The Conspiracy Theory of June 17

2.

The loud cacophony of voices is the first thing that hits me as I walk into the classroom. Boys are throwing things everywhere, jumping and yelling as they do so. The girls are walking around, either snapchatting, texting, talking or spraying excessive amounts of perfume. And right in the corner, as if immune to the chaos in the whole classroom, sits Miss Katarina. Her eyebrows are furrowed as she stares at her laptop screen, as if utterly confused and frustrated.

Welcome to our History classroom.

I try not to get knocked over or end up smelling like Victoria Secret perfume as I make my way to my seat. Because of the idiotic boys in our class who apparently don't care whether they fail or not, our teacher put us all in a seating plan. Except it kind of failed. She should have thought - if three boys don't listen to the teacher then what are the chances that they'll listen to the teacher and sit in the middle of two girls and 'take charge of their own learning'? So eventually, those three boys somehow ended up together, leaving the rest of us in random places around the classroom, because now no one wants to move.

It doesn't really matter to me. It's only one class, and Jada is relatively close-by anyway.

It especially doesn't matter this lesson because today is the last day to hand in our assessment.

Ah, so that's why everyone's running in and out the classroom...

Me, being a professional skeptic, and well, let's face it – unapologetically a perfectionist, finished my assignment two days prior, printed it and put it in my bag last night. I slide it out of my bag and place it on my desk, as if for show, then stay put in my desk and watch everyone panic.

This is great.

"Hey hey Alessia, do you have a stapler?" Marianne's glasses lie low on her nose as she glances at me. She looks super worried as her eyes dart around at everyone's desk frantically, trying to find that thing that everyone desperately needs during assessment period but no one really has.

That's also weird.

Okay stop. Answer her question.

"No, sorry," I tell her. "Maybe Miss K has one."

"No don't worry, I got one," she says, snatching one off a girl's desk before anyone else can grab it. She looks at my desk, then says, "Do you want to go together to hand in our assignments?"

I look down at my desk. My World War 1 essay stares back at me. Wow, Alessia. Smart. You didn't even hand it in.

"Yeah sure," I say, smiling.

She comes and sits in the empty chair next to me. I can sense her anxiety. I can suddenly feel it in the air, like it's hanging around her in a dark cloud. I quickly look away, thinking of something smart and comforting to say.

I decide to stick with something that's safe but slightly reassuring. Besides, her essay actually looks pretty good. So I tell her,

"Don't worry, you're going to do well."

She looks at me and sighs. "I don't even know anymore," she tells me. "I really want to get an A, even an A- will do. But just, no Bs please." Her face breaks into a smile at that last remark.

We both chuckle. "Same, girl, same." I want to say more, but sometimes, silence is golden.

We go to the front of the classroom to Miss Katarina's desk, and find that a lot of people (correction: half the class) is lined up in front of her, probably all looking for some last-minute help.

"Yes, that's fine. Don't worry about that...Robert, you should've thought of that ages ago. Don't come to me the day it's due...Leo, stop throwing things...Carrie, go tell the ladies at the desk that I sent you...Liz, here's my printing ID...Shayleigh, here are the keys to my car..."