The Brunette and the Blonde

The Cloud and the Tutor

  Beep… Beep… BEEP!

  “God, I hate early mornings…”

  I groggily went down my bunk and pounded on the alarm clock near a small desk by my roommate’s desk

  “Why does he even have an alarm clock anyway?”

  First thing to worry about is Sky’s alarm going off every six in the morning. He wakes up every four am, so why bother bringing along an alarm clock?

  I took a quick look in the bathroom mirror. Good thing our dorms have provided bathrooms. Let’s see. I got messy bed hair, blood-shot eyes, eye bags, and a pimple on my forehead, right next to my eyebrow.

  I decided to let it go and take a nice, quick, hot shower.

  Wrong. The heater seemed to be broken.

  I jumped as ice cold water ran down my body.

  “How could this day get any worse?”

…

  I walk around the hall, everyone, as usual, was either looking up their lockers, or talking to their friends. I cross by a clique of girls doing their make-up on their locker doors, with a bunch of mirrors plastered behind. It smelled like powder and my mother’s perfume.

  My name is Cloud Venetian Cahill, and I have something to confess to you.

  I am a failing student.

  Well, I’m not the only failing student in Maine High. Maybe the fifth or the fourth if you rank it up.

  Okay, what am I saying? My grades are starting to lose it. Why did my parents make me go to a boarding school anyway? Oh right, because the principal of my last school said that I had to, ‘strictly observe my studies’. And the only way to settle that is to take my a thousand miles away from home and drop me off in Maine High, the school for average brainiacs.

  Me, an average braniac? They should have shipped me to the country and let me milk cows and pick horse droppings.

  “Yo Cahill!” a jock yells by.

  “What?” I stop walking.

  “Think fast!” A ball zoomed by and not more than two seconds it hit me in the face.

  At least I didn’t fall and wrinkle my uniform.

  But I did get a red imprint near my forehead.

  “See ya later, loser!”

…

 Ah, English. The last subject of the day.

“Good afternoon class. As you know, I’m going to give you last week’s test results.”

“Oh, boy,” I silently said to myself, “Another failing paper.”

Our English teacher, Ms. Baylee, started handing out our tests.

“Here it comes,” I thought, “Three, two, and one.”

Handing out mine, Ms. Baylee gave a scowl and went on to the next student.

The good new is she didn’t call me by my surname and announce my grade out loud; the bad news is my paper’s an F.

Told you.

Ever since I started high school in Maine High, I’ve been called an idiot, a retard, an imbecile, and some others I didn’t completely understand.