“And if I see anyone sleeping during the video, I’ll give you a quiz on it!” Psychology Teacher insists. “The videos are meant to help you learn this stuff. Right, mister?” She nudges Sleepy.
“Mmm,” he says, jolting his head up. He wasn’t asleep, but he was well on his way. His eyes are still unfocused. He takes a slow, deep breath and blinks a lot at his desk, as the people around him laugh a little.
“I’m teasing [Sleepy] because he’s tired today,” Psychology Teacher says. “Don’t stay up late on school nights! Can somebody turn the lights out, please?”
As the video begins, Sleepy, like so many others, gradually gets out his iPod touch, lays it flat on the desktop, and starts scrolling through it. His headphones, vivid dark blue, are snaking up under his shirt, plain pale green.
I think he’s trying to keep himself awake through the video so the teacher won’t single him out again. He’s got a bit of paper out, and seems to be taking notes, even though we’re not being forced to take notes on the video. Besides, he’s hardly paying attention. He’s hunched forward with his eyes straight down as he writes.
I can’t see what he’s making notes of. He’s got his left hand over the page, covering it up as he writes; his fingers sloping awkwardly downwards. Like he thinks somebody’s going to peek over his shoulder and look at what he’s writing. This is a thing a lot of high schoolers do—convince themselves that they’re constantly being watched, that all eyes are on them. He’s the token Sleepy Kid in class, he’s a chill dude, he does all right for himself even through his caffiene-deficiencies and hangovers. But he still worries, just a little bit in the back of his mind, that somebody might be looking at him. He hates having people look at him. Even though it’s ridiculous; nobody’s looking at him.
(...Well, you know. Apart from the obvious.)
There's a bit of a doodle in the margin of his paper, though. It's like a floating head, with a sad face. And a shapeless body.
His nails are well trimmed, but a little dirty. And there’s a scab just above his left elbow; it’s mostly still a crusty brown, but around the edges of it there’s a healing pink tinge just beginning to grow.
He turns his page over, and looks up at the screen. He has one earbud in his ear, but the other he rolls between two fingers, in front of his face. He strokes his lips with it—rolls it over the top lip, then the bottom lip, and eventually slides it into his mouth, just barely touching his teeth, and nibbles it. He yawns long, and often, and at that time, the blue earbud just dangles in empty space.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Cat
Every other table is talking—except for this one. This table is totally silent. I guess I’m with the misfit group again. Honestly, I don’t mind. It's easier to observe everyone else when you're not talking to your table mates.
Cat sits to my left. She has a black and white bag with a combination of leopard spots and tiger stripes on it. She always keeps that bag on her desk, so she can surreptitiously reach inside it and send text messages or check the time during class. Some teachers don’t fall for that trick, and make everyone keep their bags on the floor, but Econ Teacher is a little scatterbrained most of the time, and doesn’t bother looking towards the back.
So Cat goes through the routine every day. Every ten minutes or so, reaches into her bag, checks the time, then sighs, removes her hand, and uses it to rest her head, gazing up sideways at the projector.
She wears a dark tank top, with a similarly dark jacket, the sleeves rolled back to her elbows. Her hair is dyed dark red, and is swept up in a high loose ponytail, with a few tiny sharp strands hanging straight down against her pale face. She has a pink bandana, which she’s rolled up and tied around her head, stretching across the top of her head and knotting right under the dark-red clump that is her ponytail.
She makes sarcastic remarks, almost always. Muttering in a low, bored voice, always keeping her eyes down. It isn’t until we really get into a class discussion you really notice her eyes. She looks up and maintains eye contact, hardly even blinking. It’s weird. Her eyes are silvery—a strong contrast to her dark red hair. They’re small, but they stand out from her face, startling, penetrating. Like a cat's.
And her eyeliner—It’s dark, and not very thick, but from this close I can see it. She’s been very careful with it, making it curve up slightly just at the edges. It makes her look mysterious. And she is.
She’s a doodler. I mean, I’ve never seen her doodle in class, but once, she pulled a couple of sheets of paper from her binder, and there they were—drawings so intricate and detailed that it surprised me. Done in black ink, and shaped with bold, thick lines. I didn’t get a close look at one, but the other was a ship, being tossed sideways by the sea—You could practically see the motion on the page. With a long, thin banner, sweeping, rippling through the air, bearing the words in tiny lettering: Stay Strong. Be Strong.
I wanted to get a better look, but she flipped them over and put them away almost immediately.
Cat sits to my left. She has a black and white bag with a combination of leopard spots and tiger stripes on it. She always keeps that bag on her desk, so she can surreptitiously reach inside it and send text messages or check the time during class. Some teachers don’t fall for that trick, and make everyone keep their bags on the floor, but Econ Teacher is a little scatterbrained most of the time, and doesn’t bother looking towards the back.
So Cat goes through the routine every day. Every ten minutes or so, reaches into her bag, checks the time, then sighs, removes her hand, and uses it to rest her head, gazing up sideways at the projector.
She wears a dark tank top, with a similarly dark jacket, the sleeves rolled back to her elbows. Her hair is dyed dark red, and is swept up in a high loose ponytail, with a few tiny sharp strands hanging straight down against her pale face. She has a pink bandana, which she’s rolled up and tied around her head, stretching across the top of her head and knotting right under the dark-red clump that is her ponytail.
She makes sarcastic remarks, almost always. Muttering in a low, bored voice, always keeping her eyes down. It isn’t until we really get into a class discussion you really notice her eyes. She looks up and maintains eye contact, hardly even blinking. It’s weird. Her eyes are silvery—a strong contrast to her dark red hair. They’re small, but they stand out from her face, startling, penetrating. Like a cat's.
And her eyeliner—It’s dark, and not very thick, but from this close I can see it. She’s been very careful with it, making it curve up slightly just at the edges. It makes her look mysterious. And she is.
She’s a doodler. I mean, I’ve never seen her doodle in class, but once, she pulled a couple of sheets of paper from her binder, and there they were—drawings so intricate and detailed that it surprised me. Done in black ink, and shaped with bold, thick lines. I didn’t get a close look at one, but the other was a ship, being tossed sideways by the sea—You could practically see the motion on the page. With a long, thin banner, sweeping, rippling through the air, bearing the words in tiny lettering: Stay Strong. Be Strong.
I wanted to get a better look, but she flipped them over and put them away almost immediately.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Straw Hat
Due to budget cuts and such, our school has an unbalanced ratio of students to teachers this year. There are far too many students in each class, and not quite enough desks to go around. In American Economics, the teacher has tried to compensate by providing a few swivelly chairs off to the side.
And while most people try to avoid the swivelly chairs—most people make a beeline for the first empty desk they lay eyes on—There’s one guy who will always go straight for the swivelly chairs. That’s the guy in the straw hat.
He’s worn that hat every day this year so far. I think it’s his new thing—new identifying factor. It suits him. It’s creased on the top, and has a band around the middle. Like a fedora, but made from woven pieces of straw, rather than dark or patterned felt. The band around it is plain and black. It could use a little red feather or something. That’d suit him, too.
He doesn’t take many notes. Usually, he just chills in his comfy chair, maybe even reclines a little bit. Elbows rested, hands folded neatly against his chest, and listens. (Half-listens, really. Most of the time he has one little black earphone in his ear, the wires running up under his shirt so the teacher won’t see them. But he still pays attention well enough.)
Teachers get irritated with people like him, who listen but don’t take notes. Usually, Straw Hat's notebook doesn’t come out until Econ Teacher drops a hint to the class that they should always be writing stuff down. But even then, he doesn’t write much.
He gets good scores—he retains the information just by listening, mostly. Like many others in this class, he’s bright enough to be in AP Econ, but just didn’t want to take the time, or can't risk having a C on his transcript.
His clothes are simple. Other than the straw hat, there’s really nothing that makes him stand out. Like so many others, he sports new shoes—Nike, black and white and blue. He extends his right leg and balances the heel of his shoe against the floor, and gently rocks it back and forth against the ground, wearing it in.
His jeans are long and dark blue, unfaded, as yet unwashed. Clearly new school clothes as well.
The other day I saw him wearing a Resident Evil T-shirt.
He spends most of his lunchtimes in the computer lab just off of the library, with a lot of other gamer boys. The Loner and Fedora, they’re in there too, but they mostly study, I think. Straw Hat seems like he might be the studious type, too—compared to the other gamer boys, at least; they all have loud voices and loud laughs. Not like him. Straw Hat never says much, and never says it very loud, but he loves his computer games. Especially Addicting Games. His favorite is the one with the worm.
And while most people try to avoid the swivelly chairs—most people make a beeline for the first empty desk they lay eyes on—There’s one guy who will always go straight for the swivelly chairs. That’s the guy in the straw hat.
He’s worn that hat every day this year so far. I think it’s his new thing—new identifying factor. It suits him. It’s creased on the top, and has a band around the middle. Like a fedora, but made from woven pieces of straw, rather than dark or patterned felt. The band around it is plain and black. It could use a little red feather or something. That’d suit him, too.
He doesn’t take many notes. Usually, he just chills in his comfy chair, maybe even reclines a little bit. Elbows rested, hands folded neatly against his chest, and listens. (Half-listens, really. Most of the time he has one little black earphone in his ear, the wires running up under his shirt so the teacher won’t see them. But he still pays attention well enough.)
Teachers get irritated with people like him, who listen but don’t take notes. Usually, Straw Hat's notebook doesn’t come out until Econ Teacher drops a hint to the class that they should always be writing stuff down. But even then, he doesn’t write much.
He gets good scores—he retains the information just by listening, mostly. Like many others in this class, he’s bright enough to be in AP Econ, but just didn’t want to take the time, or can't risk having a C on his transcript.
His clothes are simple. Other than the straw hat, there’s really nothing that makes him stand out. Like so many others, he sports new shoes—Nike, black and white and blue. He extends his right leg and balances the heel of his shoe against the floor, and gently rocks it back and forth against the ground, wearing it in.
His jeans are long and dark blue, unfaded, as yet unwashed. Clearly new school clothes as well.
The other day I saw him wearing a Resident Evil T-shirt.
He spends most of his lunchtimes in the computer lab just off of the library, with a lot of other gamer boys. The Loner and Fedora, they’re in there too, but they mostly study, I think. Straw Hat seems like he might be the studious type, too—compared to the other gamer boys, at least; they all have loud voices and loud laughs. Not like him. Straw Hat never says much, and never says it very loud, but he loves his computer games. Especially Addicting Games. His favorite is the one with the worm.
Friday, September 10, 2010
An Oddball
If you just glance at this girl, look at how she looks and dresses and acts, you see a very normal teenage girl. She flies under the radar, she's typically very calm; she's the furthest thing from "crazy" or "weird" that you can find. And in some ways, she is just as she seems; she is very normal.
But don't let that fool you. In other ways, she's actually quite the oddball.
In little ways, admittedly, but often, it's the little things that are the most fascinating.
There's a small, light brown birth mark on her face, dribbling down from the lower left corner of her mouth, so it might look like she was drooling if she fell asleep. You might not even notice it from across the room, but sitting directly across from her I can see it. She dresses mostly in baggy T-shirts, to hide the fact that she's a little larger than she'd like to be. Her toenails are painted dark purple, and there's one toe ring on each foot.
She doesn't talk a lot. Even though she knows the other girls at our table, she's not too close to any of them. But she's not shy, either--Her voice has a naturally quiet, sort of wispy quality to it, but she makes small talk with her table neighbors when she can, like anybody else. Talks about homework, or her lack of sleep, or her sisters. She has nine sisters.
She's Mormon. Or her family is, at least; she says she hates it. She hates having to go to seminary every morning, and having no freedom. Her mom won't even let her have a cell phone until she's in college. If she did have a cell phone, she'd probably text friends all through class, but instead, she yawns.
Her hair is a newly-dyed brunette. She either wears it down, or in a simple ponytail, with her long bangs sweeping off to one side. She uses her fingers to zero in on one strand, which she then pulls on, between her thumb and forefinger of both hands, sliding down, reaching back up, sliding down.
Then she anchors the strand in place with her left hand, as she twirls her right forefinger around it. Around. And around. Speeding up. And slowing down.
She wears a yellow LiveStrong bracelet on one hand, and a thin chain bracelet on the other. Sometimes a hair elastic is there, too. Around her neck, there's one of those cheesy "key-to-my-heart" necklaces--silver, sparkly, shaped like a small key with a heart on the top. Her boyfriend probably bought it for her; she wears it every day.
She mentioned once that she's ambidextrous, which is pretty cool. But I think she usually writes with her left hand. The margins in her notebook contain no doodles, but there are nervous lines scrawled up in the top corners of the pages--straight lines, hashed back and forth over each other at diagonals, dying the corners of her notes blue with ink.
It's really weird to watch her write. She holds the paper sideways--at a ninety-degree angle, with the punched holes at the top. And uses her left hand to write directly down the lines. She doesn't even turn her head as she writes; she's so accustomed to it, she can look at the letters sideways, and see them as though they're right side up.
But don't let that fool you. In other ways, she's actually quite the oddball.
In little ways, admittedly, but often, it's the little things that are the most fascinating.
There's a small, light brown birth mark on her face, dribbling down from the lower left corner of her mouth, so it might look like she was drooling if she fell asleep. You might not even notice it from across the room, but sitting directly across from her I can see it. She dresses mostly in baggy T-shirts, to hide the fact that she's a little larger than she'd like to be. Her toenails are painted dark purple, and there's one toe ring on each foot.
She doesn't talk a lot. Even though she knows the other girls at our table, she's not too close to any of them. But she's not shy, either--Her voice has a naturally quiet, sort of wispy quality to it, but she makes small talk with her table neighbors when she can, like anybody else. Talks about homework, or her lack of sleep, or her sisters. She has nine sisters.
She's Mormon. Or her family is, at least; she says she hates it. She hates having to go to seminary every morning, and having no freedom. Her mom won't even let her have a cell phone until she's in college. If she did have a cell phone, she'd probably text friends all through class, but instead, she yawns.
Her hair is a newly-dyed brunette. She either wears it down, or in a simple ponytail, with her long bangs sweeping off to one side. She uses her fingers to zero in on one strand, which she then pulls on, between her thumb and forefinger of both hands, sliding down, reaching back up, sliding down.
Then she anchors the strand in place with her left hand, as she twirls her right forefinger around it. Around. And around. Speeding up. And slowing down.
She wears a yellow LiveStrong bracelet on one hand, and a thin chain bracelet on the other. Sometimes a hair elastic is there, too. Around her neck, there's one of those cheesy "key-to-my-heart" necklaces--silver, sparkly, shaped like a small key with a heart on the top. Her boyfriend probably bought it for her; she wears it every day.
She mentioned once that she's ambidextrous, which is pretty cool. But I think she usually writes with her left hand. The margins in her notebook contain no doodles, but there are nervous lines scrawled up in the top corners of the pages--straight lines, hashed back and forth over each other at diagonals, dying the corners of her notes blue with ink.
It's really weird to watch her write. She holds the paper sideways--at a ninety-degree angle, with the punched holes at the top. And uses her left hand to write directly down the lines. She doesn't even turn her head as she writes; she's so accustomed to it, she can look at the letters sideways, and see them as though they're right side up.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Notes on the First Day of School
I’ve always liked the first day of school. New year, new beginnings. Of course it’s only a matter of time before the novelty of the new year wears off, but until then… it’s a time for everyone to start over, to make changes in their lives, to be someone new.
Everyone has new school supplies. New clothes. New hairstyles. New plans for who they’re going to be.
As for who really will change… Well, who can say?
There are a few things you will always see on the first day of school. The first thing I always notice is the shoes. So many people have new shoes; the laces spotlessly white, the heels and toes still stiff and unworn. New shoes making their first appearance in the world, on the first day of school. I counted eleven pairs in first period alone. It's odd, but universal—People like to start out a new year in a new pair of shoes. I don’t know why that is, but I feel it, too—Wearing new shoes has a satisfyingly different feel to it, and people are willing to suffer a few blisters for that feeling.
The second thing is hair. Everyone is so careful with their hair on the first day of school—boys and girls alike. It’s all been meticulously curled, straightened, dyed, or mohawked, to perfection. Trying to give off exactly the right image for the new year.
The third thing is how dead silent the classrooms are.
In almost every class, on the first day, the teacher just rambles on and on about what this class is going to be like, while the students just sit there in silence. On the first day of school, it's their job to listen to the teacher, give a good impression, and get a feel for what the year will be like.
The teachers hate this.
It's understandable. It must be frustrating to have a dead classroom. So they always try to wheedle some kind of response out of their class. Try to get the kids to open up, laugh a little, take part in the conversation. It’s rare that this tactic ever works. All the kids will continue to sit and stare.
Except for one.
He's a strange fellow. Everyone knows a few things about him—He's one of those kids that other kids hear about from their mommies. He hasn't had a very stable upbringing. He's been through several parole officers. He’s had some therapy, but you can tell that he’s still not quite where society wants him to be. He’s not exactly what you’d call a great student, or what most people would consider a likable human being.
In middle school, most teachers hated him. But he’s developed a strategy, over the past several years. It never fails.
During the first few days of school, when the rest of the class is silent and timid, Parole Kid speaks up. He asks the teacher questions—“Where’d you get that poster? What’d you do over the summer? How old are your kids?” And the teachers are just so grateful for that sort of activity from anyone, they look past the rest of him, and like having him in class. Often, that liking lasts all year.
You’ve got to give Parole Kid some credit. He’s smarter than he acts. That first impression… It really makes a difference.
Everyone has new school supplies. New clothes. New hairstyles. New plans for who they’re going to be.
As for who really will change… Well, who can say?
There are a few things you will always see on the first day of school. The first thing I always notice is the shoes. So many people have new shoes; the laces spotlessly white, the heels and toes still stiff and unworn. New shoes making their first appearance in the world, on the first day of school. I counted eleven pairs in first period alone. It's odd, but universal—People like to start out a new year in a new pair of shoes. I don’t know why that is, but I feel it, too—Wearing new shoes has a satisfyingly different feel to it, and people are willing to suffer a few blisters for that feeling.
The second thing is hair. Everyone is so careful with their hair on the first day of school—boys and girls alike. It’s all been meticulously curled, straightened, dyed, or mohawked, to perfection. Trying to give off exactly the right image for the new year.
The third thing is how dead silent the classrooms are.
In almost every class, on the first day, the teacher just rambles on and on about what this class is going to be like, while the students just sit there in silence. On the first day of school, it's their job to listen to the teacher, give a good impression, and get a feel for what the year will be like.
The teachers hate this.
It's understandable. It must be frustrating to have a dead classroom. So they always try to wheedle some kind of response out of their class. Try to get the kids to open up, laugh a little, take part in the conversation. It’s rare that this tactic ever works. All the kids will continue to sit and stare.
Except for one.
He's a strange fellow. Everyone knows a few things about him—He's one of those kids that other kids hear about from their mommies. He hasn't had a very stable upbringing. He's been through several parole officers. He’s had some therapy, but you can tell that he’s still not quite where society wants him to be. He’s not exactly what you’d call a great student, or what most people would consider a likable human being.
In middle school, most teachers hated him. But he’s developed a strategy, over the past several years. It never fails.
During the first few days of school, when the rest of the class is silent and timid, Parole Kid speaks up. He asks the teacher questions—“Where’d you get that poster? What’d you do over the summer? How old are your kids?” And the teachers are just so grateful for that sort of activity from anyone, they look past the rest of him, and like having him in class. Often, that liking lasts all year.
You’ve got to give Parole Kid some credit. He’s smarter than he acts. That first impression… It really makes a difference.
Monday, September 6, 2010
A new year, and back to blogging!
Hi, everyone! I hope you all have had a wonderful few months away from school (Unless you’re in the southern hemisphere… If you are, hi!) It’s been a long and eventful summer, but tomorrow, we will be returning to school. Some of us for the last year. That’s a little scary.
So sorry about all the absences and discrepancies last year, but now I’m back, and (hopefully) better than ever. I have some new rules this year, to make sure that I maximize my energy and don’t drop off the face of Blogspot for two months, like I did last year.
NEW RULES OF OBSERVING:
1. Do not update every day. Only 2 or 3 times a week. (Updating every day can become exhausting, and can also interfere with schoolwork and college applications and such.)
2. The day’s schoolwork and college application work should ALWAYS be finished before work on the day’s blog.
3. In most classes, there will be non-assigned seating. Arrive early to class to claim an appropriate seat—probably near the middle or the back, where you have a good view of everyone in the class, but also where you have a good view of the board and the teacher.
4. Keep all school notes and observing notes in the same notebook. It’s much simpler that way—less distracting, and relatively inconspicuous.
5. As per usual, no blogging about close friends.
6. However tempting it may be, do not mesh two or more people together into one “character” for a blog. They may seem similar enough, but each person is their own person, and they deserve to be acknowledged as such.
So, here’s to a new school year! Hoping it’s a great one for us all! And it goes without saying, but thank you so much to everyone who reads this blog. It means a lot to me. And as usual, always feel free to share your own observances of your own classmates in the comments. No matter how short or long, I love to read them.
Sincerely,
Your Faithful Observer
So sorry about all the absences and discrepancies last year, but now I’m back, and (hopefully) better than ever. I have some new rules this year, to make sure that I maximize my energy and don’t drop off the face of Blogspot for two months, like I did last year.
NEW RULES OF OBSERVING:
1. Do not update every day. Only 2 or 3 times a week. (Updating every day can become exhausting, and can also interfere with schoolwork and college applications and such.)
2. The day’s schoolwork and college application work should ALWAYS be finished before work on the day’s blog.
3. In most classes, there will be non-assigned seating. Arrive early to class to claim an appropriate seat—probably near the middle or the back, where you have a good view of everyone in the class, but also where you have a good view of the board and the teacher.
4. Keep all school notes and observing notes in the same notebook. It’s much simpler that way—less distracting, and relatively inconspicuous.
5. As per usual, no blogging about close friends.
6. However tempting it may be, do not mesh two or more people together into one “character” for a blog. They may seem similar enough, but each person is their own person, and they deserve to be acknowledged as such.
So, here’s to a new school year! Hoping it’s a great one for us all! And it goes without saying, but thank you so much to everyone who reads this blog. It means a lot to me. And as usual, always feel free to share your own observances of your own classmates in the comments. No matter how short or long, I love to read them.
Sincerely,
Your Faithful Observer
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