Liar, Liar (Alex)

My oatmeal was lumpy and cold. I tried adding sugar, but it had no sweetness. It was like adding sand to mud. The sirens screamed in my head as if I were still standing as my teacher flung herself over the balcony onto the pavement below. I tried to stop her. I really did, but I don't think she heard me. The sickening crunch of bones and flesh shattering and the metallic smell of blood filled the air around me.

I tried concentrating on my oatmeal, which still tasted like sand and mud. I dragged myself out of bed, gathered my things, and headed to school. I didn't know if I could fake being the happy girl I usually was. I pulled the black jacket over my shoulders and ordered my hot chocolate. It tasted slightly bitter, more like coffee than chocolate, which was quite unusual. I ignored it, though. I drank it more for a sense of warmth than for its taste.

My first block class was language arts. Mrs. Hoffmann asked me for my paper. Proud of my work, I handed it in. She slammed it back on my desk, saying that I was an "insolent little brat" for not meeting her standards, which were too high in my opinion. She read my poem aloud and pointed out every little flaw she saw.
         "...And this is what happens when we allow stupid people attend Mindcrack." And that is where you are wrong. I am not stupid. I'm just not pretentious about which classes I take or what grades I get, unlike some other people. Still, the jeers of the class seemed to indicate that I was. I've learned to take criticism as a performer, but an attack on my intelligence was too much. Tears started rolling down my cheeks. The mocking intensified and I just sat there helpless. I asked to be excused. Surprisingly, Mrs. Hoffmann let me go.

I made my way to an empty bathroom, found a stall, and let everything out. It wasn't fair. My paper was not stupid. An older student walked into the restroom. It's probably someone else who thinks I'm stupid.
           "Let me guess: Mrs. Hoffman?"
           "Yes."
           "What did she do?"
           "She called me stupid in front of the entire class."
           "I wouldn't put it past her to do something like that." So it wasn't just me. "And she's the stupid one for not recognizing how intelligent you are." I didn't feel that intelligent. "You want me to take you to see a counselor?"
           "I'd probably be in trouble for missing class." At this, she pulled out her computer and showed me the student handbook.
           "It says right here that students can see a counselor 'at any time for any reason without refusal or additional questioning'. Also, given what happened recently, I think they'd understand. I'll walk with you so, if anyone asks, I can tell them what the policy is."
           "Thanks."

We walked together and arrived at the counselor's office. Just before making another turn, Mrs. Hoffman stopped us to ask us where we were going.
           "Just where do you think you're going, you little punk?"
           "To see a counselor."
           "I didn't give you permission to do that!"
           "It says here in the student handbook that a student can visit a counselor 'at any time for any reason without refusal or additional questioning'." We left before she could say anything else.

Mrs. Akimoto sat in front of me, obviously concerned. She pushed a dish of rice candy towards me. I didn't take any.
            "Is everything okay?" I noted the expression on her face. Mrs. Akimoto has a concerned face lined with thousands of emotions that I couldn't name, let alone determine accurately. She must have been here a long time since she seemed to know Mindcrack and its problems like the back of her hand.
           "Well, Mrs. Hoffmann called me stupid in front of the entire class."
           "A student sent me a video of the incident. I find it disturbing that a teacher, especially someone at Mindcrack, do something like that." She gave me the look that people give when they want more information.
           "Do you know Miss Netherfield? I used to take vocal lessons with her."
           "Oh, yes! We've talked many times. Is she doing well?" I don't know what Mrs. Akimoto has seen today, but something told me that this was an especially trying day for her.
           "Well, she jumped off a building yesterday. She died about three hours later in the hospital."

I told Mrs. Akimoto everything about the incident from the smell of blood in the air to the fact that part of me jumped with my teacher. She listened intently, taking in every detail. Despite the recent string of suicides at Mindcrack, Mrs. Akimoto seemed deeply disturbed. She wrote an E-mail and dismissed me as another student stepped in.
           "Just so you know, I wrote an E-mail to all your teachers that you can come see me whenever you like without even signing out." The bell rang, which meant it was time for band class.

To my surprise, Steve was there. His face was puffy from crying, but he tried to hide the fact. I guess neither of us took the recent events well. The other students had shared expressions of mingled despair and uncertainty. He went on teaching and handed out our song for the concert: Everything's Alright. Next to me, Adrian raised his hand.
         "Why are we performing this song when, clearly, nothing is going right?" He had been crying too. I could tell from the red streaks on his face. Everyone mumbled uncomfortably at this question. Not quite sure how to answer, Steve shifted awkwardly. Even without the whole speech thing, it's a difficult question to answer. Eventually, he came up with some sort of response.
         "We all have that one person in or lives who makes everything alright." That doesn't help when that person is dead! Still, that seemed to satisfy the others. We played scales, ran through the song, which didn't really sound like anything. After breaking the song into chunks, "dividing and conquering", as Steve calls it, the song began to fall into place.

After packing up, Steve stopped me. He plugged his device into the phone and typed something after answering a call. He gestured that I come with him, so I did. Despite terrible our situation, I was glad to skip math. We began walking and I noticed that we were moving away from the campus.
           "Go see Mrs. Akimoto."

I went to see Mrs. Akimoto again. My father was there in the room, obviously troubled. I entered, unsure of what was going on.
           "She's been through a lot yesterday."
           "I am aware of that."
           "On top of that, a teacher humiliated her in class." My father's eyes narrowed.
           "How so?" Mrs. Akimoto played the video from earlier. His eyes widened again and then he turned towards me.
           "Alex, if something like this happens, you need to tell me immediately." He took me in for a hug. "Mrs. Akimoto, have you seen other cases like this?"
           "Yes, all from this teacher. I recommend that you pull Alex from her class. I have alerted Mrs. Hoffmann of what Alex went through yesterday and she said something that I wish not to repeat at this time. Alex, have you or any other students had your intelligence attacked by Mrs. Hoffmann?"
           "Yes. It happens all the time."
           "To whom?"
           "To me, my friend Jasmine, and a few others. Jasmine took her own life three days ago. I found her body in the girls' bathroom near the choir room. There were two others with her, likely other sixth graders. I didn't get close enough to identify them." My father looked anxious, genuinely anxious. I've only seen him like that one other time when I twisted my ankle in the woods and there was a skeleton hot on my tail. He was clearly at a loss for words.
           "Ten other sixth graders have seen me today because Mrs. Hoffmann directly attacked their intelligence. There may be more victims of her outright hostility, but I can never know for sure unless they see me."
           "You can read my poem if you want." Mrs. Akimoto took it from me, scanning it. I remembered each line clear as day because I spent three hours perfecting it. "Try sending it to other English teachers to see if I honestly deserved a bad grade for it."

Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Don't tell me that you're not tired. 
Don't tell me that you're not sad.
Don't tell me that you're not mad.
You know that I've seen you cry.
You've said that you want to die. 
Don't tell me that you have it all
When I know you're afraid to fall.
Seeing past the mask you wear, 
I know you think that life's not fair.
I see enough so that I care,
Through gilded guise, the wear and tear.

          "I will take your suggestion. Go home and save your strength for singing with the choir. I will make sure that your work gets to you." We did as Mrs. Akimoto told us and went home.