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epitome of incomprehensibility
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At Valois_Park, James slapped a teacher and got suspended for a day. This was in grade four or five.
Of course it was James, I thought, maybe with an eye-roll. He was the boy with dark hair and bright blue eyes who'd snapped "Why are you staring at me?" when I looked at his eyes, and "Why do you keep sitting next to me?" when we sat down for some elementary-school exercise. I wasn't even thinking about who I sat next to. Of course it was him - he was mean and liable to get angry over nothing.
But in eighth grade, when I should have known better, I got suspended for three weeks for slapping a teacher in the face. I can't blame this on the ADHD, it was about wrong decisions and bad habits, but the gap between her expectations and my abilities was what sparked my anger, at least in part. It was at Cedar_Christian_Academy, and it happened like this:
I was trying desperately to cram in some extra work before I had to leave the building - the school had a system where kids mostly did individual workbooks, and whatever was left over was homework. I hated that because I almost always had work left over. I got good marks, but I was slow.
So there I was, staying at the desk because it was easier, at the moment, for me to concentrate there than at home. But the teacher had things to do and wanted to close down the classroom; she poked her face close to my desk while telling me to get going. If I had to wait for my mother, I could do so outside.
I swung my hand at her face, slapping her cheek. She yelped and rolled up a workbook (it was all paper, about thirty pages), using it to chase me around the room and out - like someone would chase away a naughty dog with a rolled-up newspaper. We must have made a funny sight. I said, or thought, "Now YOU'RE hitting ME!" because several times the workbook connected with my back, but it didn't hurt.
What hurt more was the amusement and curiosity of two sisters, two "cool" girls, who sat on the stairs waiting for their ride.
What hurt even more was getting suspended for three weeks - the shame of it, the exile. It was the three weeks before school ended for Christmas holidays, and I'd miss out on some festivities.
But I got to sit in the library where Dad worked and do my PACEs (workbooks) there - probably annoying him and others with my restlessness. I got to have a flexible schedule, though that left me feeling unmoored.
I did get to go to the school Christmas party. That was my first time in the building after the suspension. In revenge, I wore a jean dress that ended ABOVE MY KNEES. See, the dress code said no jeans and no skirts above your knees. I was breaking both rules at once!
Except it wasn't a regular school day, so nobody was checking our clothes. Also, I was wearing thick leggings underneath, this being winter. Also also, I looked like an even younger child than I was, which would stave off accusations of attempted sexiness. But in my mind, this was me wearing my rebellion, flaunting it, becoming a bad girl in a cool way.
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