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The Story of High School

The Story of High School

Pervs, farts, and volleyball: yup, that's high school. Thanks for the story, Sarah Bruley!—Miss Marm

I woke up at 7 a.m. and unfortunately, did not feel like P. Diddy. Unfortunately for me, homeroom at Morass High starts at 6:45, which meant I would have to sweet-talk my way out of detention again. And when I say sweet-talk, I mean bring a tray of cupcakes to Mr. Rasp, the man in charge at the attendance office. Judging by his pale skin, baggy eyes, and several chins it’s easy to tell that Mr. Rasp is not well acquainted with the great outdoors, or sunshine for that matter. Most latecomers arrive in his office and are greeted with his glazed expression and reeking odor of his flatulence and leave with a detention slip and loss of appetite. However, the more experienced upperclassmen, such as myself, have learned to take advantage of Mr. Rasp’s soft spot for baked goods and manage to leave his office with only the slight odor of his office lingering in our jackets.

I finally reached homeroom at 7:15 and immediately found Mr. Trevrep yet again attempting to flirt with my best friend, Maggie. Today, Mr. Trevrep had slicked down his comb-over with so much gel it looked like he shoved his head in a bowling ball shiner.“You are welcome to stay any time after school for extra credit,” he said.

“Mr. Trevrep,” Maggie replied, “umm, I don’t think we’re graded in homeroom.”

“Well,” he said as he smoothed out his paisley-patterned tie, “my offer is still on the table, Miss Arabella.”

Mr. Trevrep sauntered away and Maggie and I started to talk about how he was getting more and more creepy. Eventually the bell rang and those that spent their weekend in revelry made a final attempt to finish their homework before the second bell.

First period came and I was in computer studies. Our teacher was gone, but left a sub, Ms. Davids. When I walked through the door I noticed all of the lights and computers were turned off, and everyone was sitting in a circle in the middle of the classroom with Ms. Davids standing in the middle. After the second bell Ms. Davids introduced herself and then the class know-it-all, Albert, decided to chime in with his nasally voice.

“Ms. Davids, Ms. Davids! Ooh pick me, pick me!” he said pretty enthusiastically for being the only one with a hand raised.

He then proceeded to ask, “Shouldn’t the computers be turned on for computer class? And don’t you know that you need to turn the computer on to take attendance? And isn’t it a safety hazard to have the lights turned off?”

“No, we wouldn’t want to turn anything on. Er, what’s your name?”

“Albert Severus Granger Weasley Stein.”

“Well, whatever your name is, to turn on the computers we must first plug them in, but I really wouldn’t want to do that because I spent so much time unplugging everything.”

It was at this point when I realized Ms. Davids should be institutionalized. She then proceeded to give her theory on how “they” mind-control devices through electricity and it was her job to protect us all from becoming mind washed. We tried to figure out who “they” were, but Ms. Davids kept insisting that “they” are everywhere and monitor everything at all times. Johnny, my friend since pre-school, and I thought Ms. Davids was referring to a government conspiracy. And whenever someone said something she disagreed with she replied: “We don’t like that.” Johnny and I still don’t know who else was included in the “we”.

Not a moment too soon the bell rang and Ms. Davids held to door open for us with one hand, and kept her fingers to her temple with the other hand, as if she were meditating. Since my next class was up two flights of stairs and down a hallway, I had to rush. But, as anyone who’s ever tried to hurry in the hallway knows, there were obstacles. There were several guys who walked the hallways with swagger, which meant that their pants were down to their knees so everyone could have the pleasure of seeing their boxers. These swaggerers also moved very slowly. Once I circumnavigated those guys, I had to get around a loving couple that also walked at a turtle’s pace and frequently stopped for PDA, which was, to say the least, awkward. Getting up the stairs wasn’t much more comfortable either since going up a crowded stairway means your face is directly in front of someone’s butt, which is made worse when the butt in front of you is barely clad or lets out a huge fart.

I reached the hallway of my destination, but as I passed the guys’ bathroom I heard an excited chanting of “Go! Go! Go! Go!” Then, Mrs. Muriel, the 60-year-old dean, marched into the bathroom and the chanting immediately stopped and a line of boys exited the bathroom. A few seconds later, Mrs. Muriel left the bathroom with an embarrassed-looking Dennis.  I later learned that Dennis was dared to take a dump in one of the urinals and was circled by a group of cheering boys as he did it. Dennis was suspended for the following two days.

My next few classes went on fairly normally. Our English teacher tried to find the deep hidden meaning behind the Cat in the Hat and our Spanish teacher had a meltdown in the middle of our test because he didn’t understand why his wife was having an affair. He then proceeded to ask us for advice on how to help his marriage.

By lunchtime I was starving and made the mistake of arriving to the cafeteria too soon. When I am the first one at your table, putting down my stuff and sitting down to eat gets awkward, because I feel like a loser eating alone. I eventually sit and pretend to text until more friends show up, because everyone pretends to text in an awkward situation. After Johnny and Maggie bought their lunch and sat down (which appeared to be fried chicken, but smelled like fish) Carlos, an exchange student from Japan, started to tell us about dissecting worms in bio that day. Zach eventually lost his appetite and exclaimed, “Please! Not at the table, Carlos!”

When lunch ended at 12:45 Maggie, Zach, and I made our way to gym where the class was divided into teams for volleyball. In my gym class, most people follow one of two extremes: those who take gym too seriously and those who are afraid to sweat. Most of the guys are competitive, while pretty much all freshman try to avoid touching the ball at all costs. In this class the guys tried to spike every ball, as usual, and two gossipy girls on my team were too enthralled in their conversation to notice the ball bouncing right in between them. At this, Jared got upset, yelled at them, then asked the teacher if he could switch teams. After my team lost 24-2 we weren’t given enough time to change back into our clothes, which meant we had to hurry to our last class of the day because Mr. Novak “doesn’t believe in passes.”

I swear that my math teacher, Mr. Walters, is bipolar. One day he decides to give us a pop quiz and five hours worth of homework, and other days he decides to chill. Luckily, he decided to take it easy today. Mr. Walters wrote our assignment on the board, took out a newspaper and a pipe, and headed for the bathroom. We didn’t see him until the end of class when he returned smelling smoky.

On the bus, I turned to Johnny and said, “T.G.I.F.!”

“S.H.I.T.,” he replied.


“Sorry, honey, it’s Thursday!”

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Previous finalists: A Murder, a Bit of Shakespeare, and Some Very Bad Grammar; A Story About Skincare; An Allergy-Based Love Story

Topics: Life, Miss Marm
Tags: fiction contest, fiction, stories, short stories, it's kind of a funny story

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