High School

A day in a life of a girl named Alicia just trying to pass high school. There are some complications in the way and it is meant to be a modern way of looking at transcendentalist writings.

I walk casually down the hall, making little to no notice to the same dull, gray lockers and the beige floor paneling. The school hallway is the same hallway I’ve been walking down for four entire years. The same hussle and shouting from the same groups of teens around me, I keep walking. Nothing really out of the ordinary. I can’t wait to get out of here. Just one more marking period after this one and I’m done. I’m so tired of high school. I hear every adult tell me that “It’s the best four years of your life!”, or the famous “I wish I still went to high school.” No. High School is terrible. I’m so tired. Everyone herding themselves class to class like cows going to the next pasture just makes it look more like a prison sentence than anything. Speaking of a prison sentence, my chemistry class is coming into view in front of me. 45 minutes of this jail cell.

I solemnly walk to my small, tan seat in the back of the classroom. I look at my familiar desk and spot a new message etched into the top corner. “F*** chemistry.” I feel you, buddy. I plop my backpack on the floor beside me and pick up my phone. My familiar face looking back at me through the dark reflection on the screen. Messy,short, blonde hair and my teeth all pointing out in science fiction angles. Same wild hazel eyes and unwaxed eyebrows staring back at me. Yeah, that’s me, Alicia. I have the largest undereye bags I’ve ever seen. Designer. From the I didn’t sleep because I am pretty sure I failed the test yesterday collection. I haven’t been sleeping lately. My anxiety has been going haywire and it’s getting hard to control. I wish I wasn’t like this. I’ve already failed this class once and I’m still not understanding it. Why do I even need to know the geometry of atoms? I’m not going to do this for a career. The noise of the bell wakens me from my trance.

“OkaAY!” Mrs. George yells in that same tone that gets louder at the end. You know, the one that half the teachers do when they’re trying to get the class's attention. It never works in this class. She walks from behind her desk holding our tests from yesterday. I look at them and swallow. There’s my death certificate. I cross my fingers. Maybe I didn’t do as bad as I thought. She looks a little happier than normal. Her plump body is standing straight up in a summer dress with colorful dinosaurs of all types sprawled out across the black background. The red stegosaurus near the top of the dress perfectly matched her eye-catching lipstick. Her mouth was curled up in a smile ,as usual, along with her cheery green eyes. She is about 30 but she still has the same enthusiasm about life as she most likely did when she was a mere 6 years old. I really like Mrs. George, too bad the class is terrible.

“I have the tests today all graded and ready to go. I think youse guys did fairly well this time around. I didn’t need to curve the grades, either.” She has the most prominent  pennsylvanian accent and dialect I’ve ever heard. Mrs. George starts to walk through the maze of desks to return each waiting pupil their paper.

Hey. Maybe this is a good thing! I cross my fingers. I need to get higher than a B on this last test to pass this quarter. I already failed last quarter. I can’t do this again. I need to pass. Mrs. George looks at me with a sympathetic eye that makes her lipsticked mouth shrink downwards at the corners and turns my paper upside down and places it on my desk. I dread the thought of turning it over to see my score. I stare at the turned paper for a long time until I can make out the red, neatly printed letters.

“ssalc retfa em eeS D”. My heart dropped. Why am I so stupid? Why can’t I bring myself to do anything? I just get so scared at the possibility of failure that I sit there, unmobilized. I thought that we were going to have off school for a snowstorm so I didn’t bother studying. AGAIN. I hate snow. I failed. I failed this class. I’m not going to graduate. I’ll never get out of here. My head starts spinning. Don’t you dare start having an anxiety attack. Don’t do it. It starts spinning faster.

“Can I go to the bathroom?” I ask weakly while shoving my paper into my backpack. My teacher looks at me and nods. I walk out into the hallway and directly into the bathroom, head still spinning in all directions.

I sit in the stall calming myself down for the rest of the period. I drag myself to go back to Mrs. George’s room to face the sequel to my earlier terror.

“You’re not gonna be able to graduate this year. I’m sorry but there’s nothing I can do to help you.” She looks at me with a stern yet, oddly sympathetic expression.

“I know.” I replied weakly.

I walk out of the classroom. Same old hallways. Same old, gray lockers. I’m going to be here next year, again. The beep of the loudspeaker sounded, “Attention all students,” the recognizable old male voice stated, “due to the inclimate weather we’re having, you will all be dismissed next period.”

Are you kidding me?

Author's Note

Any criticism is appreciated, I really want to get better at writing!

Reviews

[Jimmi Boi]

im also still in highschool, just like you young hipsters haha just horsing with you haha im 57!! can you belive it!! Im reccomending this one to my wife deborah!! she loves high school!!

[Christine Dellinger]

The struggle is real right now...