Yeah, well, I just felt like moaning about something. This is a slightly edited version of my day today - most of it's true, before you ask. The only bit I spiced up was the condom in the box part, because my art teacher is actually pretty boring. Feel free to do whatever. This bit contains the word 'sex' and 'condom' for those who might not want to read it.
I begin walking aimlessly up towards the lop-sided school building, forcing my way through the wind and light rain. I can hear people talking as I walk past, but my mood is so deeply black that I don't really care about listening in as I usually do.
As I come over the hill, I spy a few of my friends huddled against the wall of the concrete shed where we 'hang out'. I can just about hear the contents of their conversation. Something about sex if i'm not mistaken (I'll spare you the details - I'm pretty sure you wouldn't enjoy vomiting onto your screen either).
"Hi. You alright?" I carelessly mumble to a tall blonde girl at my side. She grins and starts including my in their dubious talk, but I'm only half listening. Some lads are standing round the corner, a couple of them my friends. One of them in a big coat turns round, punches me in the arm and tells me where to get off. How charming.
After a few minutes of idle conversation and smiling despite the weather, a short, cheery girl walks up to us and starts selling us sweets in poisonously-coloured wrappers. Instantaneously, the people around me dive in and buy their money's worth. I'm penniless, so I just grumble under my breath and huddle closer to the concrete as I usually do.
Let's skip to the more interesting bits, shall we?
(-Skip Religious Education-)
We scurry off to English in a pitiful group, squeezing up 3 sets of tight stairs, squashed between other grumpy adolescents. One of my boy mates attempts a joke and a few surrounding people laugh.
The English room itself is an uninspiring, cold waste of space, the teacher being worse that her classroom. Her hair is a thin wisp of dyed-red (with a dash of purple), and her face would be less appealing than that of an dying bulldog. Her voice drones, extinguishing all memory of having enjoyed the subject, criticising everything and encouraging no-one.
Sometimes, when I'm not fooling around in an attempt to chase away boredom, I try to impress her with a few long paragraphs, impressive understanding of the subject (or so I though compared to my neighbour's work), and good adjectives.
I stand proudly in front of her, sure that this bra-less wonder will beam at the work I have produced solely for her, but to no avail. She glances, reads a few lines then dismisses it as though it was a hasty note scrawled on toilet paper. Oh, how glorious the British education system is!
I waver for a moment, then go and sit back down, returning to listen to two of the boys of the row in front of us telling a few funny stories about their siblings. Another blonde girl in front turns to me and starts chatting.
"So Grace, had any boyfriends recently?" She ponders casually. I gave her a look that failed to hide my aggression towards the subject, and sighed. I don't have very much luck in that department.
"Don't worry babes. There'll be opportunities." She reassures. I smile with only half of my mouth and try to burn a hole through my book just by staring at it. It doesn't work, unfortunately. Just because I haven't had about 14 boyfriends since last month, I echo in my head.
Afterwards, break comes, and goes. Not much worth complaining about there.
(-Skip Math, lol-)
At lunch, I take up my usual refuge in the Computer Suite, with one of the more sociable teachers. She puts on a film (The Day After Tomorrow) and I snuggle up in the corner to eat, complete homework and do a little bit more on my art project.
(-End of Luch-)
Art isn't one of my better subjects, but I have to admit, I quite enjoy it. We're making up a project on an artist or artistic movement, then doing a self-portrait (that should be funny) in the style we chose. I've picked Van Gogh, because he painted one of my more favourable favourites - Starry Night. Also because he paints with little lines, which shouldn't be too hard for someone who is clumsy and not very good with their hands.
The art teacher is busy with another of my kinder friends, who is very gifted at art. I'm not very bothered, because I got a thumbs-up for my 'Cover Page', but I have bugger all idea where the tissues are and my nose is running like a marathon addict.
I swivel around (knocking over a few things in the process) and pounce on a box under her desk. For some strange reason, it has no tissues in, just a condom packet (empty), a couple of pencils that she uses to lend out to students, and a crumpled version of today's lesson plan. I make a mental note never to borrow a pencil from her again, and hurry off to find a tissue before I need a sink instead.
(-Skip rest of lesson, nothing much happens-)
Technology was alright, I guess. Apart from the pedophilic teacher that smiles at me and follows me around the classroom, it's a pretty ordinary class. I accidentally broke someone's work last lesson (for which I am utterly regretful, I broke down crying because I was so angry with myself), and now i'm afraid to look my friend in the eye. Even though she said it was ok, I still curse that moment.
After the day ends, I just walk down to where my mum picks me up usually, catching up to a good friend of mine as he walks with his brother.
All in all, an average day in Grace' shoes.