You Can't Make This Shit Up...

My Antonia is perhaps the most tedious thing I've ever been made to read. I don't like to come across as the standard-issue complaining high-schooler, but don't promise me "the inspiring story of a woman's life on the hardscrabble Nebraska prairie", and then write the damn book about scenery.(All of which I must have missed when I drove through.) Also, women already feel empowered by everthing a woman does. Do we still need such overtly feminist novels in our curricula? So naturally, I walk into school this morning without having read the chapters I was suppsoed to read. No matter, I think. My teacher, a self-proclaimed child of the sixties, is in all probability planning on holding a "group discussion", which no one will be required to participate in. I drift into my assigned seat, only to find that my hippie teacher has done a complete 180. The first thing out of her mouth is, "I'm going to do a nasty thing today and give you a pop quiz over the reading you were supposed to do." Shitshitshit. I rub my temples. "Can we use the book," another kid who didn't read asks hopefully.
"Nope, this is closed book. If you did the reading, you should be fine."
Goddammit, goddammit. I glance at the paper and see that the quiz is only worth five points. I decide to not even try. It's painful to read when someone tries to bullshit. I quickly scribble down four wise-ass answers. I get to the fifth question. It demands to know how Tiny Sodderball (nice name) made her fortune. Hell if I know. This is the only question in which I can't reveal some cynical truth. I shrug and scrawl, "She sells seashells down by the seashore." I flip the paper over and pick up The Torn Skirt, thinking Daria would be proud. Leah and Jackie, the two freshmen who sit next to me, set their quizzes on the teacher's desk. The teacher gives them a cursory glance and makes a hmmph noise. She crooks her finger at Leah and Jackie. They turn around midstep and come to stand next to her. She mutters tersely that she doesn't understand how two people got the same bizarre, out-of-this-world answer and just so happened to be sitting right next to each other. Did either of them copy the other's answer? Leah immediately says, "I didn't." Jackie is silent. She has worked strand of hair loose from her clip and is twirling it like she's getting paid to do it. Jackie always, always twirls her hair when she's nervous. Three minutes of intense silence later, Jackie whispers, "I did." Leah walks haughtily back to her seat, and Jackie is told to expect a stern lecture sometime in the near future. The teacher switches to normal volume and says, "Do I have everyone's quiz?"

"Oh, um, mine," I say waving my paper in the air. I should have caught on just then, when the deer-in-the-headlights look crossed Leah's face. But I dither on, obliviously, and work on another assignment. The teacher is crooking her finger at me. I'm about to get lectured for being a smart-aleck. I muster up my best doe-eyes. "Obviously, you didn't do the reading," she mutters without looking up. I smile sheepishly and nod. "But I'm particularly interested in this answer," she goes on. She runs her finger along the line that says, She sells seashells down by the seashore.
I clear my throat. "Sorry," I say, "I was trying to be funny."
"Did you think of that?"
I shrug. "Yeah," I say casually. "I mean, obviously not the tongue twister, but that was just how I decided to answer the question." The teacher emits a low growl and points The Crooked Finger Of Your Impending Doom at Leah. Although math was never my best subject, I manage to put two and two together when Leah's eyes fill with tears. As soon as she's within stage whisper range, Leah starts singing like a canary.
"I was going to tell you but you were talking to Jackie but I copied off *my name omitted* because I couldnt' remember and she's really smart and I guess Jackie copied off me, but I didn't know that." The teacher sighs and draws a big fat zero on Leah's paper. I sneak a glance at the offending question. Her answer reads, "Tiny Sodderball makes her fortune by selling shells." Now I'm sorry, but everyone's heard the tongue twister, and Nebraska doesn't even have a seashore. Seriously, what the fuck? I emit a short burst of laughter, not in a "that's humorous" way, but in a "holy shit, this is so tragic the best I can do is offer up a little laugh to keep from crying" way. The teacher glares at me for the first time in her life. "I can see where you would think this is funny, but for them it's really not." I mutter an apology and bite my lip. As I listen to Leah sniffle through the rest of class, I do feel bad. Through my irreverent attempt at humor, I have caused a chain reaction of zeroes. People at other tables who overheard bits and pieces of the conversation are laughing hysterically, but silently. The devil on my shoulder asks me just where the hell those stupid freshmen got off cheating anyway. Just own up to not doing the reading. At least half the class hasn't on any given day. As soon as class is over, I walk out of their earshot and bust out laughing. I clutch my ribs and fall to the floor. After a last mirthful sigh, I pick myself up and head to history. Shit. The three of us are going to be a cautionary tale for the next ten years.