Stupid Love

Hormonal Teenagers

Have you ever had one of those days where the human race just astounds you in the worst way possible? One of those days when you want to shake the sense into people?  One of those days when you want to shove a mirror into someone's face to try and show them how unbelievably stupid they're acting?

Well I was having one of those days, on Monday of the second week of grade twelve.

You'd think at age seventeen girls would be old enough to control themselves, but apparently not. Stupid, hormonal teenage girls, that I knew I'd have to deal with every single day for the rest of the miserable year on that first day of class.

Don't get we wrong I did like school, in fact, I really enjoyed school. But occasionally the people there made me want to slam my head into the desk like that one vine with those two elementary kids.

I saw him in the hallway, young, black hair, dressed in a suit clearly aimed to impress. It was basically how everyone dressed on the first day of school, or on the first day of a new job.

I glanced up from my locker and watched as he of course headed into my classroom.

Hello hormonal teenage girls– and some guys.

I took out my navy binder and pencil case, there was no way I was lugging that bag around all day, I'd only grab what I needed between each class. I sighed and closed my locker door, sliding the lock through the handle.

I was glad though, to have an actual teacher. The other one's were just 'on call' meaning we basically had a new one each day.

One was a woman obsessed with playing hangman and scrabble, basically anything to do with words. Another was an African man, he was middle aged and I think he was my favourite our of all of them. He told us stories about his life, he talked about racial slurs, and why it's important not to use them.

My favourite part was when he said; "And hey, you don't have to listen to me because if you don't watch your mouth, one day someone is 'gonna kick the shit out of you, and if you use those words I have no remorse."

A few kids looked scared.

His name was Chris Livingston which I knew because he let us call him Chris on his last day.

And lastly we had Mr. Dask. A middle aged man who complained about being on call for eighty-percent of the time, the few people he got mad at started calling him Mr. Ass behind his back.

The first bell rang, and I headed to class, I took my seat at the last desk in the front row because I was in school long enough to understand that the guys would soon fill it up and I wasn't eager to be in the middle of it.

I opened my binder to an empty sheet of lined paper, to save myself from rushing later on.

I watched him scrawl his name on the bored.

Mr. Davis

He looked around the still half-empty classroom and sighed.

Only a minute later the rest of the class trickled in.

When he had his back turned one of the girls let her jaw drop and jokingly fanned herself, earning a laugh from her little group of friends.