Cheesy, with too many adjectives and words that I don’t even understand how to use, this story was written when I was probably 13 or 14. It’s a wonder how my mind worked back then and I smile at my younger-self while reading this.
With my usual impudent audacity, I walked into my chaotic class-room. Books were being thrown here and there and nothing made sense. At the back was my favorite seat. I walked towards it and swung my bag-pack on the chair forcefully.
Today was a special day – we were to get a new English teacher. New teachers meant fresh fun and fresh fun was always welcomed in our class. Year 9 of the infamous Yaqeen Model School, known for its insolent teenagers and saucy remarks. New teachers were always going nuts, and it was mainly because of me. I was proud of it.
The shrill bell rang piercingly throughout the entire school two minutes later. Everyone hurried to their seats as the commencement of the first lesson became apparent. A middle-aged, scrawny-faced lady entered the room boldly. Her slick, black hair was tightly pulled up in a pony-tail. I smiled meaningfully.
“Let’s see how patient you are,” I thought, vehemently.
“I have been informed that you are to have a grammar test today – words, idioms and the usual,” The teacher was now behind the big, mahogany desk in front of our white-board.
I stood up. I could feel the penetrating looks that were pleading not to mess things up, but I was stubborn. I scooped up the azure notebook from my desk and held it out, “Yes miss, we are to have a grammar test. Here’s all that is meant to be tested on,”
The teacher looked at me approvingly and walked over to take a look at what I was offering. She skimmed through my notebook and nodded, “Well I’ll just take an oral test,”
A cry rang out in the class – this teacher was different; no introductions, no talking, straight to work.
“The meaning of abdicate,” The teacher asked.
I sat down, and before anybody could answer, my hand whizzed up in the air eagerly. The teacher smiled sweetly, I was obviously casting a good impression.
“To give up…”
The teacher silently nodded her head, “Yes, yes…”
“… give up hope of ever having a flat stomach,” I answered, innocently.
The teacher looked at me surprised. I sensed people trying to suppress a laugh. A few giggles ran out.
“Didn’t I get that right?”
The teacher said nothing, she moved on to the next question.
“‘To have too many fingers in a pie’, what is the meaning of this idiom?”
The girl sitting next to me waved her hand up in the air and answered. But I didn’t hear her answer, because, despite trying to stop myself, I muttered loud enough for the teacher to make out:
I could see her eye-brows knit in anger, but she was a tough nut after all. Ignoring me, she looked down and called out yet another question.
“The girl was in her period of adolescence…,” She read out from a script, “What does the period of adolescence mean?”
This answer I knew, I stood up and smirked. Kids around me shook their heads, I was pushing my luck. But as always, I went on.
“A time in life when parents are the most difficult to bear,”
This time the laughs were audible for normal human ears. The teachers face turned crimson with rage. Slamming the book down, she turned towards me.
“What is your name?”
Everyone turned quiet.
“I’m making a complaint against you; what is your name?”
I shook my head sadly, “No miss, what isn’t my name,”
She turned a darker shade of crimson, her eyes twisting horrifically, the eye-balls dilating.
“I say: WHAT IS YOUR NAME?”
“And I’m telling you, what is not my name!”
She turned towards my friend, Anee, and pointed ferociously towards me, “What is her name?”
Normally, Anee Shahzad, the humorous teenager, my best-friend, the smart clown, would have known better in a situation of this kind to reply in a proper manner. She however, was apparently having a good time too.
“She’s telling the truth teacher – what isn’t her name,”
Before I knew it, I was being pulled forcefully out of the class-room door and towards the head-teachers office. The tidy room was too familiar; I had been here uncountable times. It was like a second home to me.
When the head-teacher saw my face, she wasn’t surprised at all. When the new teacher had come with the complaint, she had known who it was. I was cunningly welcomed in.
I listened quietly to the tiresome lecture without hearing a single word spoken. It was only five words that pulled me out of my heroic reverie of myself becoming a world-wide comedian.
“You’re suspended for three days,”
I gasped, flabbergasted. Sure I had been pulled to this room numerous times, but the punishment had never been this severe. I had gone too far, that was now apparent. Whatever the teacher had said, it had cost me this kind of a punishment. I bit my lip.
“Yes, Miss. Cheeky, you are suspended,”
I didn’t know what to say; I just walked out of the class in fury, gathered my stuff from the curious class-room and trailed home. I couldn’t believe it.
“Are you home?” My mother called, as I swung the door open and rushed inside with steaming anger.
Mrs. Ahmed entered the passage-way and looked at my swollen face, “Exams?”
My mum knew that under the only circumstance I would say that was if something worse had happened.
“Failed; friend problem; detention; punishment?” She inquired.
I candidly mouthed the single word, “Suspension,”
My mother gasped, “You don’t always have to be sarcastic,”
“Wait till your dad’s back,” My mother told me, as I started to ascend the stair-case.
“I’m looking forward to it,”
Up in my bed-room I vowed I’d never push teachers again. I had teacher-o-phobia, and I knew I’d never mess around like I had today. It had been a series of disasters; this was one day I’d never forget.
It was two and a half years later that my hapless class was left without a maths teacher. Our old one had decided to marry and leave us alone to master the equations and contemplate the meanings in mathematics. A new teacher was arranged for the next week after the following holidays. She was a good-looking, fair lady that looked early in her twenties. She talked like she had something in her mouth and walked with amazing fashion. I started to like her the first day.
“Good morning, my class,” Were her first words as she began the lesson.
It was ironic what happened next. The words that flowed like honey from her mouth had me rooted to the ground. With wonderment in my pupils and a gaping mouth, my head sprang up.
I had asked her, her name. After a brief moment, with a crazy smirk on her lips and her eyes carrying a silent laughter, she answered sympathetically:
“No deary, what is not my name!”