Personal Narrative : ' The Great Gatsby ' By F. Scott Fitzgerald

1873 Words4 Pages

Damn. I wish I was in one of the bigger classes. At least in there there’s a lower probability of me being called on. Fifteen minutes flew by in no time and Mrs. Sorun didn’t have the patients to wait and let us realize it on our own. “Time’s up! Let me see…” Pacing back and forth with a pressed finger against her lip, she stopped in front of the unlucky first victim. “We’ll start with you, Mr. Evans.” Whew, good thing it wasn’t me. Going first means you’re the one who sets the bell curve, aka, the tone setter. Everyone else’s grade depends on what type of impression you give. Leave a bad one and the professor won’t expect too much out of the rest of us. Leave too much of a good one and you’re an enemy of the class. However, waiting to go last is a bigger no, no because there’s always that one showboating student, me, who goes above and beyond to make their answer spectacular, leaving you doubting the quality of your own work. Those bastards, me, sickens their fellow classmates to the point of wanting to vomit. In conclusion, as long as you get in between the first and halfway point person, where said showboating student usually goes, you should be good. CLUCK! “Stop spacing out, Mr. Anderson,” Mrs. Sorun said, who had thrown a paper wad at my head. “Part of your grade is listening to what your peers have to say and right now you’re failing.” Paper wad toss aside, and it isn’t easy, listening to my ‘peer’s’ responses is a bigger hassle than coming up with a response, specifically those who reads slow with no flow and have a hard time pronouncing simple words. In fact, it is those same people who have the nerves to raise their hand when the teacher asked ‘would someone like to volunteer to read? If not, I’ll just do it.’ ... ... middle of paper ... ...this. This was eating away at me for some reason. “No one should want a sap in a relationship and if they do they’re obviously dumb.” For the third time today, everyone in the classroom was in a standstill. Eventually, I was greeted with eighteen pair of eyes, which appeared to say, ‘who in the hell do you think you are talking to her like that?’ heck, you would’ve thought I called the girl out of her name with the dirty stares I was receiving. “Pardon me?” Miss Allen asked, finally putting an end to the creepy ass moment of deadly silence. The perplexed expression on her face grew more confound with each passing second, but the gentleness in her eyes remained the same. Better end this quick before I draw any more attention to myself. “Miss Allen…” “You may call me Ariana. Sorry for the intrusion.” Never in my life have I seen such a polite interruption before.

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