The Rebel in Us |Completed|

The Rebel in Us

The Rebel in Us
Copyright © 2014 Stephanie Reichert
All Rights Reserved 
Cover done by Sean Arturo Last
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Song to the side
>>>
Florence + the Machine- Shake it out

And every demon wants his pound of flesh
But I like to keep some things to myself
I like to keep my issues drawn
It's always darkest before the dawn 
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Prologue

| Winnie | 

"Ms. Montgomery, your grades seem to be dropping rapidly, and you haven't done much to help get them up in any way. Is there something going on that you can't find the time to do the work I assign?"

I hate when people ask questions regarding if there's something wrong, especially teachers. I know it's my fault she's concerned with my grades, and wants to know why I've been turning in half-assed work, or no work at all. I have my reasons and they're actually pretty good ones, but I can't tell her them.

I can't tell her that I barely do book reports because I hardly have the actual time to read a book or write essays on the works of all the authors we've studied in class. It takes time to go back to notes, re-read chapters in the literature book, and type them up on a computer; doubled spaced with a cover page. I barely have time to stand here for the few minutes she's asked of me, because I have to pick up Lillian from the bus and then come right back for cheer practice.

The room seems to shrink as she awaits my reply and all I do is shrug. I keep my eyes looking past Ms. Fern onto the whiteboard that carries our next essay assignment, written in deep red dry-erase marker —which is due on Friday. "No problems really, just minimum time with cheer and stuff..."

She picks up her thick framed glasses with one finger that were barely hanging on the tip of her nose. After clearing her throat, she takes out a yellow post-it, and jots something down in blue ink pen. I can't see what it is exactly, but it sets a bad feeling in my gut

"Well, you leave me no choice then and I know as co-captain of the cheerleaders you need passing grades. So that leaves you with two options: the first is to drop my class, which won't look good since it's in the middle of the semester and you'll end up graduating in the summer. The second is getting a tutor."

She didn't have to finish anything else she wanted to say after the mention of a tutor. The thought of one just made me scowl; another thing I didn't have time for.

"A tutor?" I say and she nods and continues writing on the post-it in her messy cursive.

"Now, I know you won't drop the class, you need English credits to pass. So take this with you to the library on Monday after school and they will assign you a tutor,"

She hands me the small yellow note, and I still stare at her in disbelief as I numbly take it in my hand. When walking through the halls of Brookville High School, I ignore the waves and nods of all the people I know who attend here—which is a lot—I don't normally do this, I'm usually more social, but the thought of everything Fern has stacked on my already full plate makes me weary.