My Life as an Epic Fail ::2::

As much as I loved Junior school, there was one incident that always bugged me. On the field of a summer’s day, me and a couple of friends were playing at hide and seek and the bell rang for us to go in. To this day, I remember saying “Aw shoot.”. And then I remember the claws of my Headteacher’s hand impacting on my shoulder. Even then as a child, I hated that, it sent shivers down my spine every single time.

All I heard, was her voice screeching at me as she dug into my shoulder with her bony hands. She thought I had said something else entirely, the stupid bat. Honestly, I swear on my own future children, I said shoot. But she, and my teacher at the time, thought otherwise. I don’t recall ever being told off as much as that day, for swearing at school. I didn’t start swearing at school, until much, much later.

What didn’t help later that day, when I was in a bad mood, was when the kids were asking me about it. Ms Cameo had embarrassed me in front of the class for it, so naturally, I was a bit ticked off. When one of the girls, Cara, turned to me and said something about Ms Cameo, I instantly cut her off, declaring that I didn’t care what Ms Cameo thought, because she was a dickhead. Cue complete silence, and a fuming teacher, followed swiftly by another trip to the Headteacher’s office.

The following school year is probably the one I remember most. It was when I started to realise, that I was a loner. I’d been best friends with Marie since Year 3, and great friends with Shelly from Year 2, but in all honesty, I never really got on with the other kids. I was always the weird one, in the corner, with a book, or something. I was the only one still into Power Rangers and other kids stuff, even when we left that year.

That year, was the first time I tried to run away from anywhere. I’d had a really bad day at school, I don’t remember what happened, but I know it involved the class next door’s teacher, Mrs Everett. She’d pushed me to breaking point, and sent me to time out. But I’d gone to the cloakroom instead, and walked out of the double doors at the end of our corridor. I’m not sure but someone must have seen me going and grassed on me, because the big bulky dinner lady, Mrs Saunders, was waiting for me at the gate.

So I was put back into time out, this time with supervision. I was asked to draw a picture of how I felt, now being in Year 6, I didn’t understand why they asked me to do it. Actually, I still don’t get it. But I remember the picture was all red, different shades of red, and it was of the exit from the playground out to the back gate of the school, where I’d tried to escape, with me in the middle of it, angry. I remember it read, ‘I hate this school, and I hate Mrs Everett because she’s a cow’. Even back then, I was eloquent.

I don’t remember what followed. I know she came out to talk to me, took one look at the picture and tried to talk to me, and I know I just glared at her. I didn’t dislike her, but she had well and truly pushed me over my limit that day. My own teacher, who I’ve sadly forgotten the name of, was a constant source of annoyance to me. I think I’ve pushed a lot of things to the back of my mind. The only thing I remember is that she smiled when it was my last day there, in June 1997. I was no longer her responsibility. I honestly think that school, was glad to be rid of me, but they kept forgetting, that other members of my family, were already filtering through.

I remember my mum and dad trying to get me into Deacon’s School. It was basically known for being the best state school in the city, when I was due to go there. They didn't like The King’s School, and frankly with their reputation for whores and druggies, well let’s just say it wasn’t a hard decision for them to not send me there. I had to do an interview and a test, both of which I failed, to get into Deacon’s on their Technology places.

So I was put on the waiting list there, and I was sent to my dad’s old senior school, Eastholm. When I got there, even some of his old teachers were still around. I remember Mr Vertram, the history teacher. He had the longest blond hair I have ever seen on a guy, he looked like he belonged in a heavy metal band. I didn’t like him, but he remembered my dad.

Mrs Flanders, the RE teacher, also remembered my dad. I liked her, Religion was something I picked up on easily, and I just loved her class. I remember the room had a lot of windows, we were up on the second floor. It was always light in there, it was so nice, and we were always relaxed in her class.

I remember the very first day at that school. My first class was English, with some newbie teacher I’ve long forgotten the name of. As we walked in, she handed us two pieces of plain A4 paper, a set of guidelines, a paperclip, and made us sit down in alphabetical order by surname. At that point, I had already decided to make her life, a living hell. Once we were all ordered to silence, she drew a box on the board, and gave us the instruction, to write an essay about it.

I had no freaking clue what an essay was. I was 11 for crying out loud. The rest of the class seemed just as confused but made an attempt at it. Me being me, I sat on my tush, and refused to do it. I told her she was a moron, and that I wasn’t going to do it. I said to her, that I couldn’t do it. She said, there was no such word as can’t.

Well, that started me off. I knew it was a real word, and I was determined to prove it. Not to be outdone, she offered a gold certificate, to anyone who could find it in a dictionary. The hunt began. It wasn’t in the newer ones, as a separate entry. However, what she didn’t count on, was me finding my father’s 1963 edition Collins Dictionary, and showing it to her, loudly and publically. That earned me my first ever detention. When I explained to my parents what had happened, all I got, was an exasperated sigh.

I remember turning up to the detention, and she wasn’t there. I waited, outside the classroom, for about ten minutes, then left a note saying I wasn’t going to hang around all day, and that if she couldn’t be bothered, neither could I. Cue detention number 2. That one, I turned up for, only to be told that she had gone home sick, and that I could go home. It was rescheduled once more, and that time, I turned up, and she’d forgotten why I was in detention. I spent that time, at the ‘naughty desk’, making paper snowballs and throwing them at her.

I remember I had friends at that school. Some, that I had known from when I was a very little girl, back on Welland Estate, where I had lived the first ten years of my life. Kayley was the most prominent of them, and I remember Rosie and Debbie as well. I also remember that I had a major crush on my form group’s Form Captain, Sean, who was in Year 9.

Our form groups were mixed year students, I can’t remember what the style was called, lateral grouping or something. Most schools group by age, keeping the same year groups together, but Eastholm had decided not to. It was fun for us anyway, we loved the older kids, and they loved looking after us little ones, as they put it. I tried to get involved with a lot of things at that school.

I used to play recorder there, I was taking lessons and everything. When the school officially changed their name to Hereward Community College that November, I played the lead recorder for the opening ceremony. Backed by my music teacher on the piano, and accompanied by my recorder teacher on her recorder. It was awesome.

I remember once, we had a mufty day. Basically, we paid a pound, and we could dress how we wanted, instead of wearing uniform. Now I must admit, I had a weird sense of style then. I wore my short denim dress, with magenta woolly tights, and my cream jumper underneath. It was one of those pinafore dresses, and really heavy, but even then I was in love with denim, something that’s never faded. I probably looked like a complete idiot, but I felt good.

Daniel, from my form, and related to Nora, who had tried on many occasions to bully me, decided to start having a go at me, teasing me about how I looked like a fairy, and how stupid I looked. Then he made the mistake of swinging for me, but he misjudged my lack of height. I’d already hit my current height of 5 feet zero by then, and he was at least 5 feet 6 inches. It doesn’t sound like a lot, but when you’re a douchebag like him, it’s easier to misjudge someone’s height from 6 inches above them.

I remember distinctly kicking him in the shins and punching him a few times to boot, leaving him actually crying in the corridor. I earned some kudos from the kids, and my fourth detention of the year so far. Although, he got far worse. The other kids, told the teachers he had been beating me up, and between about 5 of us, we got him suspended for an entire week, with detentions to follow. I remember the smile I had when I heard about that.

I remember my last day there. Everyone wanted to sign my book, even Daniel. I’ve never had so many people who wanted my attention, in my life. I loved every moment of that day, even though I cried at the end of it. But that was Sean’s fault. He kissed me on the cheek and gave me a huge hug for the longest time. It’s amazing what you realise when you look back on things.