Time ticks away… slowly… too slowly for my liking. I hate school. Other than the fact I see my friends here I find it useless, a waste of my time. It’s full of over-crowded halls and annoying teachers telling you what you can and can’t do, going on about how if you fail school you ruin your whole life! It’s just so uplifting to know they have faith is us… not!
I move ever so slightly forwards as the stream of noisy kids in my class move into the room. First period, first day back… so fun! Its second term and I can think of a thousand better places to be, like at home in bed or at the movies with the girls. But no! I’m cooped up in rooms learning about nothing useful. How are things like Pythagoras’s Theory supposed to help you when you are a Park Ranger? Exactly!
Pulling a long strand of my chocolate colour hair behind my ear, I make my way to the back of the classroom. The classroom is its forever stale smell, from a hundred years of sweaty teenagers and old, crusty teachers, mixed in with mothballs, cheap perfumes, out of date table sanitiser, and the pungent smell of the gas from the heater.
“Hey, Hazel,” Cocky states from behind me as I pass his table, well Cocky is not his real name but definitely his personality. Turning, I see Sam smiling up from where he sits in the third row. “Are you doing anything this arvo?” He asks.
“No.” I add a hint of bluntness to my reply; no, a tonne of bluntness. I have no wish to speak with Sam. He and his entourage of side-kicks, both male and female, are people I’d rather not have anything to do with.
“You wanna come to the movies?” He has his look of victory on already. His smirk sends an earthquake of shivers down my spine, shivers of disgust. I nearly throw up. According to him, he is irresistible but, I have to say, I think differently.
“I’d rather be dead.” And with that I keep walking, his friends laughing at him. I let a small smirk come to my face. Victory! Why does every prick in this school think he has a chance with me? It’s annoying!
It is only moments after I seat myself on the chilly surface of my chair that the teacher, Mr Bajamo, comes in, half-moon glasses and all. He is wearing the usual; jeans, sneakers and a cream woollen jumper that his wife made him. Other than his horrid sense of fashion, he isn’t actually that bad of a teacher. He teaches his subject well, giving out a couple of sheets a week and writing the rest of the concepts of the board before having a class discussion about it. I go well in my assessments when I have him.
“Welcome class. I hope you had a pleasant break,” and off he goes, his nasal voice droning on, marking the roll. Voice after voice of the thirty-one students in my class state that they are here, me perking in when I hear “Hazel McGuire’.
“Good, you’re all here,” Mr Bajamo states before delving into the ideas of poetry. Even though English is my forte, and I cannot stand it first period of any day, especially Monday.
Small spasms of chills spiral through my body as I sit and wait for the long away bell. Why did I not wear my cardigan? Oh yeah, cause Anny stole it! Just because my younger sister lost hers doesn’t mean I have to lose mine as well. Sisters are so annoying. One moment they are all innocent and the next thing you know, you’re in trouble for something they did! It’s so unfair.