room to be in. the chairs were a hard metal and uncomfortable not to mention a terrible puke green colour. There was a shelf on the left wall below windows full of textbooks from grades 9, 10, and 11. The teacher's desk was by the window in the front of the room. No teacher was present in the room. Probably in the staff room down the hall, drinking coffee and talking with other teachers before class had to begin. Angela bent down to go into her backpack to pull out her supplies. A pink binder, blue pencil case and a math textbook. As she was placing her items on her desk she notice someone sitting beside her. A tall mop-haired guy in a varsity jacket had sat beside her. His back was to her and was talking to some other guy in a varsity jacket. Not that she cared but found it odd he was sitting next her when a vacant seat was next to his friend. She heard the class door close and saw her teacher, Mrs. Bailey walk to the front of the class.
"Morning class. Shall we take attendance? Raise your hand if you're here. Georgia Bays? Andy Behr? Winston Chow? Amy Cook? Dana Cox? Richard Ellis? Kate Harris? Peter Howard? Emily Jenkins?"
Somewhere after that Angela zoned out until she heard the start of her name.
"Angela Montenegro?"
Angela raised her hand.
"Alison Peterson?"
Angela started to doodle on a piece of paper. She drew flowers and swirls until whoever was next to her started talking to her quietly.
"That's a good drawing," he pointed to her paper. Angela had zoned out so much she hadn't realized she drew a garden full of sunflowers that looked really good, even to her.
"Thanks" she whispered back.
"You should take art seriously," he whispered back
"I already do." she stated
"That's…good." He smiled at her.
She smiled back politely and turned the page over so she had a fresh new piece of paper for her math notes.
'The guy was cute' she thought but wasn't someone she would find herself attracted to. He seemed kinda stupid. She was right.
He hadn't figured out the work yet, which wasn't a big deal, everyone works at there own pace. He just refused to work, talked to loud, and kept saying about how he didn't understand any of it and deemed it useless to learn. Angela partly agreed she probably would never use algebra or need to know about square or cube roots; she never would need to use properties, functions or formulas. She was an artist. But some people may need it so Angela understood the purpose to learn it. She also understood math quite well.
After class she was asked to talk with her teacher.
"Miss. Montenegro?"
"Yes, Mrs. Bailey?"
"Would you mind helping Mr. Torres with the work? He may need a tutor and you have some of the best grades in the class."
"Ok. I think I can do that."
"Thank you Angela."
Angela promptly walked out of the class, realizing she had no information on this guy. Or even when she would be tutoring. It felt weird to think she would be tutoring someone, but obviously she was happy to help. She was confident her dad wouldn't mind. Her father loved it when she said she was helping in any shape or form. When it was drying the dishes to organizing a fundraiser, he loved seeing her help. He also loved helping her help. Well maybe not 'helping' per says, more like interfering. Helping was second to the three things her father loved seeing her do. The third succeeding and the first being happy. And if he had to interfere to make any one of the three possible he would, even if he was on another continent. Once in the eighth grade she had offered to make banners to advertise the school dance while he was doing a short tour in Europe, he got people to come over and help her make them. She had it all under control but he couldn't help but interfere. But the banners did look fabulous.
Angela walked towards her next class in the Arts wing. The school was split into sections. There was a Math and Science wing. A floor for languages and a socials studies floor. English wing. Then the arts wing and the business/any other subjects offered. Sadly for Angela, the math wing was on the other side of the school grounds as the Arts wing. Luckily most of her classes were in the arts wing. Not too much moving across the school. She went back to her locker to drop off her work from her previous class. And went on her way.
As she walked into the studio, she saw about 20 easels with chairs behind them. She quickly saw Blair sitting in the front of the class. Angela smiled and waved at the girl and walked to the empty easel beside her.
"Hey. How was your last class?" Angela said
"Oh hello! Good just history class. How bout you?"
"Just math class" Angela placed her sketchbook and her pencils on the easel. "Is this teacher any good?" she asked
"One of the best art teachers we have here. Others don't truly teach."
"Oh thank goodness"
"Too bad a lot of others don't take it seriously"
"Well at least we do"
"Exactly"
The two girls smiled at each other. Quickly class got started.
"Good morning all!" Ms. Aldrin "welcome to Drawing and painting 10!"
Angela felt in her element instantly. Art really was her talent.
"Today we are going to work on black and white pictures and how we can create different shades with one pen for our first project"
Angela was ecstatic. This was her first art class for a long time, and she was eager to get started.
For the rest of the class, they practiced different techniques with black markers and fine liners. Ms. Aldrin walked around sharing her ideas and suggestions to better their art. She had some creative ways to get attention when the class got a little out of hand, and some may think she was insane, but she was well liked by the students. She quickly became one of Angela's favorite teachers.
Hello, ! Nice to write again! Okay… not really. I would much rather draw. Anyhow… I will tell you about my day. I went to math it was boring. I did math work there. Art class was awesome! Ms. Aldrin is great; she really understands what she is doing. For that I am happy. She seems to get along with the students. She is a little bit, over the top and has some very interesting methods. She says she formed them from being a kindergarten teacher for so long she also is very funny. My ceramics class was fun; so far we are still learning how to use the equipment. But I am told we will be working on projects soon enough. Well, I am not the most patient person. But for this sake, I will. It will happen soon enough, I hope. I have to tell you about this weird dream I have, ok with that journalthingy. I was in a large shiny building, a lab of sorts, I was talking to someone, and I was calling her Bren. I don't think I know her. But it seemed real. Like it was natural. And we were talking about someone called Booth. What kind of name is Booth? It reminds me of like you would find at a restaurant. I am so confused, what does that even mean?