My First Day

The one thing I hate about small schools is that there is always, always, a chance you'll see someone you're avoiding. For instance, The Ass. Who happened to be the first person I saw at Beast of Hollowed-Out Food. Welcome to your new school, HERE'S SOMEONE YOU BROKE YOUR HEART. I figured I would be able to ignore him. But no. For this is a school of 400 students, and this is a popular boy. My knees began shaking the instant we got up the stairs. They were knocking together in the most unflattering way. Shivers ran up and down my legs, from the tips of my toes, to my hips, and manipulated each cell of skin to turn bright pink. I couldn't see it. I felt it.

My first class was English, with a positively amazing teacher named Matt. Hi, Matt! I'm sure he already knows this URL by the mere magic of Dobbl and her Tech teacher. Hi, Ren! I'm hoping this post doesn't get me completely Dooced from this school. Let's face it, this is my school. This is where I belong. [A statement I will probably eat one month into this.] But anyway. Back to the facts. My first class was English, with a positively amazing teacher who is positively hilarious, who kept asking us why we weren't objecting to any word he said. He told us that the only reason we wrote was to get the ladies. Hell, I couldn't object.

Dobbl happened to have my Creative Writing class, which I was so very thankful for. On our way down, we saw The Ass refilling his promotion-merch-water bottle. I did a nice job of pretending he wasn't who he was until he walked into our classroom. I'm sorry. But I had told her straight up, "I bet he has my Creative Writing." She denounced it, because that would also mean he had her Creative Writing. And he hates her. Naturally, my tongue dried up and retracted into my throat, and I began to make choking, sighing, gasping noises, that nobody could ignore.

I've tried to be nice. I've tried to be civil. I even apologized to him last night, on my mother's phone, to make a point. Now that I've apologized, I feel like I've washed my hands of the ordeal. It's upon The Ass's shoulders now, it's for him to consider, and I feel like I've done a respectable thing by taking enough responsibility to tell him that I was a douchebag, that I'm sorry, and that I hope we can be decent to each other. It is not my fault that he has not replied to any text.

The rest of the day went well, except for the fact that I was failing my math class, and this math class has already moved beyond the subject I was failing. Multiplying Matrices? Fuck that! Part of me wants to downgrade to Algebra Honors, because I really need to do Algebra again. But the other part of me is saying, "Push yourself to be good at this. This is Make it Work time." Who do I listen to, Andi the Failure or Andi the Tim Gunn? This seems like the kind of situation that I really have to work through. Because I was allowed to sort of float through Strest after I knew I was leaving, I have to remember how to motivate myself. This is High School, not Summer School. I only hope I'll keep that in mind.