Ten of Diamonds

1- A Reason to Help Old Ladies Cross the Street

 "Tell me the truth. Are you even trying?" Mr. Tate says, looking at his chemistry class with absolute disgust.

A few people mumble, "yes, sir."

"THEN HOW DID YOU ALL FAIL MY TEST?" he roars.

The class hesitates. With, Mr. Tate, you could never tell if he was asking rhetorical questions or not. When his silence persisted, however, my lab partner says, "We didn't have enough time to understand the material, sir.", which is really code for "You're a shitty teacher."

Mr. Tate shook with anger. "Is that so, Mr. Harper? Because if I am such a horrible teacher-"

"Sir, that's not what I-"

"-then Mackenzie wouldn't have gotten a perfect score on it again!"

The entire class turns to me, complete hatred in their eyes. This used to bother me before, but now I just feel a flush of pride. Let them stare. If they were too lazy or stupid to pass a basic chemistry test, that wasn't my problem.

Mr. Tate shakes his head, oblivious to the fact that several teens around me were plotting my murder. "Please," he says with a resigned wave of his hand. "just pack of your things. Class is over. And for God's sake, show up for class prepared next time."

He exits the classroom without another word, probably heading to a therapy session. He is forever reminding us about how crazy all of us drove him. Well, almost all of us.

My lab partner (Jacob? Joshua?) turns to the table next to us and animatedly chats with his friends. I, on the other hand, begin on my chemistry homework. And they wondered why they were failing.

I'm trying to read about the properties of the noble gases (I already know them, but it's still interesting), but the conversation occurring next to me is stifling my train of thought. Irritated, I give up trying to study and listen.

"Whoever wins is gonna be filthy rich," one of Jacob/Joshua's friends says. His voice is weirdly high for a fifteen year-old, and it's annoying me.

"Not that rich. It's only a hundred thousand. Rich is, like, a million dollars," my lab partner says.

"'Not that much'!" the friend mocks incredulously. "Josh-" so that's his name " -remind me of how much money you have again?"

I snort. Joshua looks at me, then says, "More than you, asshole. Plus, I heard that there were only ten cards to begin with. They're probably all gone by now."

I almost ask him if he knows more about the cards, but the sound of the bell silences me. It's probably better this way, anyway. The people at my school are not my friends, and definitely wouldn't answer any questions I asked.

Grabbing my things, I dejectedly shuffle out of the classroom. It's not the conversation that saddens me; it's the fact that the school day is over. As irritating as the students are, the air conditions rooms filled with books are a far better alternative to my house.

I begin my walk home, ignoring a boy who yells, "Move, fatass." as his friends laugh. This is easily the worst part of my day. The Florida sun is cruel, the roads are hectic, and there is always a comment one of my classmates feel obligated to make about my weight. I try to distract myself by thinking about what Joshua had said about the cards. He had been talking about the mystery that's been a hot topic for nearly a month now. Allegedly, some millionaire announced a couple of weeks ago that ten cards were hidden around our city of Goldpeak. Those cards had clues that lead to nine cards, then eight, and so on until the lucky seeker found one-hundred thousand dollars. It was probably a hoax. For one thing, Goldpeak was a poor place, but not poor enough to be a charity case. There was no reason for a rich guy to come here.Then there's the fact that no has found a card yet. I mean, it's possible that the people who found it didn't disclose this information because they didn't want people hounding them about it, but I seriously doubt it.