This morning, one of Brian’s little kiddy friends came over to call for him to go to school with him. The kid’s been coming over lately, I don’t know why he comes so early, but it’s a drag having him around. Like, even before we’re finished breakfast, here this kid comes knocking at the side door and he comes in and waits for Brian and like that. I mean would you like it, to have this strange kid gawking at you while you’re eating breakfast?
Me and Larry don’t like it, but Mom says never mind. Like, the kid’s parents probably both work and he doesn’t want to be alone, so she says we shouldn’t mind he comes that early, but we do. Brian doesn’t mind; it’s his friend, and Mom offers the kid some hot cocoa and toast, but me and Larry kind of don’t like it. Too bad I guess, because we can’t do anything about it. Anyway, me and Brian don’t go to school together. He goes off with this kid and I go with Jane and Brenda from down the street.
Like I said, we meet in the park. Brian’s a little brat and so’s his friend, because as soon as they get out of sight of the kitchen window they lob snowballs at the girls, and me too. Just because they’re boys it doesn’t mean they can throw the snowballs any better than us, and there’s more of us, and we really let them have it. (They think it’s funny, because they score more hits than us, and we get really mad and chase them.)
Just like I thought, the recorder classes are a big bore. The teacher’s not a bad guy but he doesn’t even know how to play recorder. It ends up me showing him half the stuff, so what he did is, he said he’s going to get me to help him and I’ve got some kids I’m supposed to be helping. They don’t even know how to read music. At least he does and he’s been trying to teach the class.
Oh well, I guess it’s better than nothing. Better anyway, than singing in a choir. This way at least, I’m learning how to teach other people and maybe when I get older, I’ll teach recorder to some kids. At least when I teach it, I’ll know what I’m doing, not like Mr. Moore, even if he is nice.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, the recorders I mean, today in math class I really got into trouble. I’m beginning to think that none of the teachers like me. Well, almost none. I’m not really very good at math, it’s not exactly one of my favourite subjects. Well, I don’t know if I have any favourites, but math sure isn’t one of them.
Mr. Bryant, our math teacher, he seemed kind of nice at first. Like, he didn’t give us hard stuff or anything, and my tests were pretty good. Average, anyway. Anyway, Mr. Bryant, he thinks we’re so good for a grade eight class that we should get some grade nine exercises. Who needs it anyway!
Anyway, he told us he was going to drill us in harder math and introduce us to algebra and problem-solving. Really, if I had a choice and I wish he’d given us one, I’d rather be introduced to easier stuff. At any rate, he’s been spending time in class showing us how to do algebra and stuff like that.
Well okay, he’s a math teacher and he knows what he’s doing. So he’s doing all this stuff on the board and just whizzing through it and I’m not the only one who’s confused. There’s lots of other kids who are too. Trouble is, no one but me mostly says would he please slow down and explain things to us a little better? And at first he was nice and said he knows he goes too fast, it’s a bad habit, and he’d try to slow down and give us a chance, but then he forgets and off he goes again.
I guess I’m not very smart or something because I’m finding it kind of hard. Jennifer T has been coming over lately, or I’ve been going to her house (sometimes too, to Laura’s) and we’ve been working out the problems together and then it’s not too bad. But during class it’s really hard and now when I ask him to slow down and explain, he gets kind of mad and says to me to pay attention.
Oh sure, I talk sometimes in class but nowhere like what Sally and some of the other kids do.
Anyway, what happened was, we got the results of our latest test and did I ever bomb! Sure, Sally and Donna flunked because some of the kids got on to Sally and didn’t let her see their stuff this time, but usually she gets a good mark, better than me, and I’m better at math than her (and I’m pretty bad).
So, when the paper came back and I saw what I got I was really mad. At myself, I guess. And I couldn’t help it, I said out loud, damn! So what. I mean you should hear how some of the kids swear and I don’t really think damn! is swearing, not really bad, anyhow.
But you should’ve seen Mr. Bryant, he got so mad! He walked down between the desks and stood over me and said “Miss Feldman, what was that you said?”
“Oh, me?” I gulped, and he shook his head yes, so I said “Damn?” in a little squeaky voice.
“Do you generally employ such distasteful gutter-language?” he asked, glaring at me. I felt like squinching down into my seat. “Is your vocabulary so devoid of harmless expletives that you must resort to disgusting street language?”
Okay, maybe I didn’t understand some of his words exactly, but I got the message and I thought he was being unfair. My Mom talks good English too, but sometimes she says damn! And she doesn’t apologize or feel bad or anything.
“Mr. Bryant”, I said, “I don’t really think damn! … oh, excuse me … is so bad. After all, if you really want to hear swear words, I could think up some real doozies that would make damn! … ‘scuse me … sound nice." I wasn’t trying to be mouthy or anything, just honest, like Mom tells me to be all the time.
Crap, I hear some of the kids go through the library saying really bad stuff like I wouldn’t ever say, and no one ever says anything to them. See what I mean? Everyone dislikes me for some reason. Why else would he pick on me?
You can imagine what most of the kids were doing. Well sure, they were giggling and like that. He made me look like a real ass. I felt like one, too.
“Miss Feldman”, he said “You are taking certain liberties in defending your indefensible position that I would be loathe to permit many. As you have heretofore been a rather good student, I will choose to overlook, this time, your lapse in good taste. Should it, however, occur again, I will find it necessary to take punitive steps. Kindly cleanse your verbal language in my class in future.” And he nodded at me and walked stiffly back down the aisle.
“Bad, bad girl” I heard Sally whisper. And she shook her finger at me. “You’ll go straight to hell and damnation for sure, nasty child.” She laughed, and of course everyone else who heard laughed too. I could feel my face get all hot, and I must have been real red as if I wasn’t embarrassed enough, to begin with.
I get so mad sometimes. It’s so unfair! Here all these kids go around swearing, I mean really swearing, in the corridors and in the washrooms. And if you really want to see something, you should go in those washrooms sometimes, you can’t see your way to the toilet or anything else for the cigarette smoke! So much for school rules and all that.
Let me explain the set-up. There’s one group of kids who’re really with-it, and exclusive, like they don’t even know anyone else exists. They’re the ones who wear all the latest fashions, my dear, and makeup smeared on like with a butter knife. I bet if they ever scraped it off they’d lose a few pounds. And they’re so sophisticated, like they don’t even belong here, but should be in high school or something, and they all smoke.
Then there’s the other in-group who dress really great too, and wear make-up but not so much and they don’t mostly smoke and they’re kind of stuck-up too, but not as much. Most of the kids in that group are human beings at least. At least they’ll sometimes talk to you and be nice to you, especially if all the other kids aren’t around.
So how come no one ever cares about them smoking and swearing and chasing after each other and stuff like that? How come they have to pick on a nice kid like me? Honest, I get so sick of being picked on sometimes, I could barf.
I think Mr. Bryant was mad at me anyway, because I keep telling him he’s not slow enough for us and he mimicked me yesterday and stuff like that, and that made all the kids laugh, and I thought it was really mean. Jennifer T thought he was in a bad mood because maybe he had a fight with his wife that morning. Crap, it isn’t my fault if his wife burnt his toast at breakfast, is it?
So anyway, now I’ve got this reputation in class for being a complainer. Me, a complainer. How stupid can you get! I’m easy to get along with and stuff like that. But leave it to dear old Sally, she’s been calling me Jenny-whine and everyone thinks that’s so cute, they go around calling me the Jenny-whine-thing. Life is so unfair!
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