Alright, let’s say my name’s Michael. I’m in Year 4, and I’m doing alright with my studies. Not top of the class or anything, but I’ve managed to steer clear of any C-grades, which is a bonus! My classmates are a right mixed bag. Some are a bit daft, while others are just decent lads and lasses, you know, like you get in any school.
My favourite subject’s PE, no doubt about it. Like most of the lads in my class, I’m mad about football, and I’ve got a soft spot for dancing too. Not that I’m one to brag about my favourite subjects, mind you. But let me tell you about our English classes. We have them twice a week—on Mondays and Thursdays. I really enjoy English! On Mondays, we have the usual lessons where we share our compositions, and the teacher goes through some grammar topics with us. We also get to practice speaking, which really helps sharpen our thinking skills. It’s all good fun!
On Thursdays, though, it’s a whole different story—chaos reigns! It all kicks off at the classroom door, where everyone’s jostling to squeeze in first. Those who manage to get in snag a desk, while the poor souls who don’t have to stand at the back. There just aren’t enough desks for everyone, you see. Our English teacher usually gets us to write or read, depending on what we’re covering that day. As you can imagine, trying to write while standing up is a right pain! It can get a bit chaotic, but it definitely keeps things lively!
That Thursday, I was one of the lucky ones who managed to grab a desk. I was sitting pretty, all ready to get stuck into the lesson. I had a bit of motivation that day—I really needed to sort out my C grade. Then Ryan strolled in. He always acts like he’s the coolest kid in the class, but to be honest, he’s not great at his studies. A few lads hang around with him just because of his reputation, which, let’s be real, is mainly thanks to his parents bigging him up.
Ryan spotted me sitting there and decided he wanted to get rid of me. “What’s your problem, man? Just back off!” I shouted as he hit me on the head and tried to yank me off my chair. I instinctively covered my head to protect myself, and then I pushed him back.
He smirked and shot back, “You think you can just sit there like you own the place? Nah, dude, this is my turf!” That’s when he started kicking at me with his feet. My classmates who were standing around tried to calm him down, but he just wouldn’t listen.
In the heat of the moment, I hit him in the face, yelling, “Get away from me! This is my spot!” He retaliated by hitting my knee, and it hurt so much that I ended up falling to the ground. “Can’t take a hit, huh? Crybaby!” he taunted as he struck me again. I couldn’t help but burst into tears—it was really painful.
After that, he just plopped down at the piano, which was the only other spot with a chair. I decided to step away and wash my face to compose myself. Meanwhile, everyone started blaming Ryan for what had happened, but he just sat there like nothing was wrong, completely unfazed by the chaos he had caused. It was frustrating! I could hear him laughing, saying, “What a wuss. He couldn’t handle it,” while I tried to gather myself.
Then, the class started as normal—if that's what you call normal. I showed my homework to the teacher, trying to focus despite the earlier chaos. Those who weren't sitting at their desks just left the classroom, sprinting through the halls, laughing and shouting as if they were escaping a boring prison. If I hadn't gotten a C on my last assignment, I would have run too, eager to join the fun and shake off the tension of the day.
