United States

Aspiring actress, bisexual kid fighting mental illness, equal rights advocate, I just wanna do the right thing, y'know?

Message from Writer

Hey everyone, first let me just say thanks for reading my writing! If you'd like to leave me some feedback it is much appreciated, however please do not leave comments like "you spelled this wrong" or "you're missing a comma here". I would rather be criticized on the content rather than the grammar.

Home Stretch

May 28, 2015

PROMPT: Borrowing Voice


"About real life. And how your studies apply to it." My teacher continued to drone on about how someday, though we may not think so at this young, ignorant age, we would need the Pythagorean theorem. Because apparantly in the future one of us will need to know that a2 + b2 = c2 so we can become the next Jeopardy! champion, or something like that. 

I glanced over at Willow, who just happened to be blowing strand of pink hair out of her eyes. I made a note to ask how her aunt was doing later. My friend caught me looking and crossed her eyes, prompting me to roll mine in return. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and gave me that look that meant, I swear I'll do whatever you ask if you can get me out of this wretched class. My laugh was cut short by the screech of fingernails on a blackboard. Everyone was still wincing when Mr. Carper picked up the stub of chalk and clapped his hands twice to silence us.

"Class!" He barked, shifting the gaze of his beady black eyes from one student to the next. "I will not tolerate such behavior during my lesson. Now take out your notebooks!" Honestly, with his sour attitude and greasy hair, the teacher reminded me of Professor Snape, only I was pretty sure he wasn't secretly protecting one of us from inevitable doom. We all reached under our desks and pulled out the books, the rustle of paper the only noise besides the small fan.

"Open to a clean sheet of paper," You know, professor, you don't need to be a Harvard graduate to know that. "And take out a pen or pencil."

Oh, look at that! We get a choice in which writing utensil we're to use! The clock above the board told me we had roughly seven minutes of class left, or in The World According to Carper, just enough time to take notes on a completely different section in our textbook. I wanted to groan and bang my head on the desk, but the brace-face behind me would tell me I was loosing brain cells whilst spraying saliva on me. 

I decided to watch the infuriatingly slow hands on the clock tick away until the bell rang. Why were we taking notes on an entirely new subject when there were only two weeks left of school? We were busy prepping for summer jobs and road trips, not pop quizzes that wouldn't make a dent in our grades. I let out a sigh. When the bell rang, I was out of there faster than a shot from a gun.

The first line was from Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan. 

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