Summer
Have you ever sat back, thought for a long moment, and come to the conclusion, 'Life's good.' Chances are, no. It's human nature to be negative, narcissistic. Not often do you find a person who has this outlook, or makes you feel this way. And sometimes, you don't realize what you had until it's gone.
I chewed on the tip of my pencil and leaned back in the chair. That seemed... Deep? No. I was gonna fail this class. Why did I have to try to take Honors English? Why couldn't I be normal and settle for Mrs. Polsky for another year? I groaned and rubbed my eyes.
The young, somewhat attractive Honors English teacher, Mr. Ericsson, clapped his hands together. "That's it for today's timed journaling. You'll receive a sc-" the bell rang, and everyone scraped their stuff together, not really caring what he had to say. As always. Welcome to the underachieving Class of 2016 in Detroit, Michigan.
I was one of the last to exit the classroom, as usual. I sighed internally. So, junior year was going to be the same as sophomore year. The eagerness of these people to be in the hallway for three crazed minutes always boggled me. And what's a three-minute smoke in the bathroom really going to do for you? Besides lung cancer, obviously?
My last class of the day happened to be Physical Education- joy of joys. I was taking it because I wanted to be a doctor and it should 'help one learn the capacities of one's body', when in reality it was just an excuse for jocks to have basically an extra hour of football practice. The only other kids who took it were slack-offs that didn't want to take another challenging class with homework and tests.
Being the first day of school, 'Coach' (as he insisted we call him) Warner just barked the rules at us for 50 minutes straight. I did a silent Hail Mary that this class only lasted one semester.
So much relief enveloped me at the sound of the final bell that it almost hurt. I found my best friend Erin Rose at her locker. As per her usual self, she was wearing a bright blue skirt and a lacy white tank, while everyone else was clad in jean shorts and logo tees. All the same, you had to love her. Her face lit up when she saw me and immediately launched into an extensive recount of every little detail of her day.
I nodded and laughed at the right parts as we walked to my car and got in. This was our usual routine- there was no way her family could afford a car for her, and on too of that she had failed her drivers' test seven times. She arranged her wavy black locks into a ponytail, not stopping once in her wild tale of how the Home Ec teacher was a certifiable sociopath.
When I dropped her off, I was both relieved and lonely. "Bye, Rosalynn!" I screamed after her, trying out her third grade nickname. She flipped me the bird as she disappeared into her front door. It was nice to have a little time to myself in the middle of my hectic day, but I loved spending time with Erin.
After my scant hour of peace at my house, I drove back into town for my 'awesome' job at the Chipper Nail Salon. Worst name ever. It literally implied that we gave bad manicures. Anyway, I pulled my hair into a high bun and put on my apron, ready to paint some 90-year-old named Beth's nails electric green.
As I brushed on layers of the gel polish, I pondered my life. Did I really believe what I had written that morning in English? No, not really. For me, it's another year of painting he same nails from 4:00-7:00, sleeping in the same bed, going to the same school with the same people every day.
