I wish Miss Mallery would wear less lipstick. Miss Mallery is my AP English teacher, she's 31 and unmarried, but she really hasn't stopped trying for a husband. Her matte red lipstick is smeared across he thin lips, her foundation is two shades too dark, and her pencil skirts get shorter every year. I'm only a Junior, but I know that I never want to be a teacher. Who wants to marry a teacher? I have long blonde hair, almost purple eyes, and full shiny pink lips. My wardrobe consists of tight skirts, leather pants, blouses, and leather jackets. I am not Miss Mallery, but that doesn't mean I'm not afraid of becoming her. I talk to my mother all the time about who I want to be, but she doesn't care enough about me to encourage me into a great future. All I have is myself and Jiffy- my kitten. My dad left when I was young, leaving my drug-addicted mother to clean up and take care of me. Mom blames me for him leaving; little does she know he was cheating on her with his secretary Emma. Either she was too strung out to notice or she just didn't care, but the day he left he handed me a teddy bear and promised me that it was more useful than it seemed. The last thing he ever said was to help mom, so I try.
"Angel? Are you taking notes or are you just daydreaming? The test is on Friday and if you don't have notes you won't get a retake." said Miss Mallory as she paused the ugly slide show to yell at me.
"You miss spelled 'Conjunctive' Miss Mallory." I replied. If she wants to yell at me about failing, maybe she should learn how to make a simple keynote.
"Did I ask for your opinion on this?" she asked, her face turning red. "I didn't think so Angel, now take notes or you can head on down to Mr. Penn's office. You choose." she tried to assert dominance over me, but that hasn't worked before, and it won't work now.
"Thank god I don't have to sit through what is supposed to be AP English. This is the same thing I learned two years ago in Freshman year. I'd learn more in Mr. Penn's office than I ever could learn here. Have a nice day guys." I retorted, packing up my laptop and bag. If she can't respect me, I won't respect her. Oh well, I never liked her anyway.
"Bye, Angel" said the boy behind me. I turned to look at him, realizing it was Jordan. I laughed and kissed him on the cheek before leaving the classroom, heading towards the principal's office. This may sound surprising, but I am usually a good student. I turn in my work and have maintained a 4.3 GPA for three years in a row. It's May and I only have about a year left of high school, but none of my teachers like me. Well, other than Mr. Penn, but he's basically me, but a guy and really old.
I turned the corner at the end of the locker-lined hallway under the flickering fluorescent lights and remember just how small my school is. I finally reach the big double doors separating the offices from the classrooms.
"Angel, how many times have you been sent to the office in this month alone?" asked Vanndel, the school's secretary. I laughed loudly and sarcastically.
"Sorry Vanndel, but I am never sent here. I volunteer." I replied to her eternal bitch-face. I can't stand this school, no one has respect. You could say I have no respect, but I never cared enough to respect others. I walked past her and headed towards Mr. Penn's office. Mr. Penn has the biggest office in the entire building, he has a nice view of the city and has a freaking ball pit. I know I'm 16 and that shouldn't make me feel a childish excitement, but it totally does.
"Ahh, Angel. What have you done now?" asks the old man behind the desk as he lights his cigarette.
"Ahh, Mr. Penn, I am quite sure Miss Mallory has already called you and made me seem as though I kicked a puppy, but I really didn't do anything too bad. I think the altercation with Jemma Kane was way worse than me smarting off to a disrespectful teacher." I explained, reminding him how insignificant this situation really seems in the bigger picture.
"True, Jemma Kane was in the hospital for a few months after your little fight, but honestly, I know she shouldn't have started it. We call it self-defense here, but state regulates things like this. You only have two strikes left and you will have to be expelled. I'm going to leave this off the record because If I were you I'd've been a bit smart-mouthed as well. You can sit in the ball pit until three. Go ahead and get some home work done." this is why Mr. Penn is my favorite. He totally understands how I feel about this place.
I wander over to the ball pit and sit down in the corner, pulling my laptop out of its bag and begin to write my last high school history paper ever. I have all of my history, biology, and math credits for high school completed, all I have left is AP English and a bit of Latin. Thank god for that. I plug in my headphones and begin to space as my fingers run across the keyboard and my paper gets more and more done every minute. Music blasting in my ears, the occasional sip of water and bite of chips from inside my bag, and the finishing of my history paper makes today seem like it will be a great day.