Oi, I’m Anastasia, and I’m in Year Four at school, yeah? I’m in the same class as Michael… you know, the one from the last story. I’m well into my sports, but that little dancer Michael ain’t got a chance against me – I’m a proper Russian baba, and I’ll give anyone a slap if they try to wind me up. I’ve knocked a few blokes about who thought they could have a go at me, but they soon leg it ‘cos I’m the toughest girl in my class. Can’t stand all that girly stuff, though I do love a bit of make-up! My favourite subject’s PE, ‘cause our coach is brilliant. He knows loads of fighting tricks and he’s always willing to share them with us. Plus, he’s fair and rather easy on the eyes, if you know what I mean! I call him my bro.
To be fair, I’m not keen on studying at all. If I had my way, I’d be spending all me days down the gym or out for a jog, just having a right laugh. But I scribble down all the nonsense the teachers bang on about, just to keep them off my case, innit?
One time, my English teacher gave me a proper essay to bash out. I spent both my weekends getting it done, and my hand was absolutely knackered by the end of it. I marched up to him, shoved my work in his face, and said, “Here you go, mate! I can write, you know!”
And just to spill the beans, I don’t understand a thing in English, you know? I can’t even make heads or tails of the letters. The teacher’s always going on about, “Write this down, write that down.” I scribble away, but I haven’t got a clue what I’m actually writing. Thank goodness my handwriting’s decent, or I’d be in a right pickle! Haha.
English isn’t exactly my cup of tea, but I’ve got a soft spot for it on Thursdays. We all cram into the classroom, and it’s absolute carnage—no room to swing a cat! Everyone’s climbing over each other just to nab a precious desk seat. I get a right kick out of walking on their heads—not just to get in, but for the reaction from my mates.
They’re all scrapping for their spots, while I cheekily pinch someone’s seat. Once everyone's crammed in like sardines, I leap up and plonk myself on the window sill. Our young English teacher goes mental, shouting at me because it’s a no-go to sit there. But honestly, it’s a right laugh! I love getting under everyone’s skin and hearing, “Hey Gen, get off that bloody window sill, or I’ll boot you out!”
To be fair, I’d rather be kicked out than stand at the back of the class like a spare part. I practically make it my mission to get chucked out. Then I can leg it through the halls like I own the place, free as a bird, with no desk to be tied to in the classroom!
Though one day, I had a really rough time. I was all set to pull my usual trick of snatching someone’s desk and making a run for it, but the crowd was too wild, and I ended up falling down. Suddenly, it was like I was invisible—everyone just kept stepping on me like I was some empty space. It really hurt when boys’ shoes were smashing into my face, but it was even worse when one girl stomped on me with her heel. I couldn’t hold back the tears, and despite my tough, boyish nature, I ended up crying.
When the whole crowd piled in, I was barely on my feet. A few of my mates came along to the loo with me so I could splash some water on my face. But I didn’t bother going back to English class that day. I just hung about in the hall, having a laugh and running around, you know?
After about half the class, the cleaner chucked us out with her broom, giving my mates and me a kick on the backs as we shuffled past. All the kids were squished into the cramped classroom like sardines. The cleaner shot a look at the teacher, as if asking why we were all outside. The teacher just shrugged and said, "Well, it’s because the school’s admin didn’t bother sorting us a bigger classroom for such a large group." The cleaner shook her head, not saying a word, but she pointed her broom at anyone who looked like they were planning to make a dash for it before the class ended.
