unreadable // south park - firkle x ike

3 - Ike

     "Firkle, wait up!"

     I give it a second--maybe he doesn't realize I'm calling him.

     Nothing.

     "Firkle?"

     Now it's obvious that he's ignoring me. I don't understand why, though, I thought that we were friends. Sometimes he'll answer, other times, he'll blank me--and sometimes, he won't answer on the first call, but he will on the second or third.

     Today, I don't feel like trying a third time, though. I have a feeling that today is going to be one of those days where no amount of calling will get a response.

     I shrug to myself, and stop at my locker. As soon as I have my history textbook put away, and my math textbook in my bag, I begin to speed walk to algebra. In the seventh grade, algebra is like Pre-AP math--which would make it the only Pre-AP class that I got into.

     The class consists of a few kids who think that there is nothing worse than an A-, or, dare I say, a B+. Next are the kids who just treat the class like any other, and don't stress about grades, unless they start to fall to a C--which is where I fit in. Then, there are the kids who even question how they got into the class in the first place.

     When I walk in, I try to make it to my seat as quickly as possible, as the math book is starting to tire me out. I practically heave those 650 pages and 55 dollars onto my desk.

     Almost as if on queue, Mrs. Landon-Mackenzie stands up from her desk, glances at the clock above the doorway, and then makes her way over to the chalkboard. "There's only thirty more seconds until I'm going to start teaching, so please take this time to empty your brain of anything that isn't algebra."

     This is something Mrs. Landon-Mackenzie says everyday. According to personal experience, it's impossible for me to clear my mind of everything but math. I glance over her shoulder, and get a glimpse of what she's writing. From where I am, I see a fraction of a few words that look confusing, but I know that when she explains it, it won't be. That's how I describe this class--confusing at first sight, but then easy-peasy. (Except for that one lesson that I needed a different method for. But then it was easy-peasy.)

     The thirty seconds (more or less) pass, and Mrs. Landon-Mackenzie is already beginning to explain the basics of whatever we're learning today--the name is too hard to pronounce, and she's talking so quickly that I don't really want to interrupt. I take my worn notebook out of my backpack, and quickly scribble down the heading.

Ike Broflovski

10/24/18???

     As she talks, I quickly replicate it on my paper, mostly in broken English due to how fast she's going. She'll slow down later, when it gets more into detail, but for now, I just have to manage.

     "Alright, does everybody understand so far?" She asks, turning to face us. From what I hear, everybody murmurs 'yes,' 'mhm,' or 'yep' in response, causing her to turn back around, smiling. "Wonderful."

     After going into more detail, she jots down five problems onto the board. "We have about twenty more minutes. I would like you to do these in your notebook, and turn it in to me by the end of class." Mrs. Landon-Mackenzie pauses, then nods. "No talking, please."

     I begin, and in a matter of about fifteen minutes, I'm complete. Seeing as there's already a few notebooks beside her left arm on her desk, I'm not the first done, but, it's not like she's grading us on who gets done first--but I swear that some of these kids genuinely believe that she is. After I turn my notebook in, I go back to my seat, and just think. I most likely, probably, definitely should be doing something productive, but I'd rather think right now. So I do.

     I think about Firkle, and why he's decided not to let me talk to him in the halls today, if he'll talk to me tomorrow, or even this week. I think about band, and if I know the song well enough to practice alone today, or if I should have practiced more last night. I think about if bugs crawl on humans with a mindset of wanting to be hit--but then Mrs. Landon-Mackenzie interrupts my theory.

     "Even if you're not done, I would like all notebooks on my desk before you walk out of the door. Homework tonight is simple: go through this lesson's section in your math books, and try to memorize the algorithms if you haven't already. And even if you think you have, I would still like you to go back and practice them in your head." She smiles, silently acknowledging a few kids who think they know everything at first glance, and waits for the bell to ring. Once it does, she glances towards the door. "You are now dismissed."

     As per routine, I head out of the door, and towards my locker to put away my huge math book, and to get a simple folder with piano music sheets in it. It's no band, but it makes Ma happy knowing that I'm doing it, and that makes me happy.

     (To a certain degree, at least.)

//

890 words