Your Homeroom Teacher is...

I ran as fast as I could, weaving in between students in hopes of beating the tardy bell. My feet just made it into the door way as the bell began its shrill cry. I quickly took my seat between my two friends, Adam and Jennifer as the teacher entered the room – along with the scent of McDonalds.

"Haha, sweet! Looks like everyone's here! No point in doing any of that attendance crap!" Mr. Jones (or Alfredizzle as he is trying so very hard to get us to call him) announced as he walked to his desk. I've always loved his bomber jacket – it always looked so warm and not to mention pure awesome. He dropped his greasy bag on the large desk in the corner of the room, plopped (honestly, no other word for it) in his rolling chair, grabbed his soda and reclined back with his feet on the desk before him.

"M'kay, Pull out those thick book thingies and turn to... uh... whatever page we're on." He said as he pulled out a piece of chalk from one of the drawers. Mr. "Alfredizzle" Jones walked to the board and scribbled some words on the board. He stepped away, taking a deep slurp from his soda.

"Today we'll be learning about the heroic Lymphatic System in our Human Anatomy and Physiology books!" The words "CHAPTA 16 CRACKA – DA LYMPHATIC SYSTEM FOO!" was written largely on the board above a picture of "Lymph Man" using his immunity blaster to fight off pathogens. I quickly snapped a picture of the board with my phone's camera and dropped it into my backpack as I groped for a notebook to write notes in.

-OHLOOKTIMEISFLYINGBY-

"And the (munch munch) collects lymph from the (sluuuuuurp). Alright! That's enough notes for the day!" I stared incredulously at the man at the front of the room. Why the HELL did he not write the notes on the board or even type them out for us? I looked down at my notes. They were full of doodles (mostly Lymph Man) and sparse sprigs of words. I glanced at my text book. It seemed that I would actually be reading the chapter in hopes of passing the test later this week

"POP QUIZ!"

Groans filled the room, yet Adam seemed WAY to happy to be taking a pop quiz. The kid absolutely loved Mr. Jones, but so did everyone else. It also helped that he wanted to be a physical therapist, whereas I found the human body totally gross. Mr. Jones passed the papers out and I glanced down at my quiz.

QUESTION NUMBER ONE: What is the Lymphatic System's purpose?

I scribbled down my answer and continued on through the questions. Nothing that wasn't discussed other than the last question:

"How many hamburgers did I eat this morning during class?"

I racked my brain. How many DID he eat? The man puts those things away like a kid with Halloween candy! I marked a tally for each minute I saw him with a hamburger in his hand. SHIT! That would be, like, 88 freaking hamburgers! Sighing at my total fail math skills, I wrote 88 hamburgers and scribbled my name at the top. I stood, took my paper to the front of the room and placed it on his desk. Mr. Jones happily accepted it, and looked over it as I walked away. I slid into my desk and face-planted onto the top of my desk.

"Time for nappy-nap..." I slid my arms under my head and fell comfortably to sleep.

"Miss Metzger! YO! MISS METS-GURR" My head snapped up when my name was called.

"Y-yes sir?"

"Yo." Mr. Jones held up a piece of paper with a few red marks on it. I gulped audibly as I walked to get the paper. I took it from him as he began folding it into an airplane.

"Ah, thanks, Mr., uh, Alfredizzle." I said as I walked back to my desk. Jennifer glanced up at my paper as I began unfolding it. I shared the same look as I winced as I finished the job.

What. The. FUCK.

Drawings were thrown all over the page, several of Mr. Jones himself standing over the (I supposed dead?) body of Mr. Braginski, and a few of his brother and himself eating pancakes. I looked all over for an official grade and found it in the corner of the page.

99%

A ninety-nine? That's not so bad! Probably just got the hamburger question wrong. I sat in my seat and looked over the drawings that were scribbled on the page. A shadow loomed over me, and I glanced up. Mr. Jones was standing there with his red pen behind his ear. He pulled the pen from its perch and wrote a little bit on the quiz and left with a smile. I looked over the page to see his correction (or whatever you'd call it if it was the opposite of a correction).

99% + 5% **104%**

A grin spread across my face. Perhaps it's a good thing I was the first in the class to call him "Alfredizzle". I happily stuffed the paper into my backpack and prepared for the bell to ring. Maybe today wouldn't be so bad.