Time Machine (editing)

1 - ✓

The shrill squeal of the dismissal bell pierced the air, a melodical start to the carefree tune of summer vacation was repeatedly playing in my head. It's finally summer. Ah, clearly the highlight of every year. 

The ticket to becoming adults would be offered during these three months. Three glorious months of no school, no activities, nothing at all. Three months to decide what to do with the passage of being a teenager to becoming an adult. Artistically, I imagined summer as a huge, enormous one could say, canvas begging to be splattered with sunshine, laughter, and the inevitable immature epic water balloon war with the neighborhood kids, and figuring out what to do and who I want to be. Three creative months of fun, thinking and bittersweet moments of adolescence, and they were all mine. 

Just the thought made me shift restlessly in my seat, the stale air of not-so-recently renovated classroom, the smell of dust and sweaty seniors, the clock constantly tick-tocking, made it feel like an eternity. The ten of us, apart from being all sweaty and worn out, were also waiting for our teacher to decide why she was keeping us here in the past hour, without saying the reason of us being hostages. 

The only thing she said was that she had some 'very special news' and that we had to believe her, no matter what. Mrs. Henderson, usually a whirlwind of powerful aura, shrieky voice, and perfectly coiffed long hair, looked like a deflated balloon, previously thrown around by a bunch of hyperenergetic toddlers. Specific much, but if I could imagine her as an item, this would be it.

Her eyes, normally sparkling with a mysterious glint, darted nervously around the room. The perfectly manicured nails that usually clacked a steady rhythm against her whiteboard tapped out a frantic beat against the worn wood. A tremor ran through her hands as she was pacing up and down, making us all look at each other, wary. What in the world was going on with her?

I looked at a girl that was sitting in a nearby desk and happened to catch my eyes. I mouthed at her. 'What's wrong with her?'

She shrugged.

No one dared to say anything, as if this silence wasn't supposed to be broken.

Silence was indeed a rare visitor in our classroom. Like that student, who is annually failing the class because all he does is get high in the toilets. And he is like, 25 or so. That's how I imagined silence. Usually, the room buzzed with the controlled chaos of fifteen teenagers: a cacophony of whispered jokes, rustling papers, and the occasional stupidity people of my age have.

As I looked around, I noticed some familiar faces. Ash, the star athlete with shoulders that could block out the sun; Brianna, the resident cynic with a wardrobe of black that seemed to swallow the all light from planet Earth, Jake, a guy that was too of a rebel for his age, and the rest of us, a messy bunch who fell somewhere in between. Apparently, that messy bunch, was also called 'delinquents', based on what mister White, the principal always called us. 

For everyone here, we were delinquents- as they all said anyways, we made noise- we wanted to be heard in a world full of ignorant people. Just because we didn't look like everyone else, or fit in with the elite students, didn't mean that we wanted to be excluded like that. Yet, somehow, they managed and excluded us subconsciously. Even us, the delinquents of this school, had great grades, won debates or were the best players in every team.

Time passed, and the teacher kept her silence. But why she wasn't talking at all?

Miss Henderson is known as a very intriguing teacher in our school. She has been awarded with many degrees, awards and all that great stuff. She had a knowledge of ten people in total, she knows so many things, I often catch myself thinking, could I ever be like her? Her confidence, style, even her voice tone is something most of the female students here tried to unsuccessfully imitate from the very first moment they meet her.