“So who can tell me the new religious attitudes the Puritans dealt with when arriving in the Americas?” Ms. Rosamond droned, at the same time, finishing a yawn.
I rolled my eyes at the middle-aged teacher in the front of the room. It seemed as if she was as bored as the students. But what teacher wouldn’t be bored teaching Puritan ethics? It was most likely the most aggravating subject that I have ever been taught in all of my years in school. But I know better enough to pay attention to Ms. Rosamond’s boring lectures. She was the only teacher in Welming Heights High School who was known to give out 20 page tests. And there was no way I was going to fail my senior year because of one class.
“Ms. Alexandria, would you like to answer the question? Or would you like to continue doodling during class?”
My teeth clenched as she used my entire name...including the “Ms.” I hate when my teachers do that. And it’s not only when they’re mad at me either. It’s all the time. I swear they had a secret teacher’s meeting and decided to call me that just to piss me off.
Looking up from the pencil flower vines I was doodling on the margins of my notes, I realized the whole class was staring at me. Even Aaron, a.k.a Idiot, who usually spends his time sleeping in the back of the classroom was looking intently. Obviously, they thought that it was a major thing that the Vice Principal’s daughter got caught “daydreaming.” I gulped. I hate being the center of attention.
Settling my eyes again on the teacher, I searched my brain for the answer to the question. Finding nothing (big surprise, since I hardly remembered what the question was) I opened my mouth to apologize, but was inturrupted by Tim Carnes who was sitting behind me.
“Ms. Rosamond, can I go to the nurse’s office? I’m not feeling too good...” the boy behind me said. Tim was a genius. No, not because he was trying to get out of class, he was just a genius. He was only 11 years old, and he was smart enough to be in all junior classes. Personally, I couldn’t stand him. His voice is so high that I’m amazed that dogs aren’t the only ones that can hear him. I know, I know, I shouldn’t judge a person by their voice. But maybe that’s my excuse for just hating his abilities to ace every test he takes, while I have to study a month in advance to even get a passing grade.
Hearing the sudden urgency in his voice, I flipped my head around. There he was, looking as green as a cucumber. I was tempted to move my desk up so if he spewed, I wouldn’t be so lucky to get some of it. But he looked so bad, I just instantly got worried. He didn’t look like he could make it to the nurse, least of all two feet in front of him.
Hearing Ms. Rosamond’s red clunky heels loudly click over the floor, I grew realived. Usually, Ms. Rosamond could care less about her students illnesses. But maybe because Tim was eleven, he could pump out some generosity from her this time.
Well, obviously, I spoke too soon. Instead of coming to Tim’s aid, she came around to my desk and grabbed my notebook with the doodles in it, and shoved it under her arm. Staring at me right in the eyes, she said, “Okay, Ms. Alexandria. Since obviously, you haven’t paid attention to my lecture today, I’ll give you the great honor of escorting Mr. Carnes to the nurse’s office. And don’t even try coming back into this room until you decide you actually want an education.” With that, she turned on her heel and retreated to the front of the room.
I could hear snickers coming from every direction. “Great,” I thought, standing up, face blazing a deep red. First, I get humiliated, and now I’m going to be yelled at by my father. I can’t think of a better way to go...
Not that my dad would actually yell at me. He would probably just tell me that “he didn’t want to hear of anything like that again,” and send me back to class. But still, being told that in front of the office faculty, and knowing that the whole school would talk about me behind my back was threatening to my pride. Like I said before, I hate being the center of attention. Not that I’m a really shy person, I just don’t like it. And it’s pretty hard when your known as the Vice Principals daughter, a.k.a. “goody goody.” Not that I really am or anything. Just because I try to succeed at school, people automatically think me as that. But I try to have a social life. Notice the word try. No, I’m not at the top of the social food chain, but I’m not on the bottom either. Not a bad thing...but not exactly a good thing either.
Walking down the purple corridor, (yes, purple. It’s one of our school colors. We’re known to have a lot of school pride. Last year, the Student Council voted on the new wall color. Cheerleaders wanted purple to match their uniforms. Guess who’s President of Student Council? Captain of the Cheerleading squad, Brittany Rogers. Don’t get me started...) with Tim at my side, I couldn’t help but look over to him.
“You doin okay Tim?” I asked him, shocked at how caring I sounded. I’ve hardly even talked to this kid before.
“Yeah, I think so,” his nasal voice sounded back to me.
“Good...so you won’t barf and ruin my new docs?” I kidded him, trying to make conversation. I hate being with someone and not talking. It just isn’t me.
The 11 year old rolled his eyes at me. “No, I won’t Ms. Alexandria,” he replied, mocking me.
“Hey! Don’t be like that, I was just kidding,” I retorted, flicking him in the arm.
“Then don’t make fun of me, I feel like crap,” Tim responded, flicking me back.
“I wasn’t...I was trying to make conversation,” I replied, walking more quickly to the office at the end of the hall. I realized that maybe I didn’t hate this kid. But he was sure annoying once you got to know him...if you call about ten words getting to know him.
Finally reaching the office, I directed Tim to the nurse’s to the right of the entrance, while I walked further down to the faculty lounge where I’m sure my dad was located. He often spent all of his time there, saying that his office smelled like mothballs. Knowing my dad, I know that it doesn’t smell at all. He just doesn’t like to be cramped in a small little office by himself when he could be out drinking coffee and mingling with the staff. Let’s just say that my father is a little bit more social than myself.
Sure enough, I found my dad drinking his vanilla mocha and sitting at the huge round, wooden table that took up most of the faculty lounge floor. He was busy going over papers, which looked to me like referrals...but I couldn’t be so sure. Glancing up at me, his face immediatly turned down.
“Let me guess...Ms. Rosamond again?” he asked me with a disappointed look on his face.
Plopping down on a chair, I sighed heavily. “Daddy, do you have to say that word “again?” It’s not like this has happened twenty times. This is only the second.” I reminded him.
Now it was his turn to sigh. “Yes, honey, I know. Maybe I say that because of the other kids that lady sends in...can you see all of these referrals? I swear about 70% of these is from that woman...”
I held back a laugh. As you can see, my dad is not particularly fond of Ms. Rosamond. Maybe it’s because every chance she gets, she ask’s him for a raise in her pay. He insists that the reason she is so harsh on her students is because he would have a good excuse to talk to her...and then she has another opportunity to ask him for more money.
“Okay, Al, tell me what you did this time,” my father said, taking a sip of his coffee.
I shrugged my shoulders innocently. “Doodling. Since when did that become a crime?”
“Alexandria...” he warned, looking at me with that “father” look.
I sighed again. “Dad, listen. I’m practically the only one who actually listens to her boring lectures, and you know that. The one time I stare into space and start drawing flowers, she kicks me out of class, saying that I don’t want an education. Bull--”
I was stopped by another look. The “say it and your grounded” look.
“Honkie,” I finished, smiling brightly.
Dad grinned a little and shook his head. “Okay, okay, I’ll let you off this time...for only one reason. I suspect that you were writing notes on this piece of paper, right?” he asked me.
I nodded. Of course I was. Writing keeps me busy enough to pay attention and to not fall asleep. Plus the fact that Ms. Rosamond doesn’t believe in books, so we don’t have any material to look off of. Sheesh. You know, I bet this teacher was put on this earth just to make my life miserable.
“Okay then,” my dad was saying, “I’ll talk to her after class...but only on one condition...”
I groaned. I hated conditions...especially coming from my dad.
“Relax, Al, I think it’s something you would enjoy...if your anything like Shannon. And knowing that you hang out with her 24/7 I suspect a little bit of her has brushed off on you,” he said, raising his eyebrows at me.
Shannon? Well, this could only mean one thing. A guy. Every little thing that comes out of Shannon’s mouth is about a guy...or the plural form of guys...or dating...or kissing...or...well, you know what I mean. The girl is a walking hormone, and she’s not afraid to admit it. That’s the reason my dad knew of her little “obsession.” She talks to everyone in her way about guys...whether they want to hear it or not. And for some strange reason, I’m best friends with her. Strange, huh?
Feeling a little bit nervous, I asked my dad what I had to do...and how much humiliation I would have to suffer.
“Alex, it’s not that bad, really. All I want you to do is show a new kid around the school. I was waiting until the bell rung for second period so I could pull out a happy volunteer from the hallway, but I guess this is even better.”
I rolled my eyes. What am I, a tour guide? No, I’m the principal’s daughter, so I have to put up with this crap on a regular basis. “Oh well...” I thought to myself. How bad could this be? Just show the guy the usual stuff and get on with your life. No shame in doing that, right?
Wrong. Walking out of the teacher’s lounge, I saw my object of attention leaning against the teacher’s wooden mailboxes. First thing that came to mind: RUN. I can’t talk to this guy! He’s...he’s...well, let’s put it in Shannon’s terms. “FINE A** GORGEOUS.” And the thing was, I couldn’t even see his face. It was just his...um. Well...
“Alex!” I screamed at myself in my head. I couldn’t believe how I was being. Usually, I don’t have any trouble with guys. No, I don’t have dates every Friday night like some people, but I’ve dated before. Okay, wait. No, I haven’t. I would never call pizza with the chemistry teacher’s son a date. More like a nightmare. And I sure wouldn’t call Homecoming with my next door neighbor a night to remember either.
So I guess my saying that I don’t have any trouble with guys is completely, and utterly wrong. Yeah, I talk to guys...I’m even friends with some. But I just can’t bring myself to be completely open and honest with a guy long enough to become more that just friends. Don’t ask my why, cause I won’t be able to tell you. Maybe it’s because I really am shy and I don’t want to admit it. Man. I really need to start watching Oprah more. Isn’t she the one with all that self-confidence junk? Hmmm...
“Okay, Ms. Alexandria, you can do this,” I told myself, walking over to the tall blonde straight ahead, “just push yourself and you can...”
My words of encouragement trailed off (if they can actually do that when your thinking about them...) as he turned around at my approaching footsteps. Earlier I said that the first thing that came into my head was “run,” right? Well, even if I was thinking the same thing (which I wasn’t), my body wouldn’t let me. Every muscle in my body turned to lead. This guy wasn’t just fine. This guy was gorgeous. With a capital G. Suddenly, the room seemed a bit to stuffy for me. I actually wanted to start fanning myself.
But of course I wouldn’t do that. The only thing I would do is just stand there looking like a total moron in front of a guy that I haven’t even said hi to yet. Figures. One point for Alex.
