A Day of an Honor's Student

That damn school bell. I would hear it a million times a day here at New Haven High School, but it still drove me crazy, especially hearing it after fifth period because it always meant one thing: English/History Honors. And I had an English test that day on some creep named Holden Caulfield that another creep called J.D Salinger made up. So, I got up and walked the mile-long walk across the school to get to the Honors class. I wasn’t not worried or anything; I read the book, which I have to admit was pretty good, even if Holden was a creep. But everyone in the world is a creep, weirdo, moron, or a "phony," as Holden ever so cleverly put it.

"Yo! London House!" I heard some guy say my name. Oh yeah, did I mention to you my name is London House? I turned around and saw that it was Greg from my Politics class. Boy, this guy was the king of the moron category. He was pretty nice and all and had a pretty good heart, but if you ever heard this kid talk, you’d wanna really knock some sense into him.

"Where ya headin’ off to, girl?" He asked me, like he didn’t already know. I told him I was heading off to one of my classes, English Honor. I mean, where else would I go? I sure as hell wasn’t going to Japan or the moon or something. He talks to me for a while, and I just try to ignore him. If I actually listened to him, I would throw a book at him. Well, no, I wouldn’t, I act too nice to do that. But I sure as hell would wanna. He said goodbye to me as I walked inside my English class to find the same-ol’ nine people sitting down as always. We only have 9 kids in our class, for some weird reason. And there were only two girls, including me. The rest were all guys, and most of them were either lousy jerks or stupid know-it-alls. The guy who sat behind me, Nick Smith, was the worst. He wasn’t just a jerk and a know-it-all, but he was a sexist one, too, he always has some bad joke or mean comment to say. Like this one time, the beginning of the year, he made fun of my name. You see, my name, London, is not just a city in Britain; it’s an old English name and it’s originally a boy name. Apparently, Nick Smith knew that and would say stuff about me being a boy and stuff. God, he would act like we were in second grade, and I wanted to punch him so bad. Of course, I wouldn’t do that. I know I could hit him pretty hard, but no one expects it of me. According to Ms. Huntley, my English teacher, I have the patience of a saint, and it always killed me whenever she said that because anyone who really knows me would know that ain’t true.

"Okay, guys. Let’s get in a circle to discuss Catcher in the Rye before the test," Ms. Huntley told us, practically jumping up and down. Man, she was sure excited to talk about this Caulfield creep. So, that’s how most of the class went by; we talked about Holden and some prostitutes and his love problems and some nuns and about the ducks in Central Park. I was practically staring off into space by the middle of the discussion. Well, I was staring at Mr. Morrison’s desk. He was my History honors teacher, who thought we were all in college. Don’t get me wrong, both of them were pretty great teachers, but they tend to assign a lot of work. I guess they forget we are just a bunch of young high school students who don’t really wanna grow up just yet. But they’re still one of the really good teachers in this damn high school. So, as I stared at Mr. Morrison’s desk, I nearly screamed when I saw something move under the desk. It was a mouse, and I interrupted the class’ discussion, rather rudely, to point that out.

"Oh God! I think, there’s a mouse over there," I said, a little nervous. I can’t help it; I’m a girl, and mice freak me out. Of course, the other girl, Rose, and Ms. Huntley completely freaked out. But the guys tried to act like saviors of something because they all jumped up and started looking for it.
"Maybe you should get a big cat!" This kid Sam suggested to Ms. Huntley, and I think he was serious, too. Boy, wasn’t he just the damn smartest kid out there? Because getting a cat and having a whole Tom and Jerry cartoon in the middle of class would solve all the problems in the world. Man, it’s pretty sad when an Honors student say pretty dumb things. Well, after the class clamed itself down a bit, we took the Catcher in the Rye test, which was pretty straight-forward. I got a perfect grade, which I expected. But as class finished up, the happiness I got from my good grade went away when I remembered I had a History essay to do, which, as always, would take me fifty hours to do. The bell rang and everyone got up and left the classroom, and I was the only one who said goodbye to Mr. Morrison and Ms. Huntley, I guess it was out of respect. I walked out and walked ahead of that group of lousy jerks from my English class, until I crossed my friend, Jack Turner, the only guy in this school who wasn’t a creep, a weirdo, a moron, or a jerk. He had a purple hat in his hand, and I knew right away that it was my purple cap that I probably lost this morning. I took it from him and just held it in my hand, since this damn school wouldn’t let me wear it inside. I asked me what I was doing later; he always asked me.

"A History essay for Honors," I told. I was pretty angry at myself right now for waiting to the last minute. But I pretty much always waited till the last minute.

"Another one? Damn! When aren’t you doing Honors work?" He asked, and I just laughed. I guess, that’s what I get for being an Honors student. Boy, all this Honors stuff better be worth it in the end.