I’m a pretty smart kid; I get good grades, I’m involved in after-school activities, I have a good group of friends… you know how it is. First marking period, junior year, I (for the first time) get a “C”… all because of my poor excuse for a learning environment. Let’s see… first, I’d like to comment on Bobby the seat-kicker. STOP KICKING MY SEAT, BOBBY. Even though I know I will never gather the courage to actually turn around and tell you to keep your feet to yourself or I might physically assault you with my math textbook, I would still appreciate it.

Second, Mrs. Greenwich. You’re a great teacher and all, but honestly? Get a hearing aid or glasses or whatever it takes for you to realize that no one is paying attention to you. Really: John is in the back making death threats to Larry who is probably soiling himself, Sheila is by the window calling her boyfriend who lives in New Zealand, Mary is painting her nails, Xavier is staring at Mary, Jill is staring at Xavier, Peter is always “going to the bathroom,” and Bobby… well, I don’t want to talk about Bobby anymore.

In all seriousness, I understand that you’re almost 75 and you’re in desperate need of retiring, but did you really not notice the student-teacher’s anklet bracelet going off in the middle of class? I wasn’t raising my hand to ask you to repeat the formula for finding the surface area of a cylinder. If Mr. Rishard wasn’t an ex-convict, I would have asked to switch classes. Needless to say, I’m afraid he would find me if I relocated.

Third of all, my lovely Adam. Oh, how much better I could be doing right now if you didn’t sit right next to me flipping your gorgeous brown locks and asking me if you could borrow my only pencil every day. Too bad I have such a crush on you and I can’t say no to those big, brown, puppy eyes. You’re the only reason I haven’t yet thrown my desk through the always unreliable Smart Board that Mrs. Greenwich still hasn’t figured out how to turn on. I know you’re never going to give me a chance and probably still don’t know my name, but I just want you to know that I will always be there to give you my test answers and willingly do all your work. At least until we switch seats.

Finally, that smell. I don’t know if it should be categorized under absolutely terrible or utterly revolting. It wouldn’t be that bad if it went away after a few minutes or so, but no. It lingers for all 44 minutes. Forty-four minutes a day, five days a week. You would think I’d be use to the smell by now, but in reality that smell could make onions cry. It smells like someone from sixth period gym went all-out and then rubbed their smelly armpits all over the wall. I can feel my crispy chicken wrap coming up already and I still have three periods before Algebra. I

I can’t say that I like my math class, but all-in-all, I guess it could be worse… No, that’s a lie. My math class really can’t get any worse.