Chapter 6
On Mondays I think everyone is awake by third period. Today somehow I feel extra refreshed. Sitting up and paying attention to the monotone voice of my histroy teacher and not loosing the gist of what he is saying. Beside me this girl- Rachel takes amazing notes though. All through his class. Of exactly what he's saying- Mr. Barry. And even today I copy her notes. She doesn't mind. In fact she likes knowing she has notes good enoguh for me to copy. Not that it's some honor.
I think Rachel likes showing off how freaking smart she is.
She's pretty and smart and a cheerleader. Boys just lover her. Cass says it's because she has big boobs and that boys could give less of a shit about how smart she is or how symmetrical her eyebrows are. It's the boobs. But I like sitting next to her. Her notes save my butt when tests come around. I have a perfect ninety-seven thanks to her.
When Mr. Barry finishes early she talks to me a little. I'm sitting next to her why not. She asks if I went to the away game. Obviously my answer is no. I just shake my head and say "Couldn't make it." And she'll go on talking about it. I don't mind. It gives me a story to tell Cass and Miles after school at seven when- if I'm not with Dave we sometimes hang out. They love Rachel-stories. But I odn't tell them to sound funny. They just seem odd having Rachel Salenik talking to me about football games. Me of all people. I jsut nod and smile and answer her yes or no and one-word-required questions.
She's in my English class which follows history every single day. And she walks with me to it finishing her story in time to ditch me at the door to English to run back to her cheerleader friends or flirt with the football team's running back. Sometimes even Ms. Masons to compliment her on a cardigan or the reading last night. I jsut go and wait for Cass.
Class starts with Ms. Masons going up to the board and pulling up the overhead projector screen revealing a question. We're supposed to be read up to chapter 10. But it isn't one of those reading check essay questions. It's one of those think compositions. Which part/secion/idea do you think you relate to the most?
We all look at Ms. Masons and wait for instructions. She just makes a goofy hand gesture like 'hurry along kids, shoo' like mother's do in all of those Little House on the Prairie movies when they shoo the children out to play. We all take out papers some get up to get some. Chairs scraping and binder openign and the clasps busting open and shut. I get up and get paper for me and Cass. I'm in the short line behind Bennett Williams. He's pretty tall. Towering me over even when I'm standing behind him.
I sit down handing Cass her sheets of paper. And I chew my nail a little thinking. Chewing my nails is a bad habit of mine. I think. And I come up with Holden's brother- Allie's death. I look around at everyone else writing. The only one who hasn't started besides me is Bennett Williams who is sitting catching me lookign at him. Peopel always say they feel people lookign at them, and by chance they look right at you if you're looking at them. I look down quickly.
And I put a date on the top of my page. So it doesn't look like I'm hiding in my shell or feeling like I need to blush when I can't.
So far in the book Catcher in the Rye, by J.D. Salinger, I can relate to Allie's death the most. Holden felt a lot of pain losing his brother- who he loved and thought was a great person. He took his anger out by smashing all of the windows in his garage and breaking his hand. Allie was an innocent type of person- or at least that's what I got out of Holden's description of him. He liked poetry and was always sweet. He was taken away becuase of reasons Holden cannot understand. That is what I realte to most. When I was younger, my father was a great person to me. He was a great person and father. My parents' divorce gave me a similar feeling to Holden's. I lost my father- not to death but to other reasons and I don't quite understand why. My dad and I were much alike. We are both quiet and conservative. When I read the part about Allie I thought about my father a lot because I haven't seen him since the divorce and I miss him if that's possible.
I reread this. Over and over again. I didn't know what I meant in it. It was short but I got my point across. Kids were all getting up and handing in their papers to Ms. Masons. I got up too. Mine not much shorter than the others. Ms. Masons smiled at me thanking me for my paper. And I mumbled something I'm not quite sure what and I went back to my seat. Staring down at my folded copy of Catcher in the Rye.
So much guilt was welling up inside of me. Regret. I shouldn't have written about my father. Why didn't I jsut write about Ackley and how I find it hard tolerating people I don't neccessarily like. I shook my head clear and opened my folded old copy to page 107 where I was a good forty pages ahead of everyone else.
And I started reading. I love this book a lot.
By page 120 Ms. Masons got up in front of the class. "Alright," She said. "So, here's my goal. By Wednesday- since we don't have class tomorrow- I'll read through all of these. And you'll each be put into a group, where you are going to talk about why you wrote abou what you did and for what reasons. I know some of you were really into this, so I hope you like this. I'll try and do this once or twice before we reach the end of the book. And if you like it we'll do this all year. But i'll have your groups Wednesday."
Rachel raised her hand not waiting to be called on. "How many groups do you think there will be?" She asked.
Ms. Masons shuffled the papers in her hands quickly once. "About six or seven maybe. They won't be large. Maybe four or three student per group."
In her mind, I watched Rachel take note to this and we all waited for Ms. Masons to go on. We did grammar. Moans and sighs moved across the classroom and Ms. masons ignored them asking up was a Predicate Nomative was just for a review. We know nothing.
She just milks us for answers. No matter how much she loves Bennett Williams she doesn't call on him once. Teachers are strange sometimes.
