Parallel (discontinued)

Jonah- Chapter I: A Star Problem

"Mr. Kai, are you listening?!? What's the answer to this problem?"

Sheesh. If I had a dollar for every time I heard that exact phrase, I wouldn't be here right now.

I am writing this for 3 reasons

#1: Believe it or not, there's not much to do in a prison.

Yeah, that's right. I'm a "criminal". A "juvenile delinquent" if you want to sound fancy about it.  Committed some pretty serious crimes. Like, major crimes. Apparently.

#2: Believe it or not, I am going to tell you the real story. The truth.

Perhaps if I rot here, at least whoever finds this can get what actually happened. Someone may as well know. And then they'll know I wasn't CRAZY, and then they'll see the good in me. Hopefully, I finish. A story without an end is as good as none.

Anyway, my apologies, excuse me, sorry. I digress. I drag on. I get carried away. I'll get back to where I was.

Pay attention if you're reading, please. The most tiniest of details sometimes make the greatest difference...

Oh, and if I happen to make it through this...let me know what you think...Tell me if I'm good...Or just pure mad.

It started on a lowly, deleterious Monday morning. I could've sworn I was this close to dying of boredom. Physically. Maybe it would've been better if I did, then and there, in that math class. It would've saved me the time of having to die here, slowly. But then again, I'd rather die here with what little dignity and pride I have left than in that math class. What an unfortunate, miserable way to go if that had been the case.

Anyway, I must have been looking real obvious; perhaps my deadpan stature and the bloodless look on my face gave it away. That always does the trick. It worked the past 20 times I've been called out for.

Mrs. X and I have a simple, inverse relationship. As her talking increases, I can feel my life correlatively decreasing at a steady rate. We also have a simple step by step formula that we like to perform. Step 1: I zone out. Step 2: she calls me out, attempting to humiliate me in front of my peers and hitting me with the infamously dreaded catchphrase of all math teachers, "What's the answer to this problem?"

At this critical point in the process, she appears furious. The class goes still. And you can feel the breath of life immediately removed from the students observing. She is proud of herself, that is, until Step 3: I answer.

"x-4 to the power of e over 2 pi"

Her smug look dissipates. She turns back to her lecture, having accepted defeat.

Mrs. X and I demonstrate this 3-step algorithm repeatedly every day in front of the class. Every time she feeds me different inputs, a new, harder problem to solve, only to be discouraged with the similar output: the correct answer.

I am a star student, that's what I am. In fact, I'm the top of my grade. I am "outstanding" at school. With "superior intellect and high academic achievement". At least that's what the faculty says on my review. How obnoxious. I hate school with a burning passion. It's not a bad idea, I suppose. Only  there's one problem: it squanders creativity. So "despite a good performance in all the subjects, he shows excessive poor behavior and disrespect".

I'm the greatest contradiction to all the teachers of Werdschter High. I have the most stellar grades, but the worst behavior record of all time. For this reason, I'm pretty well-respected by the students, for the most part. Some have even labeled me a prodigy.

"Wow! If only I had a brain like him, I would totally mess around too!"

"Did you see him totally diss Mrs. X in class?!? I wish I had good enough smarts in me to do that and get away with it!"

Of course, there's always a few that have slightly differing views.

"What a cocky jerk he is! He's so rude and he thinks just cause he's top of his class he has the right to just do what he wants!"

"I hate that know-it-all! He's not even a good student. Teachers hate him! But he still manages to get better grades than me!"

Rumors say I'm even the topic of discussion at faculty meetings. I guess I'm just that popular. What to do with a student with an exceptional academic potential but with undesirable behavior? True, I'm a star student. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't also a problem child. I've even overheard some teachers call me a star problem. Well, I bet not even Mrs. X can "find a solution to this problem."

And suddenly, on that Monday morning, after I demolished her authority, a solution came.

"Can Jonah Kai and Jackie "Kee" Jones please report to the front office?"

I guess now I should tell you the last and final reason that I am writing this.

#3: I live to write. My life is meaningless, quite literally, without words.

It was my deep admiration for language that made classes like math and history and science seem so pointless and dull to me. But language is more than just a subject to be taught. Other students hate it. Or they think they do, when they don't, really. It is impossible to hate language. That would be like saying you hate meaning and order and life itself. It's the class that they detest, and that is yet another reason that I stand firmly against the school system. Language should be conceived freely by the individual. To make a class out of it, to make it a grade, undervalues its truest potential. School takes something as great as language and adulterates it.

It had always been a dream that I stored deep within myself that I had never revealed at the time. To be a writer. A journalist. An author, if I had the time (which now, evidently, I have more than enough of). But at the time, I had a reputation to uphold. An image to consider. If people found out that the baddest, most popular kid in school had a love for writing? If teachers found out that I actually had an interest in it? Why, then they would've questioned me. Or even worse, use it against me.

My love for words was the reason I was sent to the principal's that morning.

Marvelous I thought. They found it. Perfect timing!

As all the eyes in the room peered towards my desk, I rose, grinned at Mrs. X, and sauntered gracefully out of the confines of the room and into the freedom of the hall.

I proceeded to the office, satisfied with how life was going. But one question grew in the back of my head, and pestered my mind for the remainder of my trip...

Who in the world is Jackie "Kee" Jones?