Another Love Story

"Wake up!, I heard my mother scream from downstairs. As I sat up in my bed, stil half-asleep, I took a look at my phone. "SH*T, sh*t, sh*t." I uttered to myself. F**k, I thought to myself. If I'm late, I'll get detention. I have never gotten in trouble before, not at school, not anywhere, not this goodie-two-shoe. I jumped out of bed, threw on a pear of jeans that were ripped, but weren't actually ripped-jeans. Grabbed my favorite bright pink T-shirt and white sneakers and stumbled down the stairs. "Have some breakfast.", My mother urged. "Mom, I don't have time, if I don't leave now I'll get in trouble.", I said almost completely out of breath. "Oh, we wouldn't want that, would we?", my mother sarcastically stated. I glared at her, not having time for a decent rebuttal. I rushed outside, jumped onto my bright pink bike, that matched my T-shirt perfectly and I paddled for dear life. TRINGGGGG I threw my bike against the side of the school and with a final sprint, just made it to French class before the door fell shut. As I sat down I thought I had totally pulled it off. I put my books on my desk and pretended to interested in what was being said. But the days seemed to have blurred into each other. Monday transformed into Tuesday and then Wednesday. Before you know it, it’s Thursday. You blink and Friday’s gone as well. Before you even realise what’s going on, Saturday and Sunday have flown by, the weekend’s over and you’re back to sitting in the classroom Monday morning first period. And the whole vicious cycle just starts again. All you seem to be able to do is watch the seconds turn into minutes, turn into hours and before you know it, the day has passed you by and you can’t help but wonder what the point of it all is. Is that what life is? Just existing. Or am I getting all philosophical because it is Monday morning and I haven’t quite woken up yet.  Don’t get me wrong, I love school. I know, nerd-alert. But it’s something I’m good at even though I would rather not have it start so early in the day. But it does sound weird though; Loving school, being good at it. What does that even mean? For me, I excel when I’m challenged or when under pressure. Not all teachers are motivated or have any idea what teaching in tales or how to get pupils to participate. But some of the happy few know what buttons to push to make you better, smarter. And once in a blue moon, you encounter the Loch Ness monster among teachers; the one who doesn’t just push you to be better, the one that makes you want to be better. We call this white whale; the teacher that inspires. So far, a lot of ‘do what I say teachers’, a lot of button pushing teachers, but not so much teachers who aim to inspire. And seeing as it is the end of the school year, I’m not holding my breath.  Right, I was boring you with why I am good at school. It’s not that I like blindly following orders and instructions, but I find a sense of calm in knowing that I don’t have all the answers and I probably never will. I also find the phrase: ‘Knowledge is power’, to be very intriguing and true. I am one of those white whale pupils; ones who actually want to learn. Furthermore, during, between and after classes I get to spend time with my friends. As we all know, during our years as a teenager they are one of the most important things in our lives. No matter how much our parents would like to believe that they are the most important people in our lives, it couldn’t be further from the truth. I love my mother, I do, but it will be a cold day in hell when I start telling her about the trouble I love to get into. I am a teenager, not an i***t. Granted, sometimes those two things overlap. But most of the time I have a sensible head on my shoulders and often act as the voice of reason for friends who otherwise would get themselves into a great deal of trouble. You would think that the life of a seventeen-year-old would be more eventful than what I’ve told you so far. You would be wrong. Trust me, you’re not the only one who’s disappointed. Thank God for summer. Only one more week of blurred lines before two blissful months of sun, pool parties, friends… If only that damn clock would tick faster. Only three more finals and then two days of school activities that don’t suck that much. And why am I rushing it? It’s simple, I might love school, but I love the summer more! I am an overachiever, not a nerd. There is a difference, a huge difference. What that might be you ask? Simple, I am liked, loved even, and accepted by all. And nerds, well, they are only safe with their own kind. Now for more important things, once that clock strikes three on Friday, school won’t just be over for summer. But come September, I will be a senior! You know what that means; just one more year of mischief and mayhem before I must grow up and go to college or university and act like a responsible adult. And who wants that? Fine, I’ll admit. There is something alluring to becoming an adult, the responsibilities and privileges that come with it. But it is a knife that cuts both ways. As long as I am a seventeen-year-old, no matter what I do wrong or right for that matter, I can still use the excuse that I’m just a child. Once you hit that eighteen marker that excuse becomes mute.    So you can understand why I’m eager to get to end of the week and the official start of the summer, but might not be as intent on starting the school year in September. It will be a year filled with goodbyes and last times. But it is also the start of the road to being an adult. First things first, now that the importance of senior year has been explained to you, bear with me for another moment. While writing this, you’ll be happy to know that Monday has blurred into Tuesday, and Wednesday has come and gone. Thursday just crawled by and today is Friday. The last official day of school before the summer starts.  We started off with Physical Education, also known as PE. Mr Rogers is one of those still motivated, but don’t push it, teachers. He wants to do well and he wants us to do well, but if you’re not good at PE, you might as well just take a load of and enjoy the show. That’s actually what Mr Rogers prefers, as long as we consider him to be one of the cool teachers, he’s happy. I get along just fine with him, of course I am a natural in all things PE. This year I lead our volleyball team to the national championships and a crushing victory in the finals against our everlasting sworn enemy; the Yellow Bees. Seriously? Who names a volleyball team after bees? I never really got the reference as well. You sting like a bee? Yes, and? How the hell is that related to volleyball? Anyhow, let’s just say that ever since that game I haven’t been able to do any wrong, according to Mr Rogers that is. Have you noticed that the week just flew by, but those last hours seem to be crawling by? Good, then I’m not alone in my misery. Lunch was nostalgic. We all gathered round our usual lunch table and told stories of the past year. While reminiscing, it almost seemed like we were going to miss it. But as soon as that bell rang, we couldn’t get to our last class/activity fast enough. We were one of the few lucky ones. Because the year was over and there really wasn’t any point in trying to teach us anything anymore, seeing as most of us where already dreaming about the summer, principal had decided that the last day of school would be filled with activities you could choose from. The point was that it would help you decide which courses you wanted to take next year. As we didn’t really give a crap at that specific point in time, we just chose the teacher we thought would give us the least crap. And the winner is; last period English with Mrs Doubtly. Ah yes, Mrs Doubtly. She’s the kind of teacher that wishes to inspire, tries her very best, but lacks a certain authenticity in her teachings. To top it all off she is 43, recently divorced and currently dating our math teacher Mr Virgil. Mr Virgil is the kind of teacher who talks about his teachings as moving mountains, while the only thing Mr Virgil has ever moved in reality, would be his desk. He’s 49 and has never been married. You would think that poor Mrs Doubtly would realise that if Mr Virgil has never been married, there is a good reason for why that is. I guess she never thought to ask, or maybe she did and is scared of the answer. At least Mr. Virgil didn’t still live with his mother. You would be surprised how many of our male teachers still live with their mother or had to move back into their mother’s house after getting divorced. I wasn’t really sure what Mrs Doubtly saw in Mr Virgil, but who am I to rain on the parade of blooming love. All be it an already withering one. I mean at their age? The term hot and heavy just takes on a whole new meaning. And why did we specifically want to end our year with Mrs Doubtly? Well, the woman isn’t passionate about much, but she can read Shakespeare like the good master intended it to be read. So we all know, the year would end with Mrs Doutbly re-enacting a scene from Romeo and Juliet. Trust me, if you ever get the chance, you will want to see it. It is like a solar eclipse; rare, painful if you look at it directly, but at the same time so beautiful. She truly has a gift that woman. She may have been better off as an actress then a teacher, but we were thankful that we got to enjoy her talents. TRING The alleviating sound of the school bell chiming its obliterating ringing in our ears. But who cares if we all go deaf, the summer is here. As you can imagine, the last bell before summer sets of a series of events. All bets are off as you can see teachers running, or should I say fleeing, to their cars to get away from it all. Specially to get away from the seniors, who have waited years to be able to get back at those who did them wrong. Freshmen are all gazing at the beauty of it and have already started to plot their goodbye. And finally, the sophomores, we stand proudly at the side lines, knowing that next year, it will be our turn to act on our deepest desires of torturing the good, the bad and the ugly teachers. I know this all sounds like Satan has escaped from hell and turned into a bunch of teenagers, and you might not even be wrong. But it is all good and innocent fun. Most every year the teachers know it is coming and they plan their own scheme. They too get to go all out and get their revenge on those pesky, arrogant, troublesome and sometimes just downright annoying youngsters. Last year it turned into a huge water balloon fight that the teachers actually won. In all fairness, they had been preparing in secret for months. Honestly, it was the coolest thing I had ever seen. No one got hurt, everyone had a good time. Even principal Cambell, who’s usually the grumpiest man alive. The man was holding the biggest water gun I’d ever seen. He re-enacted a scene from Rambo, which was his favourite movie, apparently. Did not know that, didn’t need to know that. It was all good and fun but as the day and with it the school year came to an end, a sense of sadness crept in as I stood and watched as the fight evolved into a war. Although a part of me was delirious to have survived another year in what for many is purgatory, I also realised that the next time chaos breaks out over the end of school year, it will be my last. In high school anyway. I realised that the school year ahead of me will be one filled with goodbyes and last times. But sadness soon makes way for Joy. No, not a typo. Joy is my best friend, has been since kindergarten. As the blond long-legged goddess makes her way to me, I know I will regret our decisions in the morning.