After regaining my composure, I slowly made my way to Mr. Anderson’s class, my English teacher. While walking, I wondered what I could have missed on my Biology. Skipping class tops my Not-To-Do-List. It has always been. I always feel not good about it.
But no matter how much I try, it just would not work sometimes. What happened with Connor ago was a perfect demonstration. I snapped back from my thoughts as I approached the room. Gently, I opened the door and quickly paced towards the back and to the last seat of the class.
As usual, the classroom was filled with noises coming from two major sources. The girls were chattering about the latest school gossips and girly things. The guys were talking and bragging about who has banged the hottest chick at a party.
All things they usually talk about appeal irrelevant to me though. I don't go out except school days. Dad would most probably tie me up with chains. So it is never my business to care even a bit.
After all it is just a normal class where everybody has a clique or group where they belong to. If that is the case, then I really am not normal.
How is sitting all by yourself in a corner normal in any way? I fished my phone from my pocket, plugged my earphones and started playing Bad Day while waiting for the teacher to come. Halfway through the chorus, Mr. Anderson walked in clutching stack of papers in his hands. Those must be the essay we had the other day.
Mr. Anderson sure is a good teacher. Maybe I could consider him as one of my favourites. Though I do not get acknowledged in his class, I find it great that he teaches so well. I mean, not all teachers possess such dedication.
Not to mention, he manages his time responsibly. He rates and returns papers on time. I simply am happy for the fact that I have my English class with him.
“Good Morning class. Previously, an essay composition task was given to you. Your papers have been corrected and marked. I should let you know that some of you impressed me, which I am really glad about." Mr. Anderson started, noises started to decrease in volume.
"On the otherhand, I just could not help but question how come some of you made it to this year level not knowing the difference between ‘you’re’ and ‘your’." He continued, sounding disappointed.
Some boys at the back, seating close to me thought Mr. Anderson’s remark was hilarious and begun snickering. However, that did not go unnoticed to the English teacher.
“You may find it amusing, but as your English teacher, I suggest you take it seriously. It is an utter shame after all when native speakers would fail to master their native language.” Mr. Anderson’s remark made the class fell in silence.
He got so much point though. Just another additional reason to admire his greatness.
“As stated earlier, some of you surprised me with what you’re capable of. I see potentials.” The teacher said smiling while nodding his head approvingly on the process.
Then he proceeded on his seat. Preparing to hand out the papers.
YOU ARE READING
But To Live Does Not Mean You're Alive (BoyxBoy)
NouvellesA story about an abused teenager who loves his Dad too much despite its abusive ways. Nobody seems to like the poor teenager as he is bullied emotionally and physically at school. The teenager has to live up with a tough life with no one beside him...
