Those Cool Kids

Let's Make A Deal

Dean

It's been three weeks since Charlie's incident. I have no idea how she's handling it. I can't seem to be able to ask or to mention the subject since Charlie seems to want to evaporate that night. She seems colder than usual. She doesn't want me to drive her to school or home.

I have a game on Friday, so it's better if I put the subject to rest until the game is over. I have a couple of exams too, and I need to get good grades in order to keep that B in my report card. Which makes my stomach twist as soon as our physics teacher comes in. We did a test a week ago. I know he's probably going to hand out the scores. I could only pray for a C minus. He stands in the door with his khaki pants, stripped shirt, squared framed glasses and that bold head of his.

Just the perfect stereotype of a science teacher.

His presence is not at all intimidating, in fact, he reminds me of the type of older man I don't want to turn into when I hit my fifties. What really makes my gut twist is the handful of paper in between his fingers. I curse under my breath.

"Well," he sighs out as he places the exams on top of his desk. He looks twice the miserable than the usual, and that cannot be good. "I got your tests." I roll my eyes, could this asshole just get to it already? We're not in some show's season finale, just give the damn tests out.

"I guess you'll see for yourselves. There are some exceptions. But, overall, the scores are...disappointing. I had to be generous to some of you. Which is not at all my part of the deal considering I do my work; I teach you the lesson. Now, yours, yours is to actually learn the lesson." He hisses, "So, first, we'll do the correction and then I'll hand out the tests. Otherwise, my office will end up turning into a interrogation room." His tone is indifferent and monotone, I swear this whole class hour is like going to renovate your driver licenses. Its never ending and you just want to blow your brains.

"These are the final answers," He concludes his speech.

I feel nauseous. I try to guess my possible grade and what it could cost me. If I get a D in the test, could I still attain a possible C in the final grade? Man, can this turn my average into a C?

Fuck, I'm gonna get kicked out of the freaking team. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I try to think about others subjects that could maybe save my ass. But fuck, I was barely standing in maths and chemistry. I was currently going under phase three in my post-test mechanism.  I'm not even listening to the asshole because every answer he says has got nothing to do with what I wrote in the test. I spent the half hour class with a knot in my stomach, infuriated of what an impact one stupid ass test could have in my future and my whole average. I go on and on thinking what getting kicked out of the team will lead to. I would have to kiss away going to college since my grades suck. I wouldn't be able to access a scholarship. I would end up working with my old man in the police department. You probably need don't need a degree for that.

After purposely destroying any sort of self steam, I jump into the depths of just not caring anymore. By the end of the hour I have decided I don't give a fuck of what I get; at least if I get kicked out of the team, at least I'll lift a weight off my shoulders. I won't have to keep up with the stress.

Fuck it, fuck this fucking class and this fucking school. I'm so fucking through with this place.

"So," he says and I feel a huge wave unleashing inside my stomach. He grabs a whole of the papers and walks toward our desks. I'm gonna puke. He starts calling out names, It seems like an eternal list.