[ON HOLD] 36 Students in a Classroom

11. Girl, stop cryin'. Ain't nobody wanna give you a tissue . . .

                     11. THE I’M-TOO-GOOD-FOR-EVERYONE-IN-THIS-ENTIRE-ROOM

Okay, long title, I know. Couldn’t find a way to shorten it without accidentally getting rid of the emphasis.

And trust me, with this girl, we need the emphasis.

I don’t know what this girl’s parents taught her when she was a toddler, but they probably kept repeating the words, “You are Obama. You are Obama. You. Are President Obama,” to her while she slept, because apparently she thinks she’s the president of the United States.

Like, no, hun.

I did not vote you into office.

But then again, I didn’t vote you into life either, and you’re here, so maybe my vote doesn’t actually count. We should fix that.

This girl, Hubra, is the girl version of Hubro. Except she’s even worse than he is.

Because she’s the most spoiled person you have ever met in your entire life.

It’s crazy, the things she gets away with.

Hubra: “Um, Miss, uh . . . Carter, I have to—”

Teacher: “My name is Mrs. Jones.”

Hubra: “—leave school . . . I’m not feeling well.”

Teacher: [staring blankly at Hubra] “You seemed fine when you were making fun of Bob two minutes ago.”

Hubra: “Well, now my stomach just like really hurts, and I have to go home. Like, now.”

And then she’ll get up and walk out of the classroom with her stuff all packed and her jacket in her hand like she’s been planning a vacation to the Bahamas since last week.

Which, actually, would not surprise me, because her family—compared to the rest of ours—is filthy rich. And we all knew it. Although it didn’t make sense because her mother was the first grade teacher at our school, and we also knew that the teachers at our school didn’t get paid a lot of money.

Rob banks, much?

Anyway, not only could she just complain to her mommy whenever things didn’t go her way, but she could also treat the class however she wanted.

Because let’s face it. The teachers wanted absolutely nothing to do with her.

They avoided her, and everything or everyone she was involved with, like they knew she was going to die and become The Mummy, just so she could come back and torment them about making them lose their jobs.

But pshh, if it was me, I wouldn’t be afraid.

‘Cause I know the Rock personally! And he would definitely come back and kick her butt!

. . . Okay, actually. I might have written a misleading statement there.

I don’t actually know the Rock.

But . . . um.

See, I have a rock.

So really—I mean, technically it’s similar.

‘Cause, let’s be real here, the rock that I have could probably still kick her butt.

And yet, she still sauntered into the classroom like she was Beyoncé and she knew everyone was patiently waiting for her to perform an amazing new single.