rachel's perspective
I sat in my seat and dreaded the start of my history class.
Mr. Francis was the American History teacher for the eleventh grade. He was copper skinned with dark and coiled hair. He had a vibrant personality and a light composition.
The students in his class often took advantage of that but he could get strict if he chose to.
I adored sitting in Mr. Francis' class. He was the perfect way to start off a school day... for the most part.
After Mr. Francis I had Mrs. Gilligan for English, and third I had Ms. Medina for Chemistry.
Fourth, I had Ms. Hernandez for Gym or Mrs. John for Music depending on the alternate days of my schedule.
Fifth period I had lunch, sixth I had Math with Mr. Haynes, seventh I had Spanish with Mr. Santiago. Eighth period I had a free period, where I usually went to the library.
"Okay, class, today we are going to learn about Andrew Jackson. The seventh president in America. But first I want to collect your assignment from last night." Mr. Francis began coming up the rows and collecting.
I forgot.
Again.
The rows were in alphabetical order, so I was at the end of the collecting routine.
I tapped my pen fourteen times for a minute to ease my anxiety.
I looked around nervously at the class.
Everyone had their homework so far.
Mr. Francis began to come up to my row, which I was in the back of. The last row on my left had all of their homework out. My heart dulled and I missed a tap of my pen.
I restarted the process hurriedly and filled in the taps I skipped.
"Rachel, where's your homework?" Mr. Francis asked.
I was highly strung, the words in my mouth stuttered. I broke out into a sweat. I shivered, feeling my nerves prickle.
"I-I-"
"Don't have it? Again?" Mr. Francis sternly raised his eyebrows.
All I could manage was a nod.
Mr. Francis jotted a mark on the clipboard and moved forward. My history teacher was nice and fluffy, but when his students did not meet his standards he switched off.
"Okay. Well most of you have your assignments... which is good." Mr. Francis eyed me slightly as he evened out the papers.
I sighed and tapped my pen nervously.
"Can you stop?" A brown haired boy asked snidely.
I can't.
I stared at him blankly.
His face was stiff and annoyed.
"I know right? It's been not even a month of class and I'm tired of sitting near her." A sassy girl said from behind me.
"I don't understand why she acts so creepy." Another girl uttered.
I unconsciously tapped my pen and watched the clock impatiently.
I took out my notebook and wrote my name.
Rachel Roth.
Wednesday, September 18th.
Andrew Jackson, Notes Part One.
"He was president from years eighteen twenty-nine to eighteen thirty-seven. He was a Democrat and was often known as the 'common man'. The German and Irish who suffered from blights and democratic crises at the time moved here. They were poor in pocket and often lost in America. So they voted for Jackson who understood the struggle of being lower on the societal ladder. The Native Americans and Africans voted for him as well..."
I lost track of the ramble.
I focused on the nerve racking hum of the electricity in the room. I heard the photons crackle in the lightbulbs above my head.
Molecules of grey dust floated around me, deterring my concentration.
I shook my leg violently and I maintained my patterned taps. The wood on my desk was growing more dents by the day.
My blood seemed to curl under my skin.
Tick.
Tap.
Tick.
Tick.
Tap.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Tick.
Tick.
Tap.
Tap...
"The South had issues with tariffs but Jackson singlehandedly crushed the opposition. His desire to make the National Bank expire resulted in an economic depression. Does anyone know what it's called?"
My eyes shifted to the tilted fashion of my row.
The desks were not perfectly lined up.
I glared at the uneven angles, hoping my pupils could fix the issue.
"Rachel? Now is your chance to redeem yourself."
I didn't even realize all of the information that was written on the whiteboard.
I felt eyes pin on me, which made me feel even more paralyzed.
Don't freeze up.
Don't freeze up.
Please... stop yourself this time, Rachel.
"Rachel? Do you know the answer?"
I glanced cluelessly at my teacher.
The Panic of 1837.
The.
Panic.
Of.
1837.
Say it!
Don't just sit here and be useless!
The bell rang out before I could even respond.
"The Panic of 1837. Alright, class. Do the next ten questions for tomorrow!"
My anxiety picked up as a swarm of people began to dismiss.
I looked at my blank notebook and let out a deep breath.
Another unproductive day.
"Rachel, can I speak to you for a second?" Mr. Francis motioned me towards his desk.
My hands trembled as I gathered my belongings. "Yes, of course."
"Are you okay?" He folded his hands and looked into my eyes.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
My damp eyes shied away from my teacher's.
"Your homework and note taking has been inconsistent. It's the start of a new year, Rachel. I don't want you to end up failing for the semester. With this type of game, the chapter test in a few days will be tough luck for you." He firmly established.
I murmured. "I-I am sorry, uh... I'll try my best."
"Good. In the end, that is what matters. Starting tomorrow, come in with your assignment and build on your notes. You should be fine. Keep trying, Rachel. I have a lot of faith in you." Mr. Francis smiled.
"Uh-uh... okay..." I nodded, faking a smile.
But, Mr. Francis,
I am tired of trying.