Broken Patterns

Chapter 1

The screeching sound of my teacher's voice echoes throughout her classroom. The experience is unheard of, unlike her voice. I sit, distraught, at the back, yet it's as if I'm enjoying those sadistic vocal chords right at the front. Great.
Jason, to my left, decides it will be a great idea to doodle Mrs. Ooustuizen. Needless to say, his drawing skills, comparable to the clichéd teenagers from the agonising coming-of-age movies from the mid 00s, are questionable. Nonetheless, the plot follows, and Oosthuizen catches the caricatures.
"So is that what you think of me, Jason?" she asks.
"No, 'course not," he replies. She promptly confiscates the artwork and places in an esteemed museum: the bin. There, it is accompanied by papers flaunting the ripe minds our very own Zeto High School has to offer. Everything from penises to dragons to creepy poems confessing a love to the sluts of the school. Ah, what a bright hope for the future.
"Rajan, what page are we on?" Kate whispers, breaking my pessimistic thoughts.
"47." I answer swiftly.
"Thanks,"
I lied. Truthfully, that was just my favourite number. I never liked this book, so I'm not really paying attention. Who would? As far as I could tell, a boy, hopelessly in love, struggles in war. The only thing keeping him alive is the dream of marrying his girl back home. Tragically, this girl moved on. Heartbreak among the many tears is sure to follow. Well, if he can survive. Syria is a pretty dangerous place.
The bell, whose sound is music compared to the sound from Mrs Ooustuizen's large throat, rings lazily. As always, the class hurriedly packs up, wanting to be released. Break is only 30 minutes, which feels disappointingly short everyday. Nonetheless, Mrs. Ooustuizen, knowing our sad predicament, still hasn't dismissed. Despite having a degree, I doubt even she could teach us the value of patience. The class grows restless.
"When are we gonna leave already?" shouts Chad, thinking he'd be represented the class.
"I'm waiting for you lot to be silent, " she replies. Her condescending tone doesn't help her. "You have a big test coming up, and it's not going to be easy,"
"Tell us something we don't know," mumbles Jason. She seems to this routinely. We never expect any test to be easy. Likewise, she shouldn't expect us to care.
"The entire book," she plainly says.
"What?!" murmurs the entire class. We don't agree on much, but even this shock makes us speak as one.
"You heard me. Don't expect any changes. You lot haven't been working hard at all and most of you have been just scraping through,"
The class was actually quiet now. Not something easily achieved.
"Go on. Enjoy your break."

***

"She can't do this. It just ain't right," complains Jamal. He always had the nasty habit of complaining unnecessarily. This time, though, he was completely right.
"Well what must we do?" I asked, "She's the Academic Head. Everything she says, goes,"
"A dictatorship, ironically!" laughed Jamal, gripping his stomach.
"It's not even that funny, damn it. Yeah it's ironic because she's constantly preaching about the importance of democracy, but -" Thea was cut off by Jamal's wriggling finger. Another nasty habit, of course.
"It's ironic because she's a woman, meaning she's got no di-"
"JAMAL!" shouts Thea.
"Why do you always have to be so vulgar?" I ask.
"You know who else loves vulgar jokes?" asks Thea, hoping to provoke me.
She has.
"Please, not now Thea. Not ever." I reply.
"It's been a year, bra," Jamal says, slightly less loud than before.
"In fact, it was around this time last year. For bio, though," Thea says.
"Can we just stop this, now," I say, growing frustrated. I don't know why they seem to believe I'll get over her. They know how sensitive I am about this.
"Right, still too soon," interrupts Jamal. Thea was often too noisy, and what made Jamal such a good friend was he knew what bothered me.
The silence that followed was agonising.