Clicking heels. Shuffling papers.
That’s all that could be heard in room 316, tenth period.
Not a whisper or breath was discernable in the cramped room, just the constant click and shuffle.
Click…
Shuffle…
Click…
Shuffle…
Click…
And it was driving me nuts!
Actually, it was putting the whole class on end but this was utterly ridiculous. Why put us through this torture? What good does that do? It’d almost be better if Principal Morrison came in to lecture us. Almost.
Shuffle…
Oh, God I swear if this lady doesn’t hurry up, I am going to walk right up to her and show her exactly how quickly she should be moving.
Click…
That was right beside me.
I looked up as the teacher laid a piece of paper in front of me, flipped over so the questions weren’t visible.
Shuffle…
Off to the desk behind me.
Tick, tock.
I glanced at my watch. 2:20. Five more minutes before I could escape this horrid place where the teachers are cruel and kids are required to… to do work! Five minutes. What could you possibly do in five minutes that is so important that they couldn’t just let us out now?
Tick, tock.
Oh, great, now the clock is starting to p*ss me off.
Click, shuffle.
I mentally groaned at myself and face-planted my head on my hard desk, none to gently. Am I the only one feeling this pain?
“Class,” the teacher boomed at us as the clicking and shuffling ceased.
Her carrying voice was amplified extra loudly in the formerly silent room as I picked my head back up. I saw more than one person wince.
“You may turn your papers over.” She then clicked her was back to her desk.
Dang.
I swear, after that drawled out torment, you’d think she’d have more to say to us than that. Like I said: cruel teachers.
A wave of shuffles followed by resounding groans permeated the room. Here and there, people sighed with relief or muffled a happy “Yes!”
Me, I stared at the blank sheet before me like an idiot.
You, know I really hate myself sometimes. One minute I’m dying to flip over the paper and see my condemnation but when we’re finally granted permission, what do I do? I stare at the whiteness before me like a complete moron.
“Aren’t ya gonna look?” the girl behind me asks, noticing my white paper and interrupting my mental scolding.
Now, I stare at her like an idiot.
“Well?” She keeps looking at me questionably.
I glance at the clock on the wall. 2:24.
One minute.
People are still quiet but thumps and scruffs could be heard as they all packed up for dismissal.
Guess what I did?
I sat there like an idiot.
“I look at it for you,” the girl says, reaching over my shoulder.
I just stared, really, at nothing in particular.
I heard a scuffle on my desk and even though I was looking straight at it, I still wasn’t seeing.
Until someone nudged me in the shoulder. Hard.
Shaking my head, I glared at the girl behind me. Sheesh.
I was sure my glare was at maximum evilness but for some reason, she was grinning broadly.
“Congratulations!”
My glare turned into a mask of confusion until she stuck the paper so close to my face that it touched my nose and I had to look cross-eyed at it.
I took it from her grasp and just stared at it.
Idiot.
But I had a reason this time. An explainable reason.
Written on the top right hand corner above the date was a big red 100.
Below was a list of twenty math problems that I’d studied real hard for and on the top left corner was my name in messy handwriting.
I. Got. A. 100.
I don’t know how I felt then. I wanted to groan for taking to long to flip over my test. I wanted to sigh in relief that it was over. I wanted to shout “Yes!” and pound my fist in the air like I won the World Cup.
But I couldn’t do anything because right at that time, the bell rang and kids fled. The quiet was no more. I t was filled with scrapes of desks on the floors, the pitter-patter of footsteps and the different pitched “Good-byes.” Nobody else was in the room.
Except me.
I sat at my desk staring at the 100 on my sheet with my bag unpacked and books, folders, calculator and pencil strewn in front of me. I sighed.
Idiot.