My Loosing Game

Grumpy Annoying Teacher

I really don't like him, my grumpy science teacher. I just find him annoying; I really can't stand him. It's like a strong feeling of not liking him that makes me imagine doing not-so-nice things, like squeezing his neck and take out all his ego and or putting glue on his chair.

He's not just annoying and arrogant; he's super grumpy, even more than my grandad. Even though he looks young, around twenty-five, he acts like a cranky old person. He's tall and , muscular with black hair that stands out, and his eyes are sea blue with a little bit of grey Spark, like they hide a lot of secrets.

The person who irons his clothes does a really good job. I've never seen him wear the same shirt twice. I have to admit he looks good, but his personality ruins it. When I say his personality stinks, I mean it's really bad, like stepping in dog poop bad. I'm not exaggerating. My feelings toward him aren't just a little dislike; they're a big mix of not liking and hate him because of how irritating and bossy he is.

"Ms. Liyora?"

Who does he think he is? Is he trying to be like Hitler? And why is his hair so shiny? I wouldn't be surprised if he used a lot of Vaseline this morning. I don't like how he walks around the room in every class, looking at people's notebooks and listening to private talks. Doesn't he have anything else to do? Does he not have a wife? Maybe if he had one, he wouldn't be so interested in what we're doing and what we are talking about.

"Ms. Liyora Brooks?!"

Out of nowhere, I felt a nudge from Cristina, and it made me snap back to reality. I noticed that everyone in the class,including Mr. Matthews was staring at me, his strong arms crossed, and I could see the veins under his tan skin.

I bite my lip and adjust the hem of my pleated skirt over my thighs, feeling a bit awkward. "Yes?" I say hesitantly.

Then he asks, "What is a galvanic cell?"

I'm confused. Galvanic cell? Weren't we talking about something else, like plasma therapy? The sudden change in the topic makes me feel a little lost, surrounded by all these scientific terms and equations.

I probably look really silly as I lean over to check my friend Cristina's notebook for the answer. She gives me a nervous look, and her eyes quickly shift from me to Mr. Matthews.

But then, Mr. Matthews yells, "I didn't say you could use a book!" It feels like his voice could be heard by the whole country. I sit back down with shaky hands, pressing my lips together.

"I have no idea..." I mutter.

His blue eyes get darker, and I fidget as he clenches his jaws. I don't know why he dislikes me so much. Since the first day, he has only been mean and annoyed with me. I feel the same way about him, though.

He walks over to me with a strong and intimidating presence. He stops in front of my desk, and I have to look up with my big brown eyes. He's really tall, at least six feet, and has a muscular build. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up, showing rough hands that he places on my desk, leaning down to my height.

Cristina and the rest of the class are watching nervously as Mr. Matthews's strong cologne reaches my nose.

"If you keep being so distracted in my lessons, I might have to switch you to a different class," he warns. His breath is minty and warm, and he speaks in a low voice, like he doesn't want everyone to hear.

"I tend to get annoyed with students who daydream more than they pass my tests. Do you understand?"

I sigh.

Yeah, I might not be the smartest, but I do try. It's hard to do well when your teacher reminds you every day that you're not doing great. He makes me nervous all the time.

"I'm sorry," I say, and he closes his eyes for a moment, letting out a breath.

"I don't expect an apology Mis Liyora. Apologise to your parents who are wasting their money." His words sting, but I hold back my tears, biting my lip as he straightens up and goes back to the board.

"By the way, we weren't talking about the Galvanic cell. We were discussing plasma therapy," he says, shoving his hand into his pocket while erasing the notes on the board. Cristina touches my arm, giving me an encouraging smile.

I just nod, quickly grabbing my book and stuffing it into my backpack. There are only a few minutes left until class ends, and I don't want to spend any extra time here. I really dislike this man.

Mr. Matthews turns around and sees me packing my exercise book into my backpack. His stern expression comes back quickly.

"Did I say you could pack up, Mis Liyora?" Mr. Matthews's voice rings out, followed by a loud snicker from the back. I'm sure it's those backbenchers, the second group of people in this school who inexplicably dislike me.

"No, sir," I reply.

"Then. Take. Your. Book. Back. Out," he says through gritted teeth. "Now."

I slump my shoulders and do as instructed, pulling out my notebook while trying to hold back tears. I must admit, I'm a bit of a crybaby. When a man twice my size is sternly ordering me around, it's hard not to feel like breaking down, almost as if I were a five-year-old again.

Cristina gives me a sympathetic smile, and I sniff quietly, opening my book and leaning back in my chair. Little did I know, that was the wrong choice to make because Mr. Bully's eyes fell on my empty sheet, realising I hadn't been taking notes during his entire lesson.

Fu*k my life…..

"Where are your notes?" Mr. Matthews asks, leaning against his desk, eyeing me closely. Now that he's seated, his pants are even tighter, emphasising things that shouldn't stand out in a school setting. And I'm not talking about cucumbers.

"Sorry?" I say, pretending not to hear him, buying time to come up with an answer. "Your. Notes," he spells it out, treating me like I'm stupid.

I glance around needlessly, catching looks of both sympathy and amusement from my classmates.

"Hello." A finger taps against my desk, and I look up, meeting Mr. Matthews' intense blue eyes. "I said, where are your notes,

Mis Liyora?"

I want to cry. Why won't this man leave me alone? "I didn't take them," I mew.

He lifts his eyebrows in mock amusement, and I brace myself for his insulting response. "Oh, wow. Everyone here is taking notes, and you just 'didn't take any.' Just look at that. Have you done this subject before?"

"No."

"Is everything stored in your head, Miss Liyora?"

"No."

"Okay." He presses his hands to his waist. "Then, why didn't you?"

I am so exhausted. "Because I just didn't."

"Oh, okay. Well, now I think I see why you keep getting lottery numbers on your previous school test papers."

Yeah, he has no manners either. He curses a lot and doesn't even get fired for it.

"I want you to borrow your friend's book," he points to Cristina

"And ensure to take down the notes. Because you'll be doomed if you dare to get even 50% on my next exams. Understood?"

I nod my head. "Okay."

"Borrow it now and begin to take the notes. Rest of you, you're dismissed."

He turns away, heading back to his desk as everyone gets up to pack their things.

"Here you go," Cristina slides her book over to me, and I manage a small smile.

"Thank you."