Jhamie Bryant - Chronicles of a Numb Teen

AUDACIOUS AUGUST: Ch 1:Jocks, Journal, and Justice

Jocks, Journal, and Justice

Jocks, Journal, and Justice

Fourth block is in. Mr. Cross conducts his opening lecture. He slurs all of his words and I'm already annoyed. How is anyone supposed to learn Spanish when he doesn't even pronounce his English words correctly?

Josh Lambert just walked in. The boy who Ashley has a crush on. He comes in with a group of jocks and they are interrupting Mr. Cross's introduction. I know Cory and Dason from middle school. When those guys get together, they're up to no good deed.

Just my luck, they all sit at the table behind me. Ashley Thomas is not the topic. They're talking about some other provocative girl, who they met up with last night and played house with; all the same time. It's a little too much information if you ask me. It's repulsing. I want to puke!

Josh Lambert seems like a nice guy though. His homies are douche bags; very poor choice of friends. They're so uncouth, classless, if any, low class, foul-mouthed, and ill mannered. I'm waiting for names. I get none. Who could they be talking about? I need names.

These dudes are going in.

But keeping it 100, anything would be more interesting than listening to Mr. Cross whine like a broken Carlos Santana record.

Over all, I think that I'm going to like this class.

These boys here behind me, are spilling all the tea. They're throwing so much shade 'bout these girls doing grown women things. Aunt Sophie always warned me about how some boys talk more than girls. So sad, but so true.

I mean, going the extent of posting inappropriate screen shots of inboxes of girls to social media to spark conversation is beyond pathetic. You can't find nothing else to talk about? It's an egotistical thing. I guess they have something to prove by exposing the one or two chics that actually funded them the time of day. Cheap. At the same time, Aunt Sophie said we girls have to carry their fair share of responsibility. Don't send it, if you don't want to defend it in the future. Your post may be used in a roast.

Dason: "She could get it again."

Josh: "I'll be daddy next time bih."

Cory: "She was right. I'm telling you. Shawty was a ten."

Dason: "Wait which Shawty?"

Cory: "Last nigh' fool, Shawty Grapes."

Dason: "Oh yeah. Nah cuhh, I thought you was talking bout Bear."

Josh: "Y'all boys ain't even notice them tissues done slipped out."

Dason: "I saw dat ish."

Cory: "I'nt give (bleep) Grapes was it. Bear could get it again too."

Josh: "Jump rope ain't got nothing on that."

Cory: "Remember last week tho, Apple Pie was right too."

Josh: "Hell nah, Apple Pie went sour."

To make things even worse, these dudes actually assigned code names for these females, as if these girls are merely objects. I'm done. I can't even fathom.

Something just doesn't seem right about their convo though.

It's though provoking. I can't stop pondering if they're talking 'bout Ash or not. They can't be talking about Ashley because she was "doing homework" last night.

I take out my journal. I enter a deep daze. Mr. Cross's voice fades, like the dust before the dawn. Class no longer exists.

I write:

Journal entry: August 19, 2014 (2)

I HATE BOYS WHO LABEL GIRLS AS FRUITS, TOYS AND OBJECTS.

This conversation that I am witnessing is surreal. Some fellow classmates met up with one girl and they can't get enough of talking about it.

I HATE BOYS! They treat girls like objects and I object. Was it rape? because it doesn't sound like your mutual sex scene.

My observations are based off of the one artifact. Tissue.

If this "Grape" girl agreed to have intercourse with these jocks, why would she still have tissue in her bra?"

Mr. Cross: "Young lady do you mind sharing?"

Me: Sharing what sir? I'm not sure that I understand your question. [The class bursts with laughter]

Mr. Cross: [Infuriated] "Ohhh, okaaay, reeeeally?" He's slurring his words again. "So you want to be a smaaart aaalec huuuuh? Hand me the nooote."

Me: Sir, I don't have a note. [The class engulfed in laughter, adding more fuel to the fire] I panic. Sweat floods my nose, palms, and feet. I panic.

The entire class is humored by my response. Finally, I'm at the center of some positive, yet antagonistic attention, but I'm not enjoying it!

This can't be any worse than your everyday cell phone confiscation. Security takes the phone, secures it in a drawer, and then return it to the student a the end of the day. This is a journal confiscation. I could only imagine, teacher takes the journal, put it on the teacher's desk, and returns it to the student at the end of the day. Simple. Not even as complicated as a cell phone confiscation. Whew!

But then, the unbelievable happens.

Josh Lambert snatches the journal out of my hand, as if he were re-enacting an interception from a game, and reads it aloud, as he hands it to Mr. Cross.

You could hear a pin drop.

Me: Give me my journal! [I yelled] This is invasion of privacy. It's not funny!

Even worst, he didn't read the most recent entry about him and his boys; instead, he read the entry that I would never share with anyone. He read the entry about Ashley being a t.h.o.t.

This is the beginning of the end of my life. I run out of the class in panic, in great despair. I almost feel like I can't breathe.

Dad is on speed dial, #2. Mom will always hold #1.

Me: Dad please come pick me up! I'm feeling sick and 'bout to vomit.