The Schoolyard Conflict part 1

Yes! After a half hour of frustrated searching I finally found my February Diary.  For all of you who weren't in Mrs. Dillon's 9th grade English class, this is a journal we kept throughout the month of February, full of writing about... whatever.  For my part I wrote out memories and dreams and thoughts about life... basically everything this blog should be.  I was looking for it to share a certain poem of mine which I particularly like, but upon finding and rereading it I've discovered a story which most friends of mine have heard only in pieces.  A year has past since these events occurred, and looking back now they seem so insignificant, but I know that for months of my life these memories haunted me and affected everything I did.  So perhaps they are relevant.  For those of you who were there, this is how I felt.  For those of you who weren't, these are the preoccupations of an eighth grade girl.  I hope this will answer any remaining questions.

***

My feelings for Mrs. Taylor are... disgust, possibly?  It's hard to put into words.  It was so bad last year, especially in that last week of school, with the talent show and graduation... I hate getting yelled at.  Most of my dislike for her is fairly well justified (at least in my mind...) but my complete bitterness?  My hate?  I know she has good qualities which should sway my judgement; yet I hardly understand myself as I surely do hate her.  Rationally I should consider what she's done for me, but my uncontrollable passions skip the trial and go straight to a guilty verdict.  But whoever said hate is rational?  Nobody, and if they did they'd be wrong.  Maybe that's why I'm so sensitive on the topic of my eighth grade English teacher.  Because I know that I hate her and I know that hatred isn't the rational course, and my emotions won't let me do anything about it.  And that scares me.

I suppose the last week of school should be a fun week, especially for the graduation class.  Sad, maybe, a nostalgic week, but enjoyable none the less.  Not for me.  It was hell week for me.

The worst of it started on the Friday before the last week (six days from graduation, as we graduated on a Thursday).  It was the talent show.  In hindsight, I don't regret doing the talent show because I did have some pretty good times with friends.  But at the time, I felt like dying in a hole somewhere.  For my number I needed a microphone to be heard all over the auditorium.  Mrs. Taylor brought me a chair.  I suppose in the confusion backstage it wasn't unreasonable for her to mistake "microphone" for "chair."  And maybe I deserved the blunt and irritated "Don't get snippy with me missy" which my teacher and director curtly growled at me before the curtain opened, with me trying to project as best I could.  All I know is I left that stage ashamed, soon crying in a closet as Mrs. Taylor came to give us feed back from the crowd. "I'm gonna be honest with you.  Tiffany is getting a great response; people are really impressed and think you're doing wonderfully.  Good job.  Caity, Sarah, Eletra -- more energy.  You could really put in a bit more effort.  That's not coming from me -- that's just what the audience thinks."

After the final show was over and I had calmed down a bit, the day got better.  For a while.  Mrs.  Taylor told us that we could hang out until the end of the school day, and as this was the first time I was in the talent show, I thought that this was just a perk for the participants. Rosie, Kristina, and I sat outside in the grass in front of the office, talking and joking.  Mr. Peters (Principal or vice Principal at the time, I don't know) walked by and gave us a weird look, but he just continued on to Mrs. Taylor's classroom.  We continued laughing and lounging until he came out a few minutes later and asked us not quite incredulously "Girls, why aren't you in class?"

"We're in the talent show," we responded, as if this answered the question.

"And?" he asked, gesturing for us to continue.

"And Mrs. Taylor  said we didn't have to go back to class."

"That's not what she says."

"What?" the three of us chorused, his response like a slap in the face.   "That's not what she told us."  What should you feel when someone you respect and trust lies about you to cover their butt for breaking the rules?  That was Mrs. Taylor's thing, breaking the rules.  Playing the rebel.  Only when the consequences came around did she shirk the responsibility.  And someone else would suffer for her.  What did I feel?  Betrayal, certainly.  And a bit of disgust.

Mr. Peters perhaps detected our nervous distress, or maybe he knew we were good students and wouldn't ditch class, at least not to hang out in front of the office if we did.  In any case, he quickly told us, "Don't worry, I'm sure there was just a misunderstanding.  You just need to check in with your teachers and let them know you're not absent."  He smiled reassuringly and walked back toward the office as Rosie, Kristina, and I scampered off to talk to our teachers and discuss what had just happened.

***

There's certainly more to the story, but I have to stop here (have to go on errands with mum). Tune in later to hear the exciting conclusion of the schoolyard conflict!  Sorry, I just had a burst of inspiration and I wanted to sound like a corny radio broadcaster. :)

Got to go.