Sam Kellahan, Grade 9
I slammed my book shut, zipped my pencil case closed and grabbed the rest of my stuff. I was eager to leave. Maths wasn’t my favourite subject and for a good reason: I was pathetic.
Fractions, decimals, multiplications – they all went over my head.
But I’d forget about maths now, lunch was ahead of me. An hour to do almost anything I wanted.
I swung my bag onto my shoulder and froze – my lunch wasn’t mine at all. Blades, the art teacher, was holding a detention in honour of yours truly.
I groaned and sulked to the Art Room. I wasn’t looking forward to this at all. It wasn’t my fault! The problem was the results of my art exam – and that wasn’t my fault either. If there’s one thing I’m worse at than maths, its art. Anyway, heaps of people don’t know the difference between green and purple. Do they?
I was sure of my innocence and furious that I had to do time for something beyond my control. Grumbling, I plonked onto the stool inside the art room and stared at my sheet.
Twenty of them.
I glanced at Blades and just glimpsed him sniggering before he realised I was looking at him.
“What is it Bill?” he snarled.
“It’s not fair sir!” I moaned and saw the grin flicker across his face for a moment before he launched into a lecture.
“Life isn’t fair Bill…” he began and I realised this speech wasn’t stopping any time soon.
I had to escape!
It was my only choice; escape or die of boredom listening to an opinionated loony.
I glanced at Blades. He was pacing now – a good sign. It meant he was getting into his talk. Half the time, when Blades was talking, his eyes were shut – clenched with passion. If I caught him on a good part of his talk, there’d be enough time to get out the door without him seeing me.
It was like watching for a gap in the traffic: it was coming, but not yet.
“What about politics?” I managed to cram in between two words.
Blades’ eyes bulged and then clamped shut tight – politics was a favourite topic.
“Well if you ask me…” he yelled.
But I wasn’t sticking around to hear. His eyes had been shut for ten seconds, this was my chance!
I dove from my chair and grabbed the door. One more tipping question and I was out of there!
But then, when I least expected, Blades opened his eyes!
“What!? Bill Johnson, get…”
“But what about the ozone layer?!” I screamed in.
That was it! Blades eyes slammed tight and he barrelled into another speech.
I wrenched the door open and sprinted away.
No more maths! No more art!
And then, as I rounded the corner, I slammed into someone.
I looked up – Mrs Mutton, our food-tech teacher.
And if there’s one thing I’m worse at than maths and art, its food-tech.