A Day in the Life

I'm twirling and spinning and being flipped around as my owner is furiously trying to scribble down notes displayed faintly on the chalkboard. "Solve for 'x'," is what the messy handwriting seems to think is a math question. What's that supposed to mean? This student doesn't seem to know either, as I scratch out question marks around the statement. A pop quiz? Great, nerves have never been my favorite. I'm now being chewed like gum, and not to mention the sweaty palms that have me tight in their grasp, only letting me breathe when the teacher says, "Times up class." "DING!" and suddenly I get thrown into a dark, smelly place and shaken about for the next thirteen minutes, until "ZIP!" I'm put back to work. Paper usually means more notes, but not this time. I am forced to be part of the misbehavior of passing notes, but worst of all, it's a love note. I can't stand it anymore, so I decide to take a break, and break is exactly what I do. How inconvenient for this unfortunate teenager who hasn't figured out that love and highschool are not the best mix. The only time I get distracted, is when I see Bic sitting across from me. Now that is a beautiful writing utensil.