Chapter 3: ...how to infuriate your jailer
Cream walls everywhere. Pictures that litter the cream walls, all showcasing the works or faces of supposedly happy former prisoners. Rows of bunched up metal cages designed to hold belongings. Jail cells that had brown doors instead of bars.
Welcome to Bloomsbury High, specially designed to lure unsuspecting parents.
A sigh escaped my lips as I strolled into my new class.
Just one more year, then you'd be free.
Luckily for me, thanks to a certain person's poison attempt, I arrived at school after homeroom so I didn't have to face the other prisoners immediately.
Why didn't I want to face them? Well, it's because of the relationship I had with them. One that involved 'chance' meetings with them at locker areas. It also involved me having to search desperately for a place to sit at lunch. Let's not forget the frequent rumors spread about me.
"Yo, Angelo!"
Glancing away from my locker, I found myself staring into the grinning face of Andy Mctaylor.
Due to his large brown eyes, mud-brown hair, and constantly massive grin, the 'epitome of cheerful friendliness' was an apt description of his appearance. He was on the football team, so he was popular also.
Despite all that, I had a problem with him.
He tried way too hard to be friendly with me.
Though seeing as I was the most popular kid in Bloomsbury High, that shouldn't be much of a surprise.
Wait, you didn't think I meant I was bullied earlier, did you? Heavens no! Like I'd let something like that ever happen to me!
.
.
.
Ok, that's a lie. See when you come from a background as rich as mine and you attend Bloomsbury High, you're either one of two things: popular, or bullied.
Thanks to the fact I had been a bit, well, flabby in my early teens, and people didn't appreciate my direct manner of speech, I had ended up falling into the latter rather than the former.
That all changed the day one of my bullies gave me a black eye.
When I got home that day, Annie was furious after she had seen it. She went into a full savage mode, grabbing her torches and preparing to light them. (Of course, by 'torches' I mean her phone, and by 'lit' I mean dialed the principal's number.
When Max had seen it as well he'd tried to coerce me into telling him who had given it to me, but I refused. I knew that if I did, Max would have sent a bodyguard to put the person in the hospital. Scratch that, he'd have done it himself! Despite the fact the person had bullied me, I still didn't want Max to put him in the hospital.
Why would I have wanted that, when I could have done it myself?
That summer I underwent training with Max and learned how to fight. By its end, I was a lean, mean, killing machine.
Exactly how I wanted.
Luckily for me, the guy came back to school after that summer, so I went up to him and insulted him. He hit me. I hit him back. Then, we began fighting.
I put him in the hospital. The school overlooked the whole thing, due to a rather hefty check.
All's well that ends well!
Anyways, back to the unfortunate meeting I had with Andy. In response to his greeting, I nodded. "Andy."
His grin faltered a bit, so I almost scoffed. Does he expect me to be jumping for joy and screaming his name?
Ok, I didn't almost scoff.
I scoffed.
His brow furrowed. "Is there something wrong with your throat?"
Oh, the curse of the slow of mind!
I sighed. "No, sorry. Looks like you'll have to sell your lozenges to someone else."
"Huh? I don't have any."
"Well, then there's no point of asking about the well being of my throat, now is there?"
His face scrunched in confusion as his brain tried to process my words. I quickly used that opportunity to grab my stuff for the first two lessons, slam my locker, then start heading to class.
When he caught up to me, he asked, "So... how was your summer?"
The instant he said that any hope he had then of ever holding up to a two-minute conversation with me crumbled away.
I let out an exaggerated groan. "Ugh, it was just positively horrible! Terrible! Dismal! Worst summer ever! I hated it! Wanna know why?"
The grin fell off his face, replaced with a look of panic. "Uhh, well-"
I rose an eyebrow at him. "Exactly, you don't. Now, unless you want to try out more feeble attempts to start a conversation with me, I have to prepare for my journey to dreamland. You should as well, after all, we have math!"
. . .
Some of you may think that I had been a little too harsh in my conversation with Andy, but funny enough, that's what got me so popular. Well, that's one of the reasons. The whole 'sending-my-bully-to-the-emergency-room' thing also helped.
Speaking of that, after that incident various people, boys and girls alike, approached me. All who saw the ability to put people in the hospital as a good quality for a friend to have.
Some of them also came with invites to parties, small get-togethers, and other social events. Of course, I declined a good number of such. Strangely though, my constant refusals seemed to encourage even more people to invite me out - shows you just how forward-thinking my peers are!
Not long after, I had amassed my fanbase. And that, my dear readers, is how I became the unofficial king of Brickleberry High.
Now that you've learned a bit about my back story, I suppose it's time you find out how the first class of my senior year went.
"Mr. Smith!"
"Mm- what?"
My eyelids fluttered open, exposing my eyes to the glaring face of the bearded man who stood before me. Yawning, I began rubbing my eyes.
The sound of a sharp knock on my table directed my attention back to the man's ruddy, box-shaped face.
I sighed. "Yes, math teacher, can I help you?"
His slanted brown eyes looked almost black as he growled, "Pay attention! Also, my name is Mr. Howard!"
I shrugged. "I'll take your words into consideration, sir."
He glared at me silently, then before turned back to his other students. I could practically feel my peers' moods deflate when he continued torturing them with his voice as he dictated the names of the math topics to be studied for the term.
That's one of the reasons why I used to hate the first days of school. The first week. School in general, but the first day is usually when one has to spend time listening to information that doesn't hold much value to them. If you consider someone like me, who was already far beyond other students in the subject, you might understand why paying attention was hard.
Sighing, I looked out of the window, trying to find something remotely interesting.
"Mr. Smith!"
I slowly looked back at Mr. Howard, then hissed, "I am paying attention, math teacher!"
"To your daydreams maybe! And I told you, my name is Mr. Howard, the man who would appreciate if you paid attention in his class!"
Although I could feel my fingernails digging into my palm, I forced a smile onto my face. "Well Mr. Howard, 'the man who would appreciate it if you paid attention in my class', you see, I would pay attention, if not for the fact that your lesson is so boring."
"Don't get smart with me, young man! Also, that doesn't mean much coming from you." He rolled his eyes. "After all, teenagers like you think every teacher is boring."
I let a dry chuckle slip past my lips. "Mr. Howard, what a silly thought! No, I don't think all teachers are boring. I've had interesting teachers, like Mr. Jackson, Mr. Bill, Miss White... I could go on for hours!"
I paused, then added, "Actually I can't. That shouldn't matter to you though because even if I could, there's no guarantee I would call your name. I can personally guarantee you I wouldn't."
The sniggers that arose all over the class because of my statement did nothing to help lighten the reddening color of Mr. Howard's cheeks. "Is that so? Very well, maybe you shouldn't be in my boring lesson anymore!"
At that point, I had to work to keep a grin off my face. "Sir, are you trying to insinuate I should leave the class?"
"I'm not insinuating, I'm clearly stating it!"
"You aren't because if you are-"
"I don't care! Now, out!"
I glanced around the class, scanning my eyes over the hordes of grinning people watching the scene unfold, practically salivating with their want for more drama. After that, I glanced down at my watch, then looked back up at Mr. Howard. "You know what sir, forget about this incident and continue your lesson."
His eyes bulged so wide that I half expected them to pop out of his head. "Excuse me?"
"Oh do stop shouting sir, I'm right in front of you! Anyways I'm trying to help you. Go back to work. You're being paid to educate students, not deafen-"
Bang!
That was the sound of my teacher slamming both of his hands onto my desk as he leaned towards me.
I sighed. "Control yourself, sir. I hope you realize that if you break this table, it comes out of your salary?"
"Who the fuck do you think you are? Get the fuck out of my class, now!"
There were gasps all around, but don't be fooled: they hadn't sprung up because the words he said had offended my classmates' ears, oh heavens no! However, when a teacher lets slip a curse word, you just have to let out that gasp. You know, that gasp that signifies you've found the next headline for the school's newspaper!
As for me, I probably would have laughed if I wasn't enduring a separate, even deadlier onslaught.
When he finished, I wrinkled my nose, wiping at my face. "Firstly, I just want to let you know that you've been spitting on me for the last five minutes, but let's ignore that."
"Secondly, I guess if you want me to, I'd leave. Of course, I'd be going to continue my lesson in the principal's office. Only that, instead of math, we'd be having a rather enlightening discussion about the school staff and the kind of language that should and shouldn't be used on students. Well-" Sighing, I got up and began gathering my books, "-I'd just be going."
I started walking towards the door, but it was only when I had reached it that I finally heard the words I'd been expecting. "Go back to your damn seat, Angelo!"
A smirk spread across my face as I turned back and faced him. "So glad you've decided to see reason. I suggest that as I'm going back to my 'damn' seat, you resume your 'damn' lesson as well, math teacher!"
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