One Million Tiny Things

Goody two shoes

Dear Ms. Carter,
Ok, take me seriously here. I'm not kidding. I'm not covering for anybody and nor did I suddenly fall and knock my head. These were all questions Mr. Jenkins asked me when I first confessed. He even considered if a clone was taking my place. Then he told me stop joking and went back to drawling out his love for Pythagoras.

But you'll belive me, won't you? In case you don't, and this fails to hold up in court I'll get this out now

I swear to tell the absolute truth and nothing but the truth in this letter.

It was me.

I dropped the flower pot on Jackson Healey.

And it wasn't on accident.

I know, I know, I'm a terrible person. But, you've got to believe me when I say he deserved it. Jackson, in case nobody else has noticed, is the true incarnation of the devil. Not an advocate, but Satan himself in a living human form.

With his stupid tousled hair, and that mischievous smirk that makes his entire face represent a lopsided leprechaun, you've got to have noticed he wasn't human. And have you notices the cute little pointed ears that clearly show him as a homicidal elf? He might be a little too tall to be an elf because he looks like the TV boy from Charlie and the Choclate factory after he got stretched. So maybe a maniacal mutated elf?

He might be too attractive to walk on Earth with his perfectly chiseled face but I'm still trying to prove a point here. It's just another one of his weapons paired with his irresistible charm to worm himself out of anything.

Just last week, he threw a basketball through the library window. From inside the library. And what did Ms. Duboy do? She giggled stupidly while Jackson shot her one of his dimply smiles and kissed her on the cheek, apologetically. Before running off scot free.

Poor Gib accidently tripped up a bookshelf earlier and he had to pay to replace the whole thing and even buy new books for the crushed ones. But Jackson, ha, he didn't have to buy a window, did he?

Madam, I say this with the utmost respect but why on earth is that menace still in this school. I believed us to be a reputable institution, but what school keeps a tornado contained in it's classrooms.

When was the last time Jackson showed up in uniform? I doubt he's even heard of the word respect in his life. He comes to school in multicoloured hoodies with half untied sneakers on his feet, half an hour late. It drives me nuts. Why do the rest of us get up an hour earlier to get dressed in ties and ironed uniforms with socks and polished shoes if this ruckus shows up like this?

To add to my anger, he meets with his designated girl of the week in front of my locker. It's a mercy I haven't shown up with a knife and run it through the guy. You know, Ma-am, this is how serial killers are born. Who knows? 20 years from now I could be rotting in a jail cell simply because the mere presence of Jackson Healey drove me nuts.

Then at lunch today, he asked my "pimply stuck-up self" to move because I was blocking the lunch line. Which was clearly impossible because I was standing behind him in the line. You see my point about him being the cause of human destruction.

So when I walked into Mr. Jenkins's classroom early and saw Jackson standing right under the window. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up. I don't know what came over me, I just picked up the pot and threw it down. I saw it crack on his head and a few of the roses lay scattered on his head. And then I ducked and laughed my head off.

Though annoyed, he wasn't hurt all that much, was he? I saw him turn up to class after lunch without so much as a band-aid. He was vowing vengeance on whoever did it and how he would turn that person's life into a living hell. But, when I confessed, you know what he did, he scoffed. Legit scoffed. Like really you?

That's the worst part, no-one believes me. Even Jackson strongly denies me having dropped the pot. Ok, he looked up and didn't see me. What a great point in my favor. For the last time people, I ducked out of sight so that you wouldn't see me. I'm not an idiot.

Nobody believes that I could do something as simple as picking up a pot and dropping it. I could do it again and show you. Who are we dropping it on now? Maybe Mr. Carl, the grumpy janitor?

Fine, fine, I'm kidding. But it is offensive that nobody believes Claire goody two shoes to do something bad. What I find unbelievable is that the whole school seems to think it as impossible.

I dropped the pot of roses from Mr. Jenkins's desk on Jackson Healey's head at 1.45pm. It was a deliberate attempt to hurt and I apologise profusely. I hope that no charges will be held against me.

P.S. I dropped it, for real. Believe me!

Regards,
Claire Masseche.