Lackluster Math Class

Ahh, the boredoms of Honors Algebra II.

“…and I’m just going to plug in ‘2nd Enter’ because I’ve already got them in my calculator…”

-What is she talking about now?
-Have I been starring at that cutie with the beautiful smile and the AHS class shirt on for that long?
-Or was I eaves dropping into the dancers’ apathetic conversation for an even longer period of time?

Whatever. All I know is that I have already managed to write down all of tonight’s homework.

I have no idea what the teacher is attempting (pathetically, if I may add) to teach.

Tonight will be a long night, I ponder to myself. I will have to teach myself this section in the textbook and then, somehow, be able to do the homework.

Scanning the room, plastered in mathematical posters, I encounter my fellow students reading, playing games on their calculators, drawing in the margins of what appear to be papers overflowing with notes, sleeping, and texting. Oh ford, people suck at trying to hide their QWERTY-keyboard phones.

I turn around to look at the girl behind me, Altaire. Wow. She is already finished with tonight’s homework and from the looks of it, she is working on tomorrow’s. Asians these days, I swear.

I begin to muse about all the racial stereotypes. It’s quite funny to realize that we all judge each other. I mean, I’m not about to sit here and say I’ve never said that all blacks were loud and obnoxious, that Asians are invading the whole world and that they will one day make us all their slaves, somehow, or that the Indian guy that just walked into the store must have a bomb strapped onto himself somewhere. I have. Honestly, the Indian guys scare me the most. I don’t know why, they just do.
Something-or rather a conversation-to my left, brakes my train of thought. The varsity softball player does, actually. Her attempt at whispering to the ‘nobody’ on how to use the ‘box whiskers’ fails, quite drastically too.

Suddenly, I turn my attention to my left. The dancers have mentioned Brooke. You see, Brooke is a very good friend of mine. I listen in intently. No, nothing gossip-ey at all. They are simply talking about how great of a dancer she is.

I glance back down at my blank piece of notebook paper.

“…what’s the success rate?”

“Eighty-three percent,” I stutter out loud.

“And what is that in decimal form?” Miss I-am-so-good-at-math-and-that-is-why-I-suck-at-teaching questions my judgment.

“Point eighty-three,” I tell answer her with a glare emanating from my brown eyes.

“Yes...” She continues speaking but I am able to tune her out once again. Now it almost sounds like annoying, yet calming, elevator music playing in the background.

I go back to thinking inside my noggin.

-Did I seriously just stutter out the correct answer?
-How is that possible when I wasn’t even paying attention?

Oh well, back to dilly-dallying.
Hmm, I never noticed that there was a pattern on the carpet. It is rough, office-type of carpet. There are vertical stripes throughout the carpet. There is blue stripe, a gray stripe, and some hideous green stripe to it. Then it repeats all over again. Blue, gray, hideous green. Blue, gray, hideous green. Blue, gray, hideous green. Blue, gray, hideous green. Blue, gray, hideous green. Blue, gray, hideous green. Blue, gray, hideous green. Blue, gray, hideous green. Blue, gray, hideous green. Blue, gray, hideous green. Blue, half a gray line, and there’s the wall.

“I’ll have Jeff start collect the graphing calculators now,” she announces with a tone that mocks ‘that’s right, I can make Jeff do whatever I say’.

The sound of ruffling paper engulfs the room. People start shifting in their seats. Ziiiiip. Ziiiip. The noise zippers make when they are being opened and/ or closed, becomes apparent.

Unconsciously, I too pick up my backpack and start piling everything into my three-ring binder before shoving that in my backpack. How everything fits in there, I’ll never know.

BING, BING, DING, BING

Yupp. That is our bell. The sound that has every, single student, in the entire school, on the edge of their seats. As they await its eternal glory. Our very own personal savior from math, literature, science, history, physical education, or whatever other class we may be wanting to kill ourselves for taking.

The teenagers all around me spring out of their chairs like those snakes-in-a-can things, and practically race one another to see who can exit room R2 the fastest.

As I stand up, I push in my chair and begin to make a run for it too. “aww, fuck!” I just slammed my right thigh into the corner of the desk in front of mine. Nothing is going to stop me from reaching that door, though. I keep half-sprinting to the door.
“Off to François now,” I mumble under my breath as I finally make it out alive. I may not be so lucky tomorrow though.