Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta
Chapter Eleven – Start of Fourth Grade
Disclaimer: I only own the OCs.
Summary: The kids start 4th Grade. They meet their new teacher…who is very strange.
Author's Notes: …I'm bored. And I want more reviews… Oh yeah, this chapter is five and 1/4th of a year after the last one. And it's in Ryan's POV.
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September 4, 2019
South Park, CO
7:30 A.M.
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"Hey, bitches!!" Katie shouts at us as we walk to the bus stop. Danny's just sitting on a rock and looking for the bus, like he's done every school day for the past year. It's kinda unnerving. Sometimes I wonder what he's thinking about, but, knowing Danny, I probably don't wanna know.
"Hey yourself!" I shout back with a wave, watching with a roll of my eyes and a grimace as David rushes to her side with a sly look, saying "Heeey Katie!!" I don't know why she just doesn't slap him. It's GOT to be just as annoying to her as it is to me, and probably Danny too. But then again, he's way closer to her than David and I are, and he probably knows shit that would scare a Marine away from her.
Just as he's done every school day for the past year, David sits next to Katie on the bus, leaving me stuck across the aisle with Danny. David's attempting to make small talk with her. With an exasperated sigh, I turn to try and strike up a conversation with Danny.
"Hey," I begin.
"Hey," he returns.
"What's up?"
"Nothin' much."
"Oh," I say. "Did you catch the game last night?"
"No. Was it good?"
"I dunno. I didn't watch it either."
"Well then why'd you ask me?"
"I was just wonderin', God!"
"Dad won't let me watch TV. I'm grounded again."
"The hell'd you do now?"
"I didn't buy the amount of pencils he told me to buy."
"Dude. You SERIOUSLY need to have it out with your dad. He's worse than my Grandma Broflovski."
"Dude, no one could be worse than your Grandma Broflovski. I heard she's the biggest bitch in the whole world."
"Dude, shut the fuck up. She makes great cookies. Not as good as Granma Marsh, but cookies are cookies."
"Doesn't make her any less of a bitch," Danny points out.
"Can your dad make cookies?" I ask.
"You can't make cookies out of wheat bread and beer," Danny replies sullenly.
"You don't have anything to make cookies with?" I ask incredulously. Danny shakes his head no.
"Dude," I say. "You are SERIOUSLY being deprived. I'll see if I can get Dad or Pops to talk to Uncle Leo. You're thin as a rail, Danny! Have you not eaten anything all summer?"
"Not really. Except for what I could scrounge out of Uncle Kenny's restaurant or bum off you guys."
"Your dad sucks, Danny."
"Yeah, I know…sometimes I think he wishes he'd never had me."
"Oh come off it, of course he doesn't."
"Then how come I've heard him call me a mistake?"
"Was he drunk?"
"Is he ever sober?"
"Touché," I reply, as the bus jerks to a halt outside South Park Elementary. Corralling Katie, David, and Danny, I lead us off in the direction of our new classroom. We're on the second floor this year, Room 104. Curiously though, when we got our end-of-year report cards last year, it said "Promoted to Grade Four: Yes," but then "Teacher?" Pops said it was because the Fourth Grade teacher had retired, and the school board hadn't hired a replacement yet. So, neither of my parents knows what lies behind that door…well, no…they know WHAT, they just don't know WHO.
"Well? We goin' in or not?" Katie demands impatiently, snapping a piece of bubble gum. She's been doing that All Fucking Summer. Suffice to say, I'm annoyed with it. I don't know HOW the hell David can put up with it.
"Yeah, we're goin' in," I shoot back. "I'm just a little … apprehensive."
"Well c'mon, dude, the tardy bell rings in a couple minutes!" David insists from behind me. I reach for the knob, but just as I grasp it, it turns on its own and is swung open from the inside, revealing a guy who I would estimate to be about 45 years old, six feet tall, probably around 180 pounds, and he's DEFINITELY part French or Chinese, if that creepy mustache is any indicator.
"Ahh," he says in an airy tone. "Mr. Broflovski, Mr. Marsh, Ms. McKormick, and Mr. Stotch. Front and center, lady and gentlemen. It is time for class to begin. Welcome to Fourth Grade. I am Mister Ious."
Slightly put off, we walk to our seats, which have been arranged alphabetically across the center of the front row. Luckily for me (he certainly doesn't seem to agree), I'm seated next to David.
"Did he just say he's mysterious?" David asks me, after a second of apprehension.
"No, he said his name is Mister Ious. Besides, mysterious isn't the word I'd use to describe him…I think I'd go with either creepy or strange," I whisper back, as Mr. Ious shuts the door and proceeds to the front of the room.
"Welcome, class, to the beginning of your fourth grade year. In order to determine who knows what in this class, and what I must teach you this year, I have prepared a small pop quiz. Please clear your desks of all materials save for a number two pencil. Best of luck," he said in that same disturbingly airy tone, making his way across the room passing out quizzes. The shocked looks I see on my classmates' face tell me to be wary of this quiz. Then Mr. Ious is standing in front of my row, holding out three quizzes. Taking one for myself and passing the other two back, I give it a quick once over.
After the customary blanks for name, and date, I notice the subject matter on the quiz. "Eastern European Geopolitics of the Late Twentieth Century." What. The. Hell. I quirk an eyebrow of my own, scribbling down my name and the date as Mr. Ious announces that we "shall have ten minutes to complete the quiz. Upon completion, please turn the papers over on your desk until the class is finished, at which time I will collect your papers." God, I don't think I'll EVER get used to hearing that contraction-less, grammatically perfect voice. In fact, I think it will haunt me until the end of my days.
That thought aside, I look at the first question on the quiz.
Who was the final General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics?
Well hell, that's easy. Scribbling down "Mikhail Gorbachev," I move on to the next question:
Which two revolutionary policies introduced by Secretary Gorbachev ultimately paved the way for the Collapse of said Union?
"Perestroika and Glasnost," I write, proceeding to systematically answer each of the eight remaining questions before half of the allotted time is up. Turning my paper over and placing my pencil neatly atop it, I sneak a glance at the progress of both David and Katie. David is only half done, a grimace on his face, and Katie appears to be swearing under her breath at question 8 ("What was the Soviet answer to the North Atlantic Treaty Organization?"). Returning my gaze to Mr. Ious, I see a hint of interest and approval in his stare.
Another five minutes pass, and Mr. Ious calls time, ordering us to pass our quizzes up and over for collection. As he walks over to collect them from the student closest to the door, he already has a red pen uncapped, and tells us to "Discuss amongst yourselves with regards to your answers," as he walks to his desk, already marking answers incorrect on the first paper on the pile.
"Dude! What the fuck was up with that?" David asks me. "You may not think he's mysterious, Ryan, but there is DEFINITELY something wrong with him! We've never studied the Peogolitics of Eastern Europe, or whatever the fuck that shit was about. Hell, I think I only got the last one right!"
"That's cuz you like jokes that were old before our parents were born!" I shoot back. "'Complete the following statement: In America, you find party. In Soviet Russia, blank blanks blank.'"
"Party finds YOU!!" David helpfully supplies with a grin. "That's a good one. I think I'm gonna like this guy."
"David, honestly. The only good 'In Soviet Russia' joke ever made was 'Roses are Red, Violets are Blue, in Soviet Russia, poem writes you,'" Katie replies. David begins chuckling.
"In America, you watch television. In Soviet Russia, television watches YOU!!" he replies.
"In Soviet Russia, taxi calls YOU!!" from Katie.
"In Soviet Russia, Internet surfs YOU!!" – David.
"In Soviet Russia, Stormtrooper shoots YOU!!" – Danny.
"In Soviet Russia, n00b pwns j00!" – Katie.
"In Soviet Russia, the fuck up shuts all of YOU!!" I grouse, rolling my eyes. "Try figuring out what that translates to in America."
"Jesus, Ryan, no need to be so snippy," Katie says. Just then Mr. Ious slaps a yardstick against the blackboard to attract all of our attention.
"Settle down. I have graded all of your quizzes, and I am fairly disappointed in all of you. I believe fifty percent of you failed outright, and of those that passed all but one only had six out of ten correct. Where is Mr. Ryan Marsh?" he asks, scanning the classroom.
"Here, sir," I answer, raising my hand to be sure he sees me.
"You are the closest that anyone in the class came to a perfect score, with a nine out of ten. To answer your upcoming question, you answered Question Seven, 'How many Presidents did the Russian Federation have in the 1990s?' incorrectly. Vladimir Putin did not take office until the year 2000; therefore, Boris Yeltsin was the only President of Russia in the 1990s."
"Yes sir," I say.
"However, Mr. Marsh, because of your intelligence on a subject so far beyond your grade level, you are hereby labeled the class nerd. I would suggest martial arts training to avoid the noogies, wet willies, and wedgies," he announces, causing me to flush scarlet and sink down in my seat.
"Now, class, our first lesson today is on multiplication tables. There are mathematics textbooks beneath your desks. Please retrieve your copy and turn to page fifty-six. To multiply…" The lecture goes on, but I just absently stare at my textbook's page fifty-six as I fume over Mr. Ious' audacity.
I am NOT a nerd! It's not my fault I'm the only goddamn smart one in this class…that doesn't mean he has any right to single me out and practically encourage my classmates to pick on me. I'm gonna ask Pops if he had any right to do that. He can't do that, can he? That's an egregious dereliction of duty. A teacher is supposed to foster a cooperative learning environment, where all the students will be safe and not have to worry about bullying. But he just took that second part of the directive and shot it to hell, in my eyes. And word will spread fast, too. No amount of martial arts training'll stop Jason and his little group from trying to shove me into a garbage can. Sorry, mysterious, but if you didn't know this about me, I hold grudges. I can hold them a Goddamn long time. Let's just see you TRY to get another answer out of me! Not gonna happen!
"Mr. Marsh, tell me the product of multiplying twenty-four and seven!" Mr. Ious' voice comes, shocking me out of my reverie. 24x7…would be…
"168!" I answer automatically. Wait a minute…FUCK!! Goddamnit, I wasn't supposed to answer that!! Son of a Bitch…I'll get you, Ious.
"Thank you, Mr. Marsh," he says with a sly grin on his face, copying that down on the board.
Bastard…you goddamn bastard. You just fucking wait!! I have powerful…parents. And a grandma who's a crusading superbitch! You just fucked with the wrong guy, buddy…I'll get you if it's the last Goddamn thing I do.
"Class nerd," indeed.
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Author's Notes: Hehe, poor Ryan. Actually, poor Mr. Ious, if he ever gets around to telling Grandma Sheila about it. That man will rue the day he was born…
Anyway, as always, tell me what you thought, good or bad. I'm always open for criticism or praise. I write it, you decide if you like it.
Phoenix II
