Daughter of the Demon (I)

Daughter of the Demon-5-The Issue with AP Lit Teachers and Partners

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Chapter 5: The Issue with AP Literature Teachers and Partners

~Jemma~

AP Lit teachers. I don’t know if they’re all like Mr. Matthews, but I bet they aren’t too different.

Crazy, insane, psychotic, mental. They were all fine qualities of our fine AP Lit teacher. He who willing danced in front of us, sang out his favorite song at the top of his lungs, played his air guitar, and blasted the radio until another teacher told him to turn it off.

He was insane.

But he was always so very, very fun.

Even though half the kids rolled their eyes at him and pretended not to care, they smiled. We all did, even Angelina. Maybe that was his purpose. Maybe his purpose was to take us and put us in this AP Literature classroom that could be like any class, to make it different by being totally crazy and maniacal and giving us a refreshing lapse in the day.

I didn't know how Mr. Matthews’ mind worked , and honestly, I didn't want to find out. What went on in his head should solely and surely stay only to him.

But he was not ashamed, and he was certainly not self-conscious. Maybe because he wasn’t, he expected a classroom of seventeen-year-olds---teenagers---to freely express themselves in front of their peers. A huge overestimation, where we were concerned.

“Come on, guys! Our next unit is poetry and there is nothing more expressive than that!” Mr. Matthews dropped into his chair, his hands running over the smooth metal handles. “When you go out into the world, you don’t want to have to hide behind some shell. You want to crack open the surface and burst out, letting yourself shine and waving your hands into the air, because if you’re not who you really are, how are people going to actually like you for you?”

Wow.

In some twisted, psychotic way, Mr. Matthews made a lot of sense.

*****

Jacob found me again at lunch and this time when he sat down beside me I didn’t push him away. I would try to be cooperative. A little. But only if he didn’t start being a pain.

“Hello,” I said faintly, not taking my eyes away from my book. It was windy. I had my hair in a pony-tail to keep it out of my face, but the wind blew some of it loose.

“You never have lunch,” Jacob said suddenly.

“No,” I replied, turning the page. “I don’t.”

“Why not?”

I shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t like lunch that much. It’s so in the middle of the day.”

“Really? Wow, I can’t live without lunch.”

“You’re a guy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You all have bottomless pits for stomachs.”

Jacob chuckled and let go of his backpack. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

I snapped my book shut, sighing. “So what do you want?”

Jacob took out his envelope and wagged it in the air. “I thought we should return these to Mr. Matthews.”

“Good idea.” I shoved my book in my backpack and retrieved my envelope. “Let’s go.”

We walked---yes, together---up the hill and through the doors of the school, down the main hall and to Mr. Matthews’ door. Jacob knocked lightly.