The bell rang. Everyone scattered into the hall like the building was on fire, rushing out of their previous classes. It felt like a scene from my old Middle/High School days, but this time everyone was calmer. Some students rushed out, while others walked calmly down the hall.
I made my way through the crowded hallway, dodging a few people here and there. I nearly bumped into a mare with the prettiest blond hair and softest brown fur. Suddenly, I felt a sharp shove from behind, almost knocking me into the wall. I managed to catch myself with one hand on the concrete surface, wincing as a jolt of pain shot through my arm. I managed to pull myself up, leaning against the wall. I glimpsed at the person who pushed me, recognizing her as Heather. She walked down the hall with Jeannette by her side, not even bothering to apologize.
"Fucking bitch," I muttered under my breath, noticing a brown stallion giving me a concerned look as he walked by. I straightened myself up and continued walking. I spotted Heather barely through the slightly crowded hallway. She stopped at a water fountain. I took a breath, keeping my cool. Just as I passed by, she abruptly lifted her head, her eyes followed me like prey. She stood up and started walking again with Jeannette close behind.
"Hurry up," she told Jeannette just as the bell rang. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at her bossy attitude. They looked like school girls from the 1960s with their books neatly held against their chests. I turned my attention back to the hallway, almost bumping into a white feline with raven black hair and a black dress. I quickly stepped to the side, avoiding the collision.
Math class was not my favorite subject. I was never good at it, unlike my roommate Jim who was like Albert Einstein. I swear, math these days is like hell on earth. Whoever thought of putting the alphabet in math deserves to burn in the fiery pits of hell. If I ever had the chance, I would find them and give them a piece of my mind. I'd even go as far as saying I'd kill them if the purge ever happened; they'd be the first to go. I used to dream of a world where math was easier to understand without the added complication of letters. But nowadays, even elementary school kids are learning advanced math concepts.
I know how to add, subtract, multiply, and divide. I can even do negative and positive numbers. But if they make math even harder in the future, I swear I'd hunt down the people responsible and make them pay. I'd drive a machete through their stomachs until all the blood drained out. I'd even use their heads as Halloween decorations.
"Anthony, calm down," I scolded myself, rubbing my face with my hands.
Another reason I hated math class was because I had to sit three rows down from Heather on my right. I stole a glance at her, noticing that she was talking to another student. A wolf who was known for getting stoned every Friday night.
"Alright, class," the teacher spoke in her usual sassy elderly Welsh/British accent. She was a fox in her late 50s or early 60s. She was wearing a grey sweatshirt and black jeans. Her short, greying hair was styled in a bun, and her piercing blue eyes scanned the room to make sure everyone was paying attention. She did not tolerate slacking or inattentiveness which matched with her Britishness. According to her, she had been teaching since 1985; and was once an assistant principal at one of Cambridge's schools.
"Tommy, stop texting your girlfriend and pay attention," she growled at a fox sitting at the end of the third row. He was known for slacking off in every class and being the class clown. There were even rumors about him getting caught having gay sex with his roommate in the boys' bathroom which made him an easy target for bullying by the big boys.
"I'm sorry, Ms.Tori, is your conversation more important than my teaching?" the teacher turned her attention to Jeannette who was sitting on the six rows from the end.
"No, ma'am," Jeannette replied with an innocent smile, folding her hands neatly on her desk. The teacher nodded in approval and walked over to the whiteboard, picking up a marker and drawing what I called "satanic symbols" (since an old friend had called the alphabet in math that during our senior year).
"Now," she moved the marker along the board, writing out complicated equations that made half the class groan, except for the math whizzes. "Open your textbooks to Page 132 and complete problems 3 through 15." She turned to face the class, capping the marker.
"Fuck that," someone muttered.
"This is going to be fun," Jim slammed his textbook on his desk, making me jump.
The next fifteen minutes were filled with silence as everyone worked on the problems in the book. Some students had their headphones in while others tapped their pencils on the table, or bit their tongues in concentration. I tried to focus on my own work, copying down the questions from page 132. I successfully tackled questions 3 through 6, but question 7 had me stumped. It required rounding down from the nearest 100th, and I couldn't seem to crack it. Glancing over at Jim, I noticed he was already on the second-to the-last question.
Curiosity getting the best of me, I took a quick peek at his notes and saw that he had simply copied down the entire page. Even the satanic symbols. I tried looking at ehat he was putting but everything looked like gibberish. Doubting my own work, I turned back to my book; biting my lip. I went back to question 5 to double check my answer.
The rest of the day was spent outside, seeking refuge under a shady spruce tree, poring over my math textbook and trying to make sense of the problems and illustrations. Just when I thought I was making progress, I was interrupted by a certain vixen.
"Hey, Antony," Heather jeered in her trademark snooty tone, looming over me like the grim reaper ready to take me away.
"What do you want, Heather," I sighed, already exasperated. My eyes looking directly into hers.
Before I could even react, Jennette chucked a half-empty Snapple bottle at my head, the clear glass bottle clunking against my skull with a small thud sound. It shattered loudly on the concrete. Ashley tried to stifle a laugh, while I looked up at Heather with a hand raised in a choking motion, muttering incoherently in a deep, raspy voice.
Without a care, Heather grabbed my hand and yanked me to my feet. She then proceeded to pinch my nose so tightly, I thought she might pop a joint before shoving me back against the spruce tree. The three of them erupted into laughter as I sat on the cool ground, rubbing my now-sore nose.
As I put my hand down, I couldn't help but notice the small droplet of blood that had stained it. Ashley playfully high-fived Heather as she continued to laugh hysterically. I couldn't help but feel like an outsider among these girls. It seemed like they were always finding ways to make me feel inferior.
"Come on, you weakling," Heather said through her laughter. The three of them walked away still giggling, leaving me to question why women always seemed to treat me this way. It had been a recurring pattern throughout my high school years, constantly being harassed and mistreated by girls. I even almost got into a fight once because of their bullying.
Heather, Jenneate, and Ashley were especially getting on my nerves lately. Even the girl I had a crush on since Elementary School, Hannah Colt, seemed to join in on their antics which really crushed me. It was frustrating and hurtful. It was unbelievable!
In art class, I submitted my recreation of "The Scream" and received an A while my classmate Jim got a B on his recreation of "The Girl With the Pearl Earring." It wasn't bad, but I had to admit, it wasn't the best. Heather's project: a recreation of "The Last Supper" by Leonardo DaVinci was praised by everyone.
"It's a masterpiece," some lesbian raccoon named Jenn Ridgers commented, and Ashley added: "This should be in a museum."
Feeling a twinge of jealousy after viewing the art piece myself, I forced a smile and tried to sound genuine as I complimented Heather's work. "It's very well done, Heather. I really like it."
She chuckled and brushed off my compliment. "Oh, stop it. Yours is way better." She ran her right hand down her hair in a perfect parallel line.
I could tell by the tone of her voice and the way she had her left fist balled that Heather wanted to beat me up. Possibly for the reason my art was a little better than hers. But she held back since the teacher was around.
In that moment, I couldn't help but feel like the odd one out, constantly being belittled and made to feel inferior. But I knew that I couldn't let their words and actions get to me. I had to focus on my own strengths and talents, and not let anyone bring me down. Never!