AP Chemistry Period 4

March 19, 2010
By Dylan Jacobs 2010 BRONZE, Buffalo Grove, Illinois
Dylan Jacobs 2010 BRONZE, Buffalo Grove, Illinois
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

My name is Luke Sampson. Every day, it’s the same thing in 4th Period AP Chemistry. I go to classroom 1400, sit in my seat at the lab table in the back of the room, and listen to Mrs. Jones’ lectures about random crap. Or at least I try to listen. But it’s understandably hard to pay attention when she wears a shirt (if you could even call it that) that puts her DD cup boobs on display, and a thong that sticks out of her a**. At least she’s not one of those fat a** women who like to show off they disgusting bodies to the rest of the world. They let their stomach fat hang over their jeans, and when the rest of the world gags around them, and somehow they feel better about themselves because of it, knowing that somewhere out there, someone finds them attractive, even though no one does. But back on Mrs. Jones, she’s pretty damn hot.
Despite having these awesome features, she wasn’t really the best teacher. It’s not that she was bad, but her methods were say…. Unorthodox. She doesn’t call on kids who raise their hands when she asks a question. Instead, she picks on the kids who never seem to know the answers. Really, she’s kind of a b****, but in all reality, I’m no one to talk. While she asks Joey Campbell, the Fata** who sits in front of the class, if hydrochloric acid is soluble in a hydrogen peroxide base, I sit and wait for him to get the wrong answer, and laugh on the inside that he’s so stupid, not being able to comprehend such a simple concept. In reality, AP chemistry was just a joke to me. Today was no exception.
“Alright, can somebody tell me how many pi bonds are in the molecule C2H4?” Mrs. Jones asked. Her eyes wandered the room, past George Schneider, whose hand was up, like it is every day. He’s never been called on, yet he continues to put his hand up every day, in hopes that he might possibly have a chance to shine. He’s just one of those kids, trying to impress everyone, but he never could. I hated him so much for it. He was an annoying, look-at-me type of suck up, who whenever he got the chance tried to impress everyone, not just teachers, because somewhere in his head, he is so emotionally insecure that the only way for him to feel good about himself is by receiving the praise of all others. Well, that’s who he is to me anyways. And then I thought to myself, I have such strong statements about whom everyone in my life is to me, but who am I to them? And why does that matter to me?
“How about you Joey?” I overheard Mrs. Jones say when I snapped out of my rambling mind. I watched Joey, who looked at Mrs. Jones in silence. Of course she would call on Joey Campbell, the dumbest kid in the class. I glanced at his last test when we got them back. He got a 47.

“Uh… Lemme think one sec,” Joey replied, as his focus went down to his lab book and he started scribbling something. He does this every time he’s called on. He stalls, writing a couple things in his lab book as if he actually knew what he was doing, and then gives a clearly wrong answer. In this question, the molecule C2H4 has two carbon atoms bonded by a double bond, and each carbon has two single bonded hydrogen atoms bound to it. Each single bond counts as one sigma bond and one of the bonds in the double bond counts as a sigma as well, while the other is labeled as a pi bond. So the answer is obviously one, but he’ll probably give an idiot's answer like five.
“Is it five?” Joey asked, in a confident seeming manner. I glanced around the room, and saw some people looking down shaking their heads, snickering, just as I was.
“Nope! Here let me explain this for you. And everyone else in the class, pay attention as well, because I’m sure Joey was not the only one who didn’t understand!” Mrs. Jones said excitedly for some reason. Now what she said wasn’t a lie. There was also Sam Goldstein, who sat nearest the door. Every day during class he just watched the second hand of the clock tick the 3000 times needed before the bell rang, as if he had something better to do, such as sitting alone at lunch like he does every day. Next, there was Mikey Hatchet, who sat at the back lab table opposite mine. He spent the entire period on his i-phone, either secretly texting his fling of the week, or playing his Grand Theft Auto game. Really, other than them, everyone else in the class knew everything that Mrs. Jones ever taught us, so she had no reason to continue her lecture, because of the kids who didn’t understand, only one actually paid attention. And who am I kidding, Joey Campbell is hopeless.
Joey, Sam, and Mikey were not the only kids that I labeled in the class. No, near everyone was something. There are kids with no lives outside of school, Jeff Holland and Rachel Sarkins who studied day in, day out, just to impress their mommies and daddies who probably neglect to acknowledge them at all. They can study all they want, but studying won’t make them any smarter in the long run. When someone is born, they are either able to understand concepts or not. If they aren’t born with the ability to comprehend something, they never will. So they can try all they want, but they won’t be as smart as me. There’s also the Ivy League kids, who try hard, but they are already smart enough that they don’t need to spend every day studying, so they will be the ones going to Stanford and Harvard realizing that in the long run, they neglected social development and won’t be able to function no matter what they do. But of the 15 guys and 12 girls in my class, only one person isn’t labeled. That’s me. I just go in, listen to the lecture, and go out. I take the tests, get 100%, but nobody knows I do it. I don’t care to show how I do on anything, but that’s because I already know I’m better then all of them. It kind of irritates me though, having this idea of who everyone in the class is, and not being anyone to them. When Mrs. Jones rambled on about her bull crap lesson, I took out my copy of J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye and began to read. I have read it over 10 times, and I see Salinger as a hero of mine because of Holden Caulfield. It wasn’t 15 seconds into my reading when Mrs. Jones yelled out loud in excitement.
“Alright class, we have a pop quiz. Clear your desks!” There were mumbles and groans spread about the room. They’re all such little b****es. I put the book down on the floor, still open, but face down.
“It’ll be a partner quiz, and since Bobby Phillips is missing today, we have an even number of students,” she explained. DeMint. All year, I have been able to work alone on all of my work, because working with anyone else holds me back. And of all people. Bobby Philips was Joey Campbell’s partner, which means I get to…
“So Joey, because your partner isn’t here, you can work with Luke,” she explained. F*** me. I can’t stand Joey Campbell. When I looked toward his seat, I saw him struggle to get his fat a** up and waddle over to the empty side of my lab table. The stench of body odor invaded my nostrils and I gagged. Mrs. Jones walked around to our table first and dropped off our quizzes. While she was walking away, Joey’s eyes drifted down to Mrs. Jones’s butt, watching it dance with every step she took. My eyes had wandered as well, but when I saw his entranced in place, I had to say something.
“Pervert,” I whispered at the bottom of my breath.
“Aww come-on dude, she’s a f***in’ babe. You’re telling me you’ve never taken a look down there? It’s great!” he whispered back. It really was great, but I didn’t care. As long as Joey Campbell liked it, I couldn’t.
“Shut up tubs, we got to take the quiz,” I responded. With that, Joey shut up and looked down at the half sheet of paper in front of him, as I did with my own. It was a simple problem, asking the volume of water needed to dilute 50 ml of an aqueous .02 M perchloric acid solution to a .01 M acid. It was obvious, or at least for me. I glanced over to Joey and saw him staring cluelessly at his paper.
“Just give it to me tubs, I’ll do it. Just don’t bother me,” I whispered, and I grabbed his half sheet. With about 5 seconds of work, I scribbled the answer on both of our papers.
“Dude, you’re really smart. Do you think you can help me out?” Joey asked, in shock at how quickly I answered the question.
“Shut up tubs, learn it yourself,” I replied, and watched his shocked look drift to one of hurt. Hah, the kid’s so pathetic. I grabbed the papers and brought them up to the front desk where Mrs. Jones was working on her laptop. I stacked them on her desk, and flashed a smile at her, but it was ignored, so I chuckled, and walked back to my desk. The exact second my a** hit the chair, the bell signaling the end of the period rang. I grabbed my backpack and Joey Campbell was stilling looking down on himself, giving himself pity, or in other words, he was a little b****.
“Why don’t you just suck it up?” I mocked him, and turned away, and began walking toward the door. Mrs. Jones was scolding Mikey Hatchey, who was once again in trouble for texting during class. I glanced down at her perfect a** while I was walking and as I passed her, tripped over myself. There were some laughs around me, and I awkwardly laughed along with them. I don’t know why the f*** I did that, but I felt like a tool afterwards. I was just like all of them.
As I got closer to the door, just barely reaching my ears, I heard Joey Campbell talking to some other students. It was mostly whispers but I was able to make out the word d******** quite a few times, coming from at least four different people.
“Hmm,” I muttered, and walked out of the room. After I left, I realized I left my copy of The Catcher in the Rye in the classroom under my desk. I decided not to get it. Goddamn Phony.

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