Snakes & Scoundrels

11: big brother

The groan I let out as I fall in my seat confirms that my brain is officially fried. 

Listening to Marylin Tung for two hours because some Board Member bailed on us made me realize one thing—this is the most I've been exhausted in these last four weeks. Not when I was vigorously completing my notes, not when Ashley made us do that ridiculous cheer pyramid fifty times, not even when I agreed to help Carol hunt for her old diaries from the garage that hadn't been opened in twenty years. This. This is where my brain draws the line. 

Whoever inspired this woman to take up teaching must be enjoying this show of watching us rot. 

I hear movement in the seat beside me. Alex has returned. That's right, Alex had to return to his seat because, in the first fifteen minutes, Alex was punished to sit in the front row. Why? Because he and I were "murmuring" and that seemed to have "disturbed Tung's focus". 

Okay, first of all, he and I were not murmuring, we were--fine, we were murmuring. He was giving me gossip and she snatched him off at the peak of the tea. You think she would've stopped there but she went on and on making us write a theory (mind you, she teaches math) of a topic I do not even recall now. 

Today is the day I learned we can write theory in math. Five pages. FRONT AND BACK! 

Another reason for me to hate the subject. Yay!

She's a terror, I'll tell you why. She throws chalk on people who are drowsing, she still punishes us like we're kindergarten kids, she dictates our notes (ON MATH!), she gives us "everyday homework" in this era where we only have semester assignments and projects, and she wants our parents' signatures on them!

Yes, yes, international Ravens, let's catch the next flight out to the other side of the globe because Tung wants your mommies' and daddies' signature! And when someone pointed that out, you won't believe what she said. Her exact words were: "Fax it!" 

Is she for real?

My father is a text away and I still wouldn't budge to ask him for a signature. She could've said "Forge it" and then some of us would've found that interesting--but fax it? Ew. 

"So Bentley Morales didn't make it for the Guest Talk at all?" 

I sit up straight because I assumed it was Alex when the chair moved, not Sam. 

Wait, Sam?

I snap my head with eagerness and then I zone back to this reality where Sam is on the other side of the world. The person beside me, however, is just boring old Alex Creed. He's holding a Facetime call made to my best friend. 

This has been going on for a week now—Sam filling in the itsy-bitsy details of our life to Alex and him openly judging me with each reveal. Hey, I'm not proud of most of the decisions I've made in my life. I already knew how much I fucked up. But when I listen to Sam elaborately narrating them one by one, it hits me I've screwed up so much more than I had imagined.   

I'm a wreck. I should not be allowed to make decisions at all. My decisions are not just harmful to me, but to society too. I could actually be put behind bars for some of my stupidity. 

"Nope!" Alex pops his p. "I told you that man is very reserved. He's never shown up to low-scale events. I think he's being fair. You don't just call Brian Michael Bendis's best friend who also happens to be a Ravenford board member for a mid-afternoon Guest Talk. But you know what's not fair?"

"Marylin Tung being his two-hour replacement?" I suggest. 

"Yes!" Alex screams. "I hate that woman!"