Language Arts (a fictional story. maybe)

this story is told from the point of view of a different girl in a different school in a different town in a different county. Please enjoy. I thought it was pretty funny.

***

I never understood the reason for which some adults feel entitled to bore a class of teenagers to death while picking apart a perfectly good piece of literature. It's always painful to watch and even more so to participate in. You end up pitying everyone in the room, including the writing piece. Thankfully I was saved from this knowledge by my outstanding GPA which placed me in honors language arts for the past three years, but unfortunately today out teacher was out with the flu. Or something.

I put my head down on the table and close my eyes, trying to let the teachers words blend together. It doesn't work. Ms Hopkins has one of those sharp, nasally and annoying voices that ensure that you make out every single word. If our school was bigger, had more money, along with some more support from the state, maybe, just MAYBE we would have been able to afford a sub. But as it is, we have to have some sort of fundraising event every week and the honors classes are all like four people each so, throwing us in with the regular class seemed like the most logical solution. After all, it's not like we'll have trouble keeping up.

But see, LA isn't like math or science, with all those defined formulas and whatever other stuff set in place years ago. It was constantly changing and morphing, constantly holding some deeper inner meaning. But sometimes words were just that...words.

Bananas. Polka-dots. Baby spit. Fat.

That just proved my point.

Suddenly everything gets quiet and I jerk my head up in surprise. Looking around I see my reaction mirrored by my classmates. It was a miracle. Hopkins had gone mute.