I hate school. Always have, always will. It's just so boring, sitting here listening to the same basic stuff day after day after day. I'd so much rather be outside doing things that actually matter, like learning how to fight. I mean, I already know how, obviously, but knowing more advanced hand-to-hand combat would be nice. I just need to move around more, be active and jump and run and get my adrenaline pumping… not like in school. We just sit there.
That's why I like fighting. Ever since I could walk I've been taking karate, Ju Jitzu, kickboxing, mixed martial arts, boxing… I love how in fighting, you use your body all the time, and the action never lets up, but also how you need to use your mind, too, to come up with new ways to beat the enemy all the time. It's a true test of strength, to see if you can be brilliant under so much physical and mental pressure with so many other distractions.
So today, like any other day, I stare out the window and daydream about my kickboxing class after school. I only have one more period left to trudge through before I finally get to go. Today we're going to try flip-kicks, where we do a front flip and kick the enemy with your heel as you're coming down for your landing. I can feel my pulse rushing already.
"Earth to Petra, wherever she may be. There is still a class going on, Petra, would you please answer the question?" Damn it. Caught. Whatever, I can handle this. First grade is a joke. "I'm sorry, Mr. Turner, could you repeat the question please?" Mr. Turner rolls his eyes and begins to lecture me. "Miss Arkanian, I understand that it is close to the end of the day, however, there is still class and you are still a part of it. If you continue dozing off during my science lessons, more serious measures will have to be taken."
Oh, please. 'More serious measures'? For my idiot six-year-old classmates, just hearing the threat being given to me is enough to make them shiver. Obviously none of them have ever taken anyone down in a Mixed Martial Arts championship match. Don't they realize the threat is empty? Can't they see how little it matters even if 'more serious measures' WERE to be taken? What could they do to us, take away our nap time? We're six! You can't get into trouble here on Earth until you outgrow your cute little noggin.
Yet my naive, trusting, sweet little classmates think any threat from their dear beloved guardians of teachers and parents is worse than the end of the world. God, it bothers me how stupid they all are. Grade one is useless, on top of everything. You don't start learning for real until high school, where most of my dear classmates will buckle under the 'pressure' of having to learn something real for the first time in their lives. I wish I could go to high school right now, though. I hate how everyone treats me like a baby just because I'm little. I could do better than most of my teachers on a high school test, probably. But my talents are wasted here, because nobody is smart enough to see through the adorable face of a five-and-a-half-year old.
Mr. Turner continues after a pause, waiting to see if I've registered his 'threat'. Oh, I have. When he sees that he has yet again failed to bother me, he sighs and says, "The question, Miss Arkanian, is what is the purpose of your brain?" I snort and laugh out loud. "That's the question I so desperately am supposed to answer?" Mr. Turner narrows his eyes. "Yes, Miss Arkanian, that is the question. Can you answer it or not?" Of course I can answer it! What kind of stupid question is that? But I'm going to really drag this one out. "Mr. Turner, may I please use the board to give me a visual example for me to explain, along with words?" Mr. Turner suddenly looks pleased. "Yes, of course you may."
I hide my smile and waltz to the front of the room. "The brain, as I'm sure you are all aware, looks like this:" I draw a picture of the brain on the board, pointing to different parts of it as I speak. "Each section of the brain has a specific function to control. This section, for example, controls your working memory. This section controls your executive function. These sections control your short and long-term memory. This section controls your ability to reason and make intelligent choices. All these sections of the brain combined can generally make up your basic intelligence level. So if, for example, you have my brain," I pause to smile and bat my eyes, "these areas will be plentiful and full of wonderfulness and candy." This earns a few chuckles from around the room, even though I'm sure none of them know what 'executive function' means. The answer, of course, that Mr. Turner is looking for, is 'The brain controls our bodies.' That was the answer he spoon-fed the class yesterday. So I specifically targeted the areas that have to do with general intellect in the brain to avoid his answer while still correctly answer the question.
"However, if you aren't as fortunate as dear ol' Petra and you end up like Mr. Turner, for example…" I wave my hand over at the teacher, who's familiar 'Petra-is-so-going-to-get-it look is creeping back over his face, "These areas will be in short supply - if we assume that they're even there at all." At this point, the class erupts into laughter. "Alright, Petra, I think that's enough." Mr. Turner raises his voice to fruitlessly attempt to get the class back under control, or at least under his control instead of mine. "Oh, but Mr. Turner," I reply innocently, staring wide-eyed up into his face, "I haven't answered your question yet!" I turn back to the class, who has quieted down enough for me to continue, waiting eagerly to listen to the girl who bold-faced the teacher so directly. Mr. Turner sighs and gives up, giving me the go to continue.
"Alright, so, where was I? Oh, yes, so if you, like Mr. Turner, are given very little in the, er, brains department," I pause and smile, allowing my downright moronic peers the subsequent time they need to get the joke, "then these areas of the brain will have to work harder than everyone else's to carry out the same functions everybody else's brains do easily. This is why Mr. Turner is so mean all the time. It's because his brain is working too hard on being smart and not enough on being nice-" "Alright, Miss Arkanian, what is your point?" Mr. Turner's getting real pissed now. I think I went a bit too far bringing in his personality as a whole. Well, too late to turn back now. "Yes, Mr. Turner. The point is that your question is unanswerable because depending on whose brains are bigger in which places, the brain will have different overall functions on the body. As well, there are many different areas of the brain and it would take a long time to explain all the different tasks a brain carries out… maybe even an entire lesson." I grin mischievously at that, knowing only Mr. Turner will understand the hidden meaning behind my careful choice of words.
Just then, the bell rings. As I walk out the door, however, Mr. Turner calls out, "Petra, a word, please."