Hiccup
Stupid Monday. Why does everything boring have to start on you?
This was the only thing that kept on crashing against the cavernous walls of my mind, gaining more and more weight alongside the sluggish crawl of the clock on the wall. Unfortunately, it was still first period, which meant I had yet to scoop up my Spanish binder and barrel out of this godforsaken classroom.
A sigh flew out from between my lips, every single twitching muscle in my body going slack as I let my face fall into the crook of my folded arms. Right in front of me, a voluminous packet glowed in all its orange glory, the Spanish text that littered the cover page becoming bathed in the shadow of my slouch. As of now, the entire class was instructed to complete conjugation exercises one through twelve, as well as read through the first three lessons in the textbook, which would become homework if not finished before the bell.
Frankly, I would've been done with all of this minutes ago. But, still, I laid there, my cheeks centimeters away from smooshing against the germ-ridden desk, not a quarter of the period gone by.
It wasn't the fact that I could conquer the Spanish work in less than five minutes that allowed me to procrastinate to my heart's pleasure. It was because I was extremely against the teaching methods of this particular teacher.
AP Spanish was taught by Señora Amezquita, who also happened to instruct the freshman in Spanish 2. Ninth grade year was torture, if you focused solely on foreign language, because Señora had a strange fetish for packets. And I, unfortunately, can only handle a limited amount of those.
She didn't teach. Sure, any student would say that about their own teacher, but I was a dedicated student. Education was a blessing to me, a long-term enrichment session that I enjoyed. Señora would simply slap packets into the palms of our hands, expecting us to stamp each and every piece of necessary information into our memories in time for the next test. Whatever happened to that information after that exam, no one cared.
Packets...oh, how I hated them.
However much hatred I held for them didn't change the fact that I still had to start them, though. On that tragic thought, I grudgingly propped myself up, my already-worn pencil falling rather nicely into my grip. Here we go, I groaned silently, the graphite tip nearing the paper below.
"Hola, new friends!"
What the...? My eyes shot up, traveling from the stapled sheets of paper to a figure that leaned confidently against the door jamb. The pencil I had so grudgingly clutched before clattered to the gleaming charcoal surface of the desk, what seemed like a lighter burying itself deep into the layers of soft tissue in my brain and igniting it all into one fiery mass of shock.
Her pale lips twitched before giving in to a crooked smile, a smile that seemed to be directed towards the entire room. But, when her powder-blue eyes rolled to my face, I had no choice but to think otherwise.
Without a trace of nervousness, Astrid lifted her hand, her fingers wiggling up and down in greeting.
"Hola, Miss Hofferson," Señora piped up from behind her spotless desk. I caught the glimmer of a phone screen, wiping out to black as she stowed it away beneath her workplace. Sure. Browse on your device, when the rest of us can't. "Welcome to Burgess High School. I hope you'll grow to like this...unique place."
"Of course, ma'am," Astrid nodded, tilting her head towards me for a brief moment, a grin hovering on her lips, before turning back to Señora to accept the day's load of packets.
YOU ARE READING
Branches of Our Tree
Fanfiction"Elsa, don't ever think you're alone. After all, we're all branches of a tree. And that tree belongs to everyone. That tree is our tree." For Elsa's entire life, she had lived safely within the thick, brick walls of her home, Arendelle Manor. Lesson...
