| The Cast:
Me
Teacher
Jill
Douchebag
John
Status Report: 7th grade somebody, 2:05, 6th period Science, May 1994.
Friday is here! No sucky school for two days. The second the clock strikes 2:15, playing Street Fighter 2 and 7-up is SO ON. Also, the exciting conversations with my friends about hot girls (SHE said hi to ME, etc), and how hot they are is a must. With 10 minutes left in class, while I pretend to do the reading assignment (shit I am an awesome student, straight A's, it's the end of the week, hell yeah I'm going to pretend - I deserve it, you know the feeling), I reflect on the past year.
People say they wish they could go back in time, do this or that differently. In short, over-the-shoulder weeping. Alot of older persons I know pinpoint 7th grade as the starting point. They're all failures at life, they should have gotten it right the first time around.
But I do know that I'm different since 7th grade started. The nice-ness that came with elementary school is gone forever. Swearing is officially in. Laughing at someone else's expense has become an art form. Ass-kickings, insulting the handicapped, people's P.E. clothes being flushed down the toilet, guys getting rejected by girls they like, a kid absent for weeks due to a car accident, you name it. I laugh it all up, everyone does. People wear baggy pants so low you can see their boxers. I tried it out for a little while, but freaked out when I saw a belt line forming around my butt. I listen to Snoop Dogg, and can sing Gin-N-Juice word-for-word. I've never been outside of my city, which has a -7% crime rate. I told Mom to stop kissing me on the cheek when she picks me up after school. Being seen at the mall with Dad is ok, being seen ANYWHERE with Mom, besides home, is unacceptable. They never drive me around anyway, I take the bus or ride on a bike with pegs on the back wheels for my friend. If my friend is a dork, I never defend him. I keep my mouth shut or agree with everyone else. I come from a pretty wealthy city which happens to be surrounded by shithole cities. My city also happens NOT to have a junior high. That's how I ended up in a school with kids who clearly aren't from my neighborhood. And it's the biggest difference, getting throwing in the mix with very different kids.
Kids that smoke cigarettes, that rock tattoos. Kids that use brass knuckles in fights, and only go to school because its illegal not to. There's about 4 of them in my 6th period class. Most of them are just affiliated with some older street gangs in the neighboring city. People like them are the only reasons I miss elementary.
Last week I saw one of them come up to John, a guy me and my friend were talking to, and start an argument. It was over some foul that happened in 3rd period P.E b-ball. As the exchange of words got more heated between them, me and the friend instantly jumped on top of a lunch bench, chanting "FIGHT! FIGHT!" In two seconds, the guy had John in a headlock and was punching him as hard as he possibly could, and in two more seconds, the whole school surrounded us from all sides. The principal had to step in.
Both guys were enormous, and they resembled sophomores in high school. After the fight was over, me and my friend just bragged to everyone how we were standing on top of the bench, front row and all. Two days later, when John returned to school after his suspension ended, with signs that he'd been scarred for life, none of us asked if he was ok, or apologized for instigating the fight. I just joked "so you got your ass beat, but hey, at least you hit the principal right."
Shit this is the longest 10 minutes ever. FOUR MINUTES LEFT? My God. Suddenly my attention gets diverted to the front-left side of the classroom.
Three desks down in front of me, what are those two guys doing? They're standing up, huddled, grinning, one guy is saying to the other"shit you wanna do it?" I look back down to my homework. Then out of nowhere, a whiff of shit, skunk, and the scent of bare, asshole hits my nostrils at full force. The whole class freaks out. Both guys run back in their chairs, laughing, their shirts tucked up onto their noses, saying "Jill farted!!!"
The teacher is pissed as shit. Just two minutes later, it's time to go. I get up to leave.
"SIT DOWN, EVERYONE. NOBODY IS LEAVING. WHO threw it?"
Silence.
All year these guys had egged her on, mainly since she was a replacement teacher that came mid-year. She was over it.
"I was just back at my desk, grading the tests. I KNOW someone saw who threw it, and until that person comes forward, no one is leaving. I've had enough."
I'm covering my mouth, trying not to laugh.
"I'm not joking here at all. I'm going to go back to grading right now, and at some point, whoever saw it can come up and tell me in private. If no one comes up, everyone's going to serve detention on Monday."
No one is reading or talking now, we're just sit there quietly, unsure about the nature of this threat. She can't hold us here forever.
Twenty minutes go by. No one talks to anyone. Teacher resumes grading.
This wouldn't be so bad, except for that stink bomb. Every time I removed my shirt from over my nose, it felt like my face was right over the toilet after someone dropped a bomb.
This teacher is really lame. My mom is probably outside, wondering where the hell I am right now. She'll let us go.
Another 30 minutes go by. Same shit, not a word from anyone.
One-by-one, students are called up to talk to her in private, and they begin to empty out of the classroom, free to go enjoy the weekend. Now all that's left is me, a douchebag, John (the guy who got his ass kicked a week ago, while me and a friend watched), Jill, four of those kids I mentioned earlier, Matt, Eric, Peter, and Preston, plus seven more students.
The d-bag, John, and Jill surrounded my desk. The seating chart probably looked like this: Front Row
X Douche X
John ME (cool) JILL
X X X
X X Peter
Preston Paul Matt
Teacher in desk
"No one wants to talk yet? We have an other hour to go. And some extra homework assignments, where you gain no points by doing it, but lose points by not doing it. "
Tears start running down the douche-bag's eyes. He starts wailing about how he's going to get in so much trouble with his dad, who already gets mad at him because he gets straight F's, but he's trying, it's just that he's not smart.
I tell him bluntly, that he doesn't need a free pass from dad, he needs a juicebox and a nap. And then, with my most, authentic, puppy southern drawl, I say, "I'm sorry I'm not as smart as you Dad!!" John and Jill laugh at him pretty hard, and he just cries more. "NO TALKING." I look over at the teacher, who is cocking me the meanest look.
I'm amused for one second, but then I start losing my mind. I'm not supposed to be here! I didn't do anything! She's really going to take down the whole class for one person? How the hell is that even fair? I've never had detention in my life. I'm being hard on douchebag, but I'm no different, my parents will kill me when they find out about this. Mom already hates the way I dress, the way I talk now, etc.
My 5th grade teacher believed in the exact same stuff, along the lines of this: "sometimes, everyone has to suffer , even if just for the actions of one."
The statement is code-talk, for I'mtoolazytodealwithfutureex-convicts so I'll punish everyone instead.
But 5th grade was not a big deal. This was a different situation. I snap out of my thoughts by someone tapping on my shoulder.
I glance to my left. John is looking at me, with his eyes urgently motioning toward his hand near my lap. I snatch a tightly-folded note from his hand. My eyes dart around room to make sure nobody is looking at me. No one is looking my way. I then open the note up, and read it. It's written on a regular, college-rule, 11 X 8.5 inch paper.
"Dood, someone has to say something."
I scribble furiously and pass the note back.
"Yeah, you might want to say something. I don't want detention."
John looks at me and shrugs, and lip-syncs "I don't know."
My heart is pounding, but I motion him to pass the note back. I write some more, and pass it back.
"I do who did it, but there's no way I'm telling. I'll get my ass kicked."
Then John does something that confuses me. He passes the note back, and motions for me to pass it over to Jill, who is on my right. I again take a look around the room, and slip it over to her. I don't know why I do this, it's just in the moment. When Jill reads the note, I cannot describe her expression. She has a poker face, same as John. She writes on the note for what feels like 100 years, and passes it back to me. Now I'm nervous.
"______ (my name), if you saw who did it, you gotta go tell her. I don't want to get in trouble for something I didn't do. One more violation, and I'll get expelled. I'm scared to face my parents. Please."
I write again, and pass it back to her. I'm worried someone else in the room can see what is going on. Still, I slightly tip my head towards Jill, watching her read it.
"I'm sorry, but that isn't my fault."
Jill finishes and looks up at me. I look at Jill's wide eyes for 10 seconds. For the first time in awhile, part of me did genuinely feel bad for her. It wasn't my fault she was one detention away from getting kicked out of school. Or was it? Fuck it. Again I scribble, for the last time, on the note. I pass it back to Jill, and pull out another sheet of paper and pen from my backpack.
"Fine, I will tell her. After I use the bathroom. Don't look at me or anything."
I slip the piece of paper and pen inside my pocket, and ask the teacher to be excused to the restroom. As I go toward the door, I think I hear Peter, one of the gangsters in the back, sneer at me "What were you passing to John?" But I pretend to not hear him, and keep walking toward the restroom.
I hate the restrooms at school. The older I get, the more filthy they become. Now, the classroom stinks, and the bathroom always stinks. Awesome. I walk into a toilet stall.
In the stall I whip out the pen and fold out the slip of paper. I press the paper against the wall, just above the toilet paper dispenser, and write it out.
"Preston was the one who threw the stink bomb."
I fold the piece of paper up ten times, and clench it in my fist as I walk back to class.
When I re-enter class, I slip the teacher the note as I walk by her desk. I immediately sit in my desk and stare at the crease in my palm from clenching the note. I'm just trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. 10 minutes later, the teacher dismisses the whole class. Obviously, Preston is the only one who has to stay. Fearful that John or Jill will talk to me as we leave and blow my cover, I walk as fast as I can past everyone. I walk outside to the curb, and I don't see my mom's car where it usually is. Mom must have gotten sick of waiting and left.
I don't care, I'll just walk. She'll understand. Sitting in that desk for an extra hour felt so long, it feels good just to be out of there. It's an extremely hot, sunny day, so I immediately start walking home. Twenty minutes later, I'm walking through a secluded area in the local park, near a drained swimming pool. Because its nicely tucked away from the road and adults taking a walk, it's a favored spot for having fights and drug users.
"HEY ________(my name)!" I spin around, and see Eric, Peter, and Matt walking toward me. Preston's friends from class. They are all much, much bigger and stronger than I am, and they looked pissed. I suddenly get that queasy feeling you get when you are about to fight someone that is much, much bigger and stronger than you.
Eric approaches me first, the other two just hang back, looking mean as hell. Eric talks with eerie calmness, and never raises his voice. "You ratted out Preston huh?" ". . . .Preston threw it? I didn't know that. How do you know that?" Eric reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a tightly folded note. Without even opening it, I already recognize it as the note John started with me in class. My heartbeat accelerates.
I'm really excellent at thinking on my feet for some things, like multiple-choice tests, but not much else. That's when I start to panic on the inside.
Eric, Peter, and Matt all look at each other and smile, as if to appreciate some inside joke I can't get. I kind of see Eric's fist coming, but I don't move out of the way. It terrifically explodes into my jaw, and I go straight to the ground.
There are guys my size that would absolutely not let someone else touch them, no matter how big the other person is. Or they'd at least punch back, and be satisfied they struck the other person in the face before they get beat up. I am not one of those guys. When I'm getting wailed on by three guys, I resemble earthquake drill pictures you see in elementary school. After each of them take turns kicking and spitting on me, they warn me not to come to school on Monday. Bruised and bloodied, I start to walk home again. I feel overwhelmed and exhausted. Did i forget to mention it's one of the hottest days of the year? I come close to a street intersection, and stop in my tracks to wait for the walking sign. Again, a voice jumps out from behind, scaring the shit out of me. "Hey are you ok?" I spin around , and this time its John and Jill. They are strangely giggly. I get pissed as hell. "You fucking shitheads. I got the shit kicked out of me." John gets really into my face. Jill just stands there, pretending like she doesn't see me. Towering a foot above me, and inches from my face, John looks different. Intimidating. "So you got your ass beat, but hey, at least you didn't get detention right?" Instead of crying, I swallow a big gulp. "Nobody likes you. Not me, not Jill, not _______ (douchebag) and definitely not Preston. You think you're the sh*t, making fun of everyone, all the time, wearing you're stupid wannabe gangster clothes, acting like you know what the fuck is up. Go light on the singing Gin-N-Juice in the hallways from now on. Watch out on Monday too."
The walking signal lights up, and John and Jill walk away from me, fast. I don't know why, but I just feel like just waiting for a minute or to to cross the street. Seven minutes pass before I cross the street. Status Report: 7th grade nobody, 3:45 p.m., after school, May 1994 I continue walking home on this lovely Friday afternoon. It is early May, and I'm almost finished with 7th grade. In my head, it's Monday morning in late September, and junior high has just begun. THE END
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