Bands: #3

I Don't Know How to Whisper.

Humanities class...
Kid: *Humming.*
Teacher: Who's humming?
Everyone: *Looks at that kid.*
Teacher: Tell you what, when you can sing like Rihanna, I'll let you hum in class?
Me: *"Whispers" to friend* What about Brendon Urie?!
Everyone: *Looks at me.*
Me: I should learn how to whisper...

-||||-

Here's a story of my life this week:

There was this one kid who went to my primary school. During fifth grade, he left. The dude was a complete ass to me. Let's call him Dickhead.

At the beginning of this year, Dickhead came to my high school.

I didn't talk to him since primary, and on his first day at my high school, he just said, "Hi Sara."
And that was it.

Until now.

Y'all know of the incident that happened at Chinese between me and that other guy? Did I tell y'all that story here?

Well after all that occurred and another term passed, picture the following: health class as Tuesday's final period.

As I was away for two Tuesday's, I missed the test, so along with the majority of misfits and mentally ill patients (no jokes), I sat outside the class at a large table and wrote answer after answer on the matter of health.

The guy next to me (Patient #1) was continually making sexual noises; grunts, groans, heavy breathing and everything in between. Talk about conversing with yourself...

How fun.

When I returned to class, the teacher took my test paper and I saw that my good friend and classmate had swapped places with me, moving my notebooks one seat over, next to Dickhead.

Sighing I seat myself down, ready for hell.

Realising my textbook was with the teacher, I walk over to her desk to retrieve it.

Mind you, the class was non-stop shouting, throwing balls (all sorts...) and doing just about everything they shouldn't.

I take the overly-graffitied textbook of mine, its cover drowning in ships and band quotes, attempting to get back to my desk without slaughtering a bunch of people.

The teacher is behind me as I finally step over piles of Elton-John-knows-what. I notice that Dickhead has taken my drink bottle (yeah that's right, I'm the loser who carries a drink bottle to class...) and is engaging in inappropriate activities with the object. Nothing crotch-to-it, though certainly nothing I need my items near. (That sounded so wrong...)

The teacher clearly sees what he is doing, yet she just stands there! I snatch the bottle out of his hand and he shoots a disrespectful glance my way, almost earning himself a thorough beating with a water bottle. I REGRET NOT USING THAT BOTTLE TO HIT HIM IN THE FACE; THE TEACHER DIDN'T CARE ANYWAY.

Now that I've muttered numerous swear words to myself, he is seated down and threatening me. Here's the conversation...

Dickhead: Yo, Sara, don't mess with [guy I beat up]. He's my homie.
Me: If he didn't kick me, I wouldn't have beat him up.
Dickhead: Don't make me fight you, you'll regret it.
Me: Go ahead, throw the first punch.
Dickhead: ...
Me: What's the matter, afraid of a girl?
Dickhead: *Goes up to a random table and flips it over.*
Me: *Smirks* idiot...

And does it end there? Of course not. Not only do I enjoy wasting your time (joking, I just enjoy writing this), but there was another incident.

Thursday, my grade's corridor after a fire drill practice...
Me: *Talking with a friend.*
Dickhead: *Starts pushing through.*
Me: *Shoves him out of the way.*
Dickhead: Don't start this, Sara. *Pushes harder.*
Me: *Doesn't give a crap.* *Shoves him again.*
Dickhead: *Full-force runs into me.*
Me: *Elbows him.*

Two minutes later...
Friend: Sara, what happened back there?
Me: I don't know, you tell me.
Friend: He was punching you!
Me: He was? I didn't feel anything (no jokes).
Friend: You elbowed him straight into me!
Me: Sorry.
Friend: Why does he hate you?
Me: Probably same reason as why everyone else hates me.
Friend: Why didn't you beat him up?!
Random dude: Who are you gonna beat up this time, *****?
Me: No, someone else.
Friend: Sara answer me!
Me: Dude I promise you he nearly wound up in a critical condition... If only I did something...
Friend: Why didn't you?!
Me: I'm not gonna throw the first punch; I don't need to be guilty for anything.

-I don't know the moral of that story or anything as such, though I just wanted to share that... Experience.
I fear this shall grow into a larger issue, though that's what I thought when I heard about the latest Justin Bieber album (it still sucked despite me not listening to it, though y'all know what I mean).
It's late and I'm tired. Just comment if something is not understandable in this (or any other) chapter.

So long and goodnight.