A Book of Firsts

First Punishing Class

This story is going to be a little different from the rest of the stories that will be in this book. It is written in a style that I haven't really tried before, so I hope that it comes out right! Also, it is a true story about me and my class.
-Anna
***
Class of 2017
Junior Year (11th Grade)
Advanced Placement Chemistry

The sound of shattering glass fills up the crowded lab space. The class falls silent as we stare down the teen who would dare break a test tube. Shock fills our systems as we wait for said student to rush for the broom.

If only we'd knew that by the end of that long tear filled year, that we would all laugh off the sheer amount of glass test tubes and beakers that we had broken. That even the teacher would join in our laughter.

Soon, we're all back to work, acting as if the unspeakable had been committed with that fatal slip of hand.

The teacher is watching us as we pour and test liquids, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that his course will break most of us. Will leave us stressed with tears streaming down our faces.

But he doesn't stop his torture of teaching, even as the year wears on and the grades drop dramatically. He keeps pushing.

And somewhere, deep inside the students' stressed out hearts, we are grateful for his punishing lessons.

We push back, and as warm August wears into freezing December, we all bond over a nice hot cup of cider, laughing off the other final exams we had to take that day.

December fades into January, and January into March, all the while we grow to hate our course of study: Chemistry. It almost became a curse word to some of us. Even with the daily laughter it brings.

But while some of us can not stand the pressure, and leave, most of us stay and suffer through. Some stay for the course, and some for the teacher himself.

If it wasn't for his cheerful demeanor and cheesy jokes, most of us wouldn't pull ourselves out of bed in the morning. Most would not trudge their way into that dreadfully fun classroom.

So that's the way we stayed, suffering day and night, test after test, and unit after unit, until April rolls around.

Our final exam is looming on the horizon, a dark cloud that veils us in dread. Dread of failure.

The end of April comes in a whirl of spring. Study sessions are arranged for the test to come in May. All of them ending with a final, party like study group arranged (purposefully?) on the twins' birthday. Some of us show up, and leave rather late in the evening.

Speaking of birthdays, the whole year has been full of them. Each day punctuated by a cheesy birthday song featuring the said person's name. All were dreaded, but all were...grateful.

Well, time doesn't stop, and May finally takes us over.

Our exam comes on the 4th, weeks before the end of school.

We meet early in the parking lot, all of us arriving well before our teacher's disorderly self.

We rush his vehicle and the snacks and food he brings.

We all take a bit to carry as we trudge our way inside.

We are treated to breakfast and given a small care bag. Each containing the essentials and a pack of...tissues?

We all share a laugh because the teacher thought of the stress and tears that would surely ensue.

The clock ticks, and it is time to head to our torturous testing.

We sit through hours of a final exam that our teacher is not allowed to witness with us.

At the end of it, we are all exhausted and happy that it is finally over.

We head to school the next day, where we goof of with the teacher we have grown to love.

He has been here, the whole year, through every dangerous lab and heartbreaking test, to every average day. He was there to lessen the harsh pain that comes from learning such a hard subject.

And at the end of it all, every one of us would not give up that chance to have had his class, not matter how stressful it had been. No matter the fact that we froze daily, we would never give it up.