Living up to our reputation for unoriginality, the class of 2014 brought a car onto campus, took off its wheels, and left it in the middle of the Quad on the first day of second semester. As senior pranks go, it really wasn't the best one I've ever heard of. At least it wasn't downright dangerous, like last year's fiasco, in which the class of 2013 strung fishing line where people would walk into it and smeared honey on the doorknobs. Really, though, it was nothing special.
On the day of the Car-on-the-Quad, Mr. H, of Politics and Lit, told us of his year's senior prank. They disassembled a whole car, brought it into the gym, and then reassembled it. Now, that's a prank you can tell your kids about.
But I'm not here to describe all of the elaborate senior pranks of the world. In fact, I'm not really here to tell you about senior pranks at all. I'm here to inform you about what happened in Anatomy today, something that offset the rest of my miserable (I mean, miserable) week.
And yes, it did happen to involve a prank.
Let me start with a bit of back story. Almost every class, a particular group of three girls all leave during the middle of class at the same time to use the restroom. I guess it got to be sort of a tradition, a regular-enough occurrence to become predictable. And where there's predictability, there's opportunity for the jokesters, the satirists, and the general population of jaded juniors and seniors to shake things up a bit.
I don't know who came up with the original plan. It may have been one of the girls' friends, it may have been Mr. M himself, but those particulars don't really matter. Whatever the case, things were set into motion several class periods ago when the girls left as usual, and I looked up from my work to here these ominous words:
"Should we do it? Let's do it!"
We all left our seats and piled into the back room, where Mr. M shut the door behind us. There we waited for them to return to find the classroom empty.
But they took forever to return. Eventually, the mission was aborted when Mr. M decided that it would have been more effective had we taken our things with us rather than leaving them scattered all over the room. That way, it would look as if we were actually gone.
Thus, the girls returned to find everything as normal. They resumed their seats, oblivious. To my knowledge, nobody told them of our scheme or how far we had taken our attempt.
Which brings us to today.
I had just survived through a rather stressful Spanish class, but my mood was better than it had been for a while--mainly due to the fact that I had found my gloves, which I had lost on Tuesday, in Sra. R's classroom. It's been nastily cold here lately (not as cold as it's been in the rest of the country, but still...), so the gloves were a pleasant discovery. Upon entering the classroom, my mood was further elevated when I saw that N., who had been absent three days in a row, was present and mostly alive. There were pros and cons to this, sure: he was there once more to entertain me with his repertoire of puns and corny jokes, but he also might expose me to whatever had taken him out of school for three days in a row.
"He returns!" I greeted him cheerfully.
"Barely," he replied in a groan.
We had a group quiz at the beginning of class, which occupied a fair chunk of time. Just after we had reset the desks and returned to our normal places, a certain group of three girls left the room.
"Everybody take your stuff," Mr. M instructed us. "We're going next door."
Apparently, Mr. M had planned very precisely for this moment, so far as to clear it with the teacher next door, who didn't have a class that period, so that we could use her room. And so we did.
We all found seats around the paint-stained art tables, and Mr. M handed out an assignment to do while we waited.
After a while, the teacher whose room we had commandeered went over to see if the girls had returned yet. Shortly, she came back with a report: they were back, they were confused, and they had asked her if she knew where we had gone. She had not let on that she did, in fact, know.
We had a chuckle, then went back to our worksheets.
N. and I decided that the answer to question number 37 was "sarcomeres." We looked at the next question.
"38. Umm, sarcomeres?" N. wondered.
"Sure," I responded, writing the word in the blank. "When in doubt, guess 'sarcomeres.'"
He shrugged. "Well, we know that one of them has to be sarcomeres."
A cell phone buzzed.
"Mr. M," a boy spoke up. "K. is calling me."
K. was one of the three girls. We all laughed.
"Should I answer?"
"Go ahead," Mr. M replied.
The boy answered it. "Hi...yeah, we're in class. Where are you?...No, we're in class, doing a worksheet. Yes, we are. You want me to prove it?...Okay." He looked around at us. "Everybody say 'hi' to K!"
"Hi, K!" we all chorused.
"See? We're in class. I see everybody else here. Where are you?"
Soon, the exchange was over. We went back to our work for a short spell, then the next phase of Mr. M's grand prank went into effect.
In a previous installment of this "diary," I mentioned that Mr. M's room is known as the fishbowl. This is thanks to the bank of windows that look in upon it from the walk outside. These windows were about to be put to use.
"Leave your stuff here, we'll come back for it," Mr. M ordered.
We gathered at the door, then filed out, crawling silently below window-level, until we had each assumed a position beneath the windows, ready to spring up, and Mr. M entered the room. We allowed him a few seconds to converse with them, then...
"Three, two, one!"
...we stood up and pressed our grinning faces against the glass.
I think we were more amused than they were. Probably because we had the benefit of seeing their shocked expressions.
I just realized...I'm going to have that class on April 1st.
Something else to look forward to.