I'm Not Ten Years Old, I'm Fourteen, You Dingus

Chapter Twenty-Four: Announcements and Discoveries

-- Violet's POV --

I plunked down at my desk in the corner of the classroom after daily run-through. So far, these kids in this class understand me. They don't bother me, and I don't bother them. It's a fair trade. Our teacher, Ms. Phillips, walks around the classroom, high heels clicking on the smooth tile floor.

"Today, students," She begins, removing paper-clipped packets of paper (Imagine that! Packets of paper with paperclips on them!) from a folder. "Your songs came back and are now copyrighted." Ms. Phillips walks around, shoes clicking, passing out the packets. I sigh pure relief when the packet is set in my desk. Now nobody can claim that they own my songs. "But today, class is cut short." Ms. Phillips crashes down the statement on us as if it were a 2000-ton safe.

"What?" I exclaim/scream. All the other girls turn towards me. Judging by the looks they're giving me, I must have a very screwed-up expression on my face. I-figuratively-wipe the look off my face and sit up straighter in my chair, and place my hands neatly on the desktop in an attempt to look more professional. The legs of my forearm crutches clank agains the desk. Shoot, I must have forgotten to take them off. I cough awkwardly, then begin to speak in a more dignified manner. "I mean, um, why is class cut short today, Ms. Phillips?" "Well, Miss Humstrum," She begins, tapping the other papers against her desk in order to neaten up the pile. "King Clarkson has finally decided to look for his daughters, and he is searching the whole world." Ms Phillips pauses for a moment to sort through the pile of papers. One of the students in our class—Sasha—raises her hand and speaks without being called on. "Personally? That's gotta be a lot to do. Are you sure he can do it?"

I feel like slamming my head very hard onto my desk due to Sasha's stupidness. Her dumbness is not helping my headache. Then again, if I did headdesk, they'd probably send me to the psychologist's office for another mental evaluation test, assuming they have my permanent record from Redrum Elementary School. I was often sent down to the councillor's office and given numerous mental evaluations for, a lot of things. I shall list the reasons: 

- Spontaneous behaviour  (Happened around eighty times)
- Spastic behaviour (Happened ninety-three)
- Anti-social behaviour (Only fifty times, only reluctance to interact socially with anyone else besides my friends)
- Screaming and crying at recess (Umm, I'm sort of embarrassed to say that this happened around 200 times. But I was having repeated nervous breakdowns, so....)
- Singing random weird songs rather than music 'normal' people listen to (346 times)
- Giving deep, metaphorical reasons to each of my answers that actually are not correct if you take out the metaphorical reasoning (67 times)
- Seizures (Around 123 times due to undiagnosed epilepsy that I now take medication for)
- 'Violent' or 'disturbing' gameplay (I just so happened to be playing Terminator.... 58 times)
- 'Violent' or 'disturbing' drawings (Drawing scenes from Terminator, once again, 88 times)
- Random outbursts of Japanese and/or French (Our preschool gave us foreign immersion.. It sorta stuck. This happened 89 times.)
- Smacking head repeatedly against solid objects (333 times)
- Flinging self out forcefully onto objects (11 times)

"Miss Humstrum, are you alright?" Our teacher asks me, bringing me back to the moment. "The town of Redrum was so named due to our number one export being alcohol!" I blurt out real quick, not realizing what I'm saying, just reciting off of the top of my head. "Violet, dear, I think you should go to your room, and.. And.. Lie down for a bit. I'll notify your friends." She makes her era towards the phone. "Class is dismissed, we need you to clean up."

I got out of my desk, sort of fell a little, managed to regain my balance, and walked to our room. When I got there, the four others were already there. "You." Abi begins, pointing at me, then at my bed. "Lie down for a bit. There's some painkillers for your headache." I smile to myself as I trudge over to my bed, collapse down on it, then scream into my pillow. After my little scream-fest, I look up and see Jessica lying down on her bed, clutching her stomach, looking like absolute death.