The book without words

My waffled life on a page: Part 1

Hello,
           My name is Ella Modlinsky, or rather Ella Louise Modlinsky, as my birth certificate reads, and I'm 17 years old. I live in an old, yet quite beautiful, little terraced house on the outskirts of a town named Dougton. Being an only child, I live only with my parents, both of whom are accountants, and my pet rabbit, that goes by the name of Edith, who lives in her luxurious, two story hutch in our tiny backyard. There are a few things that, before we get properly into my story, I think are key about my life that you should probably know, and I promise that I'll try not to waffle with them. So, let's begin.

Firstly, it has been a dream of my parents since the day I was even born that, as they have both acquired decently paid jobs in accounting, in the same company may I add, that their only daughter, let alone only child, would follow in their footsteps. Therefore, I was thus entitled, at a very young age, to stand with open arms, embracing maths with an outright passion and charisma that no one had ever seen before.

However, there was only one slight, tincy-wincy problem, which just so happened to be the fact that I actually loathe maths. I hate it with an absolute passion and it's torture going to my A Level maths classes in college every week. The lessons drag and I feel like my life is an on going, never ending void of nothingness as soon as I step inside the classroom. You may then be wondering why, if I hate maths that much, I picked it as one of my A Levels? Well that's a good question. I'm so glad you asked because, the truth is, and this is the worst past about it, I didn't. It was, in fact, my parents that took it upon themselves to make sure I did A Level maths, despite the fact that in my first set of GCSE mocks in December, I only just scraped getting a grade 4 by 1 mark. The fact that I would need to get a grade 7 to do A Level maths was dubious and any fool would look at the situation extremely doubtful that I could indeed get a 7.

Sadly though, my parents were undeterred by this and had not yet given up there made up dream for me. So, after that, my parents consulted the best tutor they could find and for 3 nights a week after school, from 7-9 pm, I had to slave away at maths question after maths question, trying to concentrate on and remember all the different numbers and useless ways to calculate this and that. I got many headaches throughout the duration of each "lesson", struggling to figure out something, coming to a conclusive answer, giving it to the tutor who would then sigh and put a cross next to every little bit of working out, then he would try and, as patiently as he could, explain the question and the method to work it out for the 13th time that night. It was an extremely tiring and mind numbing process but, despite the fact that at first I seemed to get worse rather then better, I started to slowly improve over time, so much so that, by the time of my early March Mocks I got a top 5, pushing into a 6. My teacher was ecstatic with my improvement, my parents more so.

I was finally heading in the right direction of achieving their dream.

There was only one slight hiccup when I got my real GCSE grades back in the August and that was that, to my parents dismay, I had only got a Grade 6. I mean, I was thrilled. No more maths! How my parents were upset about, but I didn't care, they'd get over it sometime much later in my lifetime. Unfortunately for me though, my celebrations were short lived as my teacher emailed to inform me that I was, in fact, just shy of getting a Grade 7 by a couple of marks, so they had sent all my tests back to the examining board to get them remarked to see if I could clinch any extra marks to up my grade.

And, low and behold, there was. I received the news of getting the exact number of marks for a 7 with gritted teeth. The whole time I cursed myself for not just deliberately failing one of the tests, bringing the overall average down, and, if anyone asked, blamed it on not feeling great on the day. Due to me not partaking in deliberate failure meant my parents were now happy, but that still didn't mean I had control of my future. No, now they resumed  their obsessive ambition, forcing me to apply and then proceed to attend, against my wishes, Millridge and Blithe Academy College, the next step for me in their plan.

If you haven't heard of this college before, here's a quick breakdown. Millridge and Blithe Academy College is the most prestigious college around. It specialises in the more academic subjects, however it has won many awards, honours and masters in the teaching of subjects from all across the board, but the subject that they are particularly specialists in is, you guessed it, maths... "yay, my favourite". So, you may be thinking, what's the problem with that? It all sounds pretty nice. Ha yeah, right. Apart from it being prestige, with, may I add, a preposterously hideous, idiotic and arrogant sounding name that makes me want to puke as soon as I hear, the college has nothing special going for it. In my opinion, they should really give out medals for people who can say and spell the full name "Millridge and Blithe Academy College" correctly first time without mispronouncing a letter, falling asleep or gasping for breath at the end.

Besides, the college is like every other college, but instead of being full of geeks, clowns and some completely dumb people that can, at least sometimes, have the ability to undertake friendly conversation, at Millridge and Blithe they are all those, as well as being the biggest snobs I have ever known. Even the uncool people are snobby (not including me). They all walk around with noses in the air, thinking themselves as superior than everyone else. They stick together in there little clicky groups and stare at you with there perfect, shining eyes as if you have a growth in the side of your head (which, for your information, I don't). You may be thinking, "Yeah, well, stop exaggerating. That's only a small proportion of the college your talking about." . Haha, I wish. Yeah, when the WHOLE college acts as if they're the reigning supreme leader, it does justify why I spend why days alone, in the library, head absorbed in a book.

I mean, to be honest, I have no idea what their problem is. Like, I know I am one of the only people to go to Millridge and Blithe from my high school, partially because of the fact that no one else dares to, but you don't need to literally single me out ever single time you actually decide to acknowledge me by only ever addressing me as "Douguls", which is the nickname of the high school I previously attended called Dougton Community High School.

The fact Dougton is firstly a community high school, basically made us, in their eyes, the special school, in comparison to Millridge and Blithe Academy High School. We were the knock of children who attended the local place, which was only just 'satisfactory' by Ofsted ratings, instead of taking the half hour drive or bus to the next town to the 'EXCELLENT' graded Millridge and Blithe Academy High School, which is situated less than a minute up the road from the college.

Whenever there was a competition between the local high schools, it was always the Millridge and Blithe pupils you would see first. Wearing their red blazers, white shirt, red and black ties and either, for boys black trousers, for girls black tartan, with red check skirt, you would always look at yourself and sigh. You, with your two sizes to big blazer, creased and only slightly yellow from sweat patches shirt, supposedly blue but paint splattered tie, and grey skirt or trousers. I did try to keep myself clean and tidy, but even on one of my occasional good days, one part of my uniform always ended up being completely inadequate or strange looking. In comparison to Millridge and Blithe students, well there was no comparison, or rather none that could be notably made that wasn't already obvious. You'd watch them as they observed you, eyeing you with disgust and mockery. Seeing you as a meer peasant and a source of constant amusement. Despite this, you'd always feel suddenly proud of the fact that your not one of them, the ones that are to busy judging themselves rather then looking at their own faults.

Well, now I can't really criticise them can I, seems as I'm at their college, I guess it supposedly makes me one of them. However, I still don't think of myself as one of them, and I hope I never will. I just merely don't fit in, anywhere.

So, that was only one point, but I think it's a good place to stop. I guess I'll have to make a part 2 of the intro for you all, I told you I had a considerable attitude towards waffling. Anyway, congratulations for getting this far, if their is indeed anyone still reading this. Feel free to tell me what you think in the comments so far and I'll see you in part 2.