What's the password? What is that password? I glared at my phone, waiting vigilantly for a free password to come up. Why must there be a code that is locked throughout the whole school? I bet any major teachers know it already and they just got their MacBooks. Every 9th grader had just got an installment of MacBooks, and I don’t understand why the upperclassmen didn’t get any first. I bet all of the 9th graders are just using it for answers to their classwork or play those nerdy brain games on Coolmathgames.com. It just feels unreasonable.
Richardson Senior High School was known for its notoriety, for its viral school fights and gang members, and it seems as if the principal just lets most of the calamities slide. But one pro that they have achieved in is that they are extremely good in athletics. The football, basketball, soccer, tennis, and baseball teams practice every day to make sure that they meet their championship goals. But I truly feel sorry for those teams, knowing that they can’t pass the most easiest tests due to their lack of knowledge in the required subjects.
—Could you tell me the difference between a rhombus and a trapezoid?
—Uhhhhhhhhh, the rhombus is round and the trapezoid is blue.
By the way, that took place in Room #208 in Mrs. Lily’s room.
Principal Winslow had such the suggestion one time in a meeting, stating that the school needs more computers for bring in “fresh meat” to take into consideration in attending this school for the semester. It’s almost like bribery but in a legal way. He then invested in implanting routers on the ceiling of every classroom and hallway. Now all around the school was filled with Wi-Fi...that I can’t use at all.
I’ve got this Wi-Fi password curiosity glued into my brain and I cannot find a way to let it out. I don’t know why mind is zoning towards it like a nonstop rollercoaster going down a spiral-like track.
Great, now I’m hearing this sudden voice in my head that keeps saying my name. It won’t stop, it just won’t stop. It sounds similar to my Psychology teacher, Miss Hallzheimer. (Sometimes I mistakenly her Miss Alzheimer because that’s what it sounds like if you just add the apostrophe and the s. The H is silent anyways.)
“Ma’am,” I answered, finally listening to her voice.
“You have an assignment on the board. Stop daydreaming already.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I studied the assignment. The thing about this work is that she doesn’t teach any of it. She just gives us the page numbers and then goes back to doing what she does best: talking to the cheerleaders, eating some Pringles, or listening to her music on the phone while lying her head down on the desk. I personally liked to be lectured on stuff and I do not risk to have some teacher not truly do her job. A good thing is that we get the ability to communicate in here, unlike other classes.
Miss Hallzheimer proceeded with going to sleep in her rolling chair while listening to Adele’s new single on her S6 Edge+. My friends Timmy, Dareeka, Brandy, and James huddled up in a group together having a reasonable consultation, and I decided to join them. So I scooted my desk near them and I said, “Hey, guys! What’s the chat for today?”
“Just the usual topic: that new update coming to iPhone,” Dareeka replied. “By the way, how was your trip to New Orleans?”
“Oh, it was awesome. The Loews hotel was so premium that I wanted to stay there for the whole week. But I forgot about that whole ‘#Katrina10’ event that they had. They mostly showed some videos of the survivors of the tragic events and how God helped them live and all that jazz.”
“Loews, you say,” Timmy asked.
“Yeah, we stayed at this hotel called Loews. Obviously, I’ve never known about the hotel until now. I have some pictures of it and Google intelligently made me a story album of all the pictures I took in Louisiana.”
“I’ve been always scared of Louisiana,” Dareeka confessed. “All their Voodoo and Hoodoo and Doodoo, you know. I can’t believe that they would devote their lives to something so peculiar.”
“I know my 9th grade Art teacher Mr. Fig said that he went to a part of New Orleans where they had a Voodoo Shop there, but he said he wasn’t intimidated by it. I, surprisingly, didn’t see that part of town because that was my second time going to New Orleans.”
“I’m glad you didn’t bring something back with you. I won’t even get any of their nice-looking souvenirs from the park.”
“Dareeka, we all know you would,” Brandy had told her. “You get distracted by everything, kinda like what the dumb blondes do.” Brandy had gotten that correct. I’ve known Dareeka since the 9th grade and I know how she is when it comes to trips she doesn’t like from the start.
“This time I won’t. Officially.”