“ Staring blankly at the jumbled mess of scribbled quotes on the chalkboard ahead of me, I know that not even on my best day would I give a rats ass about Shakespeare. While the girls around me seem to be thoroughly enjoying their time with the master of love, I am debating between ripping out my own fingernails or shoving my pen into my eyeball. At that point, it is a total tossup. “Alright kids, it’s time for lunch,” the middle-aged tracksuit loving English teacher announces as she closes... her book. I am pretty sure that Mrs. Simpson is not the most qualified for teaching English, judging by the fact that she insists on spelling my name Rone instead of Roan on a daily basis, but whatever. What else can you expect from a former preschool teacher with inch thick reading glasses? Chairs screech as they are pushed back from long rows of tables and the murmur of voices fills the air. There isn't any bell or building wide announcement signaling the change in class.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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