Gerard;
As I've told my mother many times, I learn a lot of things that are of no use to me. I think the two classes I have this year that I don't think that in is English and Health. See, English helps me with my writing skills and one occupation that I definitely wouldn't mind having is a comic book writer. Health because, that class is actually very useful. I mean, granted, I don't really care how the female reproductive system works because I'll never have to worry about that. Other than that, I mean, if I have an Std for some reason, although I doubt I ever will, I'd like to know the symptoms, yknow, so I don't just pass it off as 'my dick is just being, well, a dick.'
Health is where I am right now. Mr. Barakat is talking about ways to prevent STDs and the different types of STDs, which is gross. He's even showing us pictures of them. I think I've gagged a number of times more than the actual number of STDs he's showing us. I think I've come to the decision that I'm never going to have sex. This is the absolute worst thing ever.
To my immense luck, the bell rings in the middle of his speech about Crabs. The picture isn't as gross as I'd think, it's just disturbing. I shudder as I get out of my desk and rush to my Spanish class.
The entire time I'm walking to Spanish, the pictures of the various diseases are at the front of my mind, making me cringe and shudder in disgust.
Finally, I get to Mr. Fuentes's class and sit in my assigned seat. Thankfully I can focus my thoughts on something less traumatizing.
"Welcome, class," Mr. Fuentes greets us as he closes the door behind him. "Today we are reviewing the material from yesterday. You are going to be allowed a partner, but I must see you working or I'll make you go back to your seats and work alone."
I sigh at that, I'll have no partner. Being the outcast is really disheartening at times because literally nobody wants to attempt conversation with you. Everyone gets with their friends while I sit in my seat and envy them all.
Mr. Fuentes hands out the paper to all the different pairs, then goes to me and gives me mine with a smile on his face. I pull a small grin onto my lips for him and grab the paper.
*
With a roll of my eyes, I squeeze my way past two big cliques of teenagers who insist on crowding in the center of the hallway. If I wasn't so damn shy, I'd punch all of them and tell them to get the hell out of everyone's way. It really makes my blood boil, metaphorically of course, that these popular pieces of crap think they can do whatever they want.
I trudge into my history class and practically collapse onto my chair. This day has been wearing me out and I've had practically no time to write in my journal. I've gotten, maybe, a few new sentences in, but that's it. All the teachers today, I guess, decided that this is just going to be a day full of busy work that absolutely has to get done as soon as physically possible. Either that or they teamed up against me and made it to where I can't write in my journal. That sounds reasonable.
As soon as the bell rings Mr. Quinn walks in, a scowl on his face. Odd. He's usually happy and playful. He snaps at someone who isn't in their assigned seat and practically screams at us when people won't quiet down. It's actually pretty frightening as opposed to his care free side, which we see pretty much everyday.
He sits at his desk and presses his fingertips to his temples, looking down at something, maybe nothing. He looks up then, his eyes connecting with mine. His blues eyes hold souch intensity that, for once, he's actually intimidating me, making me nervous. I contemplate losing eye contact and taking this time to write in my journal, but then he looks away, back down at his desk, and begins with attendance.
