This morning, I woke up at 6:15. Sort of. In reality, I let my watch go for another ten minutes before receiving a prompt wham! from my brother's pillow. I then fell asleep on the couch and boom! it's ten 'till seven. The ideal time to be leaving for me is around 7:15-25, but I usually leave around thirty-five after. Ah well.
I leave at 7:36 (usually really bad) and end up arriving at five after eight e_e. In fact, I arrived early enough to see Matthew before he holed up in his class (History, I think). In math, I sit through a stale lesson on linear equations. *yawn*
Anyways, I walk into the gym after nearly falling down the stairs (nice fail, eh? Jealous?). I take my seat next to Briscoe as Ms. Hutz is making the class stand up and sit down. The funny thing in PE is that we assigned ourselves a general seating order...
 |
| 'Seating Chart'... Huh boy. |
...where 'blue' is boys, and that fuchsia-ish color is where the girls tend to settle. The white area closer to the hoop is where I tend to sit, and the darker shades are where the eighth graders end up.
Carrying on, after a nice drill of "Stand up,"'s and "Sit down,"'s, I finally noticed the tablets under the hoop. What in the world could we use tablets for... IN PE? I thought to myself. Much the same thought was most likely rotating around the room. As it turns out, we did some 'research' about FIFA world cup, and I was like 'Ugh...'
I ended up researching Australia—not very interesting, let me tell you!—and as a result, I was last in line, not the worst thing ever, though. Who gives a darn? This was because Australia was ranked 59th out of the thirty teams (yes, 59. I don't get it either), and we lined up by terms of rank (1st, 2nd, 3rd... 47th (the next-lowest number), 59th). Mark (an eighth grader) said Australia gets flattened every world cup (go figure).
Outside, Nate (yet another eighth grader), told me to play center-back. What in the darn world is center-back‽ I thought to myself. I assumed it to be center, and that 'back' was some sort of slang in the soccer (or football, if you wish) world. I now know (after a serious "What the —— are you doing up there‽ GET BACK HERE!") that center-back is really just defense.
"Why didn't you know that‽" Rob (YET another eighth grader) asked me.
"Know what‽" I said back.
"Center-back is defense!"
"Next time you want me to play d'," I said, "say 'play defense!' and not 'Go ahead and play center-back'"
Nate said something (probably a curse) under his breath, and said "Whatever. Play defense."
Later, I ended up tripping (again, like usual when playing soccer) and, while trying to get up, I almost hand the ball. "You play with your feet, not your hands, Conor." Rob said.
"I was flipping trying to get up!" I said, as Rob started to progress towards the other goal. "I'm not Mr. Oh-I'm-So-Perfect," I said, following Rob who just passed the ball to Nate. "Unlike Nate over there..." At this point, Nate flourishes the ball directly into the opposing teams goal pretentiously.
The rest of the game was a blur, really having no point at all.
"You're dismissed. Have a great day—" Ms. Hutz said, though I was already jogging towards the school doors and—
Locked! Another minute, and the floodgates are released. I realized that Briscoe really enjoys the art of arguing, which accounts for most (if not all) of the silent walks back to the lunch. And, after changing—
Lunch! HAHAHA!
I sat down, my face probably red (as I saw from the fourth period class later that day), with David R. sitting to the right of Matthew and to the place I usually sit (yes, another case of self-assigned seating charts. Help!). I take my seat, and end up futzing around with my calculator. About five minutes before the bell rings—
"Oh sh,"—a small pause"—oot, I have to finish my W*rdly W*se!"—(asterized to prevent copyright infringement, if any). After a headlong rush into the realm of the words that most will never use, I finish half before third period—Christian Studies. Throughout that rush, David R. continuously corrected me on a certain problem to the point where I disregarded his advice.
I finish my WW just minutes after the bell rings. I discover that Mr. Newman—our Christian Studies teacher—is leaving next year to teach at his hometown (Huntsville, Alabama, I believe).
After CS, English whizzes by, and in Seminar, I learn how to do calculus with M&N's (yes, avoiding infringement).
'Ead rush, 'eh? No, not really. Until then!
Outside, Nate (yet another eighth grader), told me to play center-back. What in the darn world is center-back‽ I thought to myself. I assumed it to be center, and that 'back' was some sort of slang in the soccer (or football, if you wish) world. I now know (after a serious "What the —— are you doing up there‽ GET BACK HERE!") that center-back is really just defense.
"Why didn't you know that‽" Rob (YET another eighth grader) asked me.
"Know what‽" I said back.
"Center-back is defense!"
"Next time you want me to play d'," I said, "say 'play defense!' and not 'Go ahead and play center-back'"
Nate said something (probably a curse) under his breath, and said "Whatever. Play defense."
Later, I ended up tripping (again, like usual when playing soccer) and, while trying to get up, I almost hand the ball. "You play with your feet, not your hands, Conor." Rob said.
"I was flipping trying to get up!" I said, as Rob started to progress towards the other goal. "I'm not Mr. Oh-I'm-So-Perfect," I said, following Rob who just passed the ball to Nate. "Unlike Nate over there..." At this point, Nate flourishes the ball directly into the opposing teams goal pretentiously.
The rest of the game was a blur, really having no point at all.
"You're dismissed. Have a great day—" Ms. Hutz said, though I was already jogging towards the school doors and—
Locked! Another minute, and the floodgates are released. I realized that Briscoe really enjoys the art of arguing, which accounts for most (if not all) of the silent walks back to the lunch. And, after changing—
Lunch! HAHAHA!
I sat down, my face probably red (as I saw from the fourth period class later that day), with David R. sitting to the right of Matthew and to the place I usually sit (yes, another case of self-assigned seating charts. Help!). I take my seat, and end up futzing around with my calculator. About five minutes before the bell rings—
"Oh sh,"—a small pause"—oot, I have to finish my W*rdly W*se!"—(asterized to prevent copyright infringement, if any). After a headlong rush into the realm of the words that most will never use, I finish half before third period—Christian Studies. Throughout that rush, David R. continuously corrected me on a certain problem to the point where I disregarded his advice.
I finish my WW just minutes after the bell rings. I discover that Mr. Newman—our Christian Studies teacher—is leaving next year to teach at his hometown (Huntsville, Alabama, I believe).
After CS, English whizzes by, and in Seminar, I learn how to do calculus with M&N's (yes, avoiding infringement).
'Ead rush, 'eh? No, not really. Until then!
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