Maxley Notes

Notes, Notes, Notes

(Max)

Now, I know when something is dramatic or not. I dramatize things for the effect, like it's a career. But, the one thing I can never make dramatic is my hate, my self-loathing, the deep, very real, hate for notes.

I hate taking them. I refuse to take the time to write them, when they will be lost in the next hour. So, as a genius with many resources, I leave the notes to my esteemed classmates. More specifically, Bradley Uppercrust |||.  He has been deemed the note taker of the century - at least, I like to think so. 

I just need to find a way to get my hands on those beautiful pieces of paper. With the teacher periodically checking on everyone, just reaching for them is off the table. I do have to say, it is an effective method. 

Unfortunately, these times call for a more...docile measure. I grab out my trusty notebook and beloved red pen and flip to a random page. I begin to write what is most definitely not notes, but a love letter to my note taker of the century. 

In my best penmanship I write something subtle, to make sure I actually get the notes. "Hey Brad!!" covers the top 5 lines. 

"It's perfect." I think so myself, folding up the piece of paper, one, two, three times before tossing the paper onto Bradley's desk. 

His head pulls back as it drops onto his own notebook. He shoots me a glare before opening the note. He lets out an audible sigh as he takes a pen, folds it back up, and puts it onto my desk. 

What do you want freshman? I'm trying to focus on the lecture.

He's scribbled out Brad and rewritten Bradley underneath it with an arrow to really get that point across. 

I write back quickly, trying to avoid the daggers for eyes the teacher is throwing around at the classroom. 

thats what i was gonna ask u about

He lets out another sigh as he reads it. I wonder if he's okay. No one should be sighing this much. 

As he hands back the paper, the teacher throws those annoying daggers at us with a quiet warning. We put both our heads down, trying to seem innocent. 

I pull the paper open. Once again, he's written over my beautiful work. Capitalizing and adding punctuation to my sentence. 

Fix your grammar. And if you're about to ask for my notes again, my answer is still no.

I drop my shoulders with a groan and a roll of my own daggers. 

come on brad, dont be like that :( i wont ask again after this

I will definitely be asking after this. 

Before giving it back, I add a small drawing of myself calling him a nerd. That'll be sure to charm him into saying yes. 

My answer is still no, and write smaller. 

He crossed out my beautiful drawing... Does he have no respect for modern art?

Plzzz, ill stop asking! ad ill giv u smthin good in return

He looks back at me again. In stead of looking like I just threatened to rip up his deisgner shirts, he seems convinced!

And what would that be? Because I can confidently say you have nothing I want.

Darn.