What is life - An exam block boredom breaker

Part 1

Ever since time began, our race has planned. We have planned for battle, planned to succeed, planned to dominate. I also have planned, to escape. My obsession with escape began way back when in grade two. We were in sport and I didn’t want to play soccer so I asked a grade six boy to write me a note saying that I was sick. It didn’t work. The stupid boy signed it off with ‘Regards, Sarah’s Mother’. The teacher knew what I was up to and I got a detention after school.

Fortunately, as I have progressed, I have developed my escapes into an eloquent fusion of smart arse meets evil genius. I have taken inspiration from the Tower of London and Alcatraz escapes, proving to my parents, friends and teachers that I can squirm my way out of anything.

 To this day, still have not eaten quiche or peas, despite my mother’s attempts of trying to get me to eat the heinous food.

I smirk to myself as I evaluate what I am about to do. the good old ‘I have a headache’ routine. Just as I am about to open my mouth to summon the teacher, a sudden rush of movement catches my eye. A girl in the along the far right side is making a run for the bin, she just makes it before her breakfast decides to reappear. DAMN! There goes my plot to see the nurse.

The teacher asks for someone in the class to go get the nurse while she holds the girls hair out of the way. Seriously, what did this girl eat! It must have been a lot cause this chick is blowing some major chunks. I jump out of my chair and make my way to the door, the supervisor practically invited me to get out of here.

Before I can get past the maze of desks, a tall blonde with perfect curls and the teensiest school dress glares at me and mouths ‘nice try’ at me. She runs off in her girly little run to fetch the nurse. Ugh, half this school is infested with these barbie doll like girls, with their thousand dollar, platinum blonde hair extensions and their napoleon perdis makeup. Seriously, its school not fashion week.

Trying not to gag at the smell of vomit, I make my way back to my prison cell of a desk and sag even further into my chair and go back to the drawing board to surmise another plan.