The English teacher, Mr. Vincenzo, looks haggard, run down, like this neighbourhood suits him.
She's in class as well, the girl from the art room, but I still don't know her name. She has pitch-black hair, blue eyes and black gages in both of her ears.
I wonder why she's returning art supplies on the first day of school. I wonder what planet she's from. There's something otherworldly, unlike anyone (or anything) I've ever seen before. The third time I look at her, she looks back and I catch a hint of self-consciousness, which makes me feel bad for looking at all.
The class is small, like a prison cell. It's me and... three other students. Bunch of empty chairs. I assume most people just haven't bothered to show up.
Mr. Vincenzo confirms that: "So, you're the batch that actually decided to come to the first class, congratulations."
Why weren't people even bothering to come to the first class? Who were these punk-ass truants?
"This bodes well for your success this semester," he adds.
Something I like about Mr. Vincenzo: He doesn't seem to really care what people think of him. His hair's long and unkempt, and his charcoal jacket looks a size too big for him. Everything he says sounds like it's exactly what he's thinking, which has a nice ring to it. There's also something that kind of scares me about him, too: he seems frustrated, and not in a temporary, lack-of-sleep sort of way, but more in a my-life-hasn't-turned-out-the-way-it-was-supposed-to sort of way.
Could I expect to be any happier or fulfilled at his age? Will I still be alive?
He's eyeing me, seeing me "text" on my phone. Was supposed to put it away. Shit. Okay. End transmission.
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Alternative
Teen FictionTim's public high school experience thus far has been characterized by bad grades and the total absence of a social life; he's listless and needs a change. So, after grade eleven ends, his mom decides to enrol him in a bizarre, little alternative sc...
