Michael Rossi
May 17, 2010
Advanced Placement English Language and Composition
My Front Is On Fire, I’d Better Stop, Drop, and Roll
My first week of high school started with a bang and ended in flames. All of the fellows from my old school had abandoned me to enlist in upper echelon schools, while I had attended a small school in Newton, expecting everyone to be Newtonians whose wealth is exceeded only by their intelligence. I had imagined that the student body’s most common names would include Charles and Darwin. I waited to be woven into the aristocratic fibers of Newton’s tapestry, however my imaginative tapestry was chewed to shreds by the infestation of hood rats.
A hood rat was the title that many of the inner-city student body labeled themselves as. The term stuck the moment that I heard it. As the year progressed I found hood rats to be an appropriate title as poison kills rats, and this brand poisoned themselves. I recall a group viewing a disturbing collection of photos and them shrieking like rats when they noticed the face of an educator lamely peering over their shoulders. The corner on the upper floor of the building reminded me of the arched hole that rats are often shown living in. Little did I know, in this playful analogy I was the rat food.
Within the first month I worked like a slave, and I treated my academics as if it was manual backbreaking labor. I was furious that I had not been placed in honors English so I figured I could do one of two things to demonstrate my protest: First, I could either do no work in order to demonstrate that I did not accept the class as my own. Second, I could do everything to absolute perfection, and read all my books ahead of time so that when the teacher went around asking us our initial thoughts about the book I would demonstrate a deep literary knowledge down to each book’s most subtle nuance. I chose the latter, as I felt it emphasized my class placement as their mistake, not mine. While I excelled academically, my social life was largely neglected. This never really struck me as a problem, until English class, where my class was reviewing vocabulary words for the weekly quiz. The teacher was reviewing the vocabulary, I guess to ensure that we were mentally capable of typing words into Google. As I had completed the assignment a day or two in advance, (and fairly confident in my ability to use Google) my mind was adrift in some far off land: “What class did I have next?”. I saw my classmate named Kalie turn to me and whisper, “Hey mike what was the last word”. I lunged for my paper underneath my chair and read the word that I had thought we were on, so as to seem like I had been following along the entire time. I said, “Commemorate means to observe semicolon (yes I actually said semicolon) to respond to memory” at the exact same time as the teacher. It sounded like a horrible duet. Kalie simply glared at me in astonishment so as to say, “Are you fucking serious?”. Apparently, I had said this a tad louder than a whisper, and the entire class was glancing to the back of the classroom where I had been sitting. After a dreadfully long wide- eyed pause of blankly starring at me, Kalie simply let out a languid, “Damn”. It was as if the verbatim recitation had sapped any fun she was having right out of her day. I actually felt quite badly and realized that a social life would do me quite a bit of good.
Later that day there was a boy named Sammy whose locker was directly next to mine. I decided to step outside of my comfort zone. He dropped a black pen behind him where I was following. He had absolutely no idea that he had dropped it as he had been storming towards our history class. “Hey man! You dropped your pen”, I said. He turned to face me as I handed him a pen. He did not extend his hand to withdraw the pen, but rather he stared at it and looked at me as if I had three heads. I looked at the pen I was handing him and it was blue. I laughed at the stupidity of the situation, as did a few bystanders. Apparently Sammy did not take it this way. He believed that I was laughing at his ability to distinguish his own black pen from the random blue one. Hey closed the proximity between his face and mine and yelled: “Step off dog, you’s fronting”. I was fronting? What the heck was fronting. I examine the shirt on the front of my body, It was immaculately clean. What else was wrong with my front? I looked a tad lower than my shirt and noticed that the metal part of my zipper protruded into the cloth part of the pants. Did he mistake this for an boner? That must be what fronting is! I cleverly responded, “No it’s actually just my zipper”. The peanut gallery behind me chimed in with a hysterical laugh, followed by numerous finger points in my direction. Sammy apparently deduced that I was not through with my verbal assault. He grabbed me by the collar of my polo and flung me up against the locker. The sharp pain in my neck set off waves of adrenaline and I was shaking with rage. My mind went wild with an infinite number of ways I could free myself from his clutches and use my knowledge of karate to make him beg for mercy. I resisted my bestial urges and simply uttered a barley audible, “sorry” through my teeth.
As the late bell rang Sammy issued a punch to my chest and ran into history. I hobbled closely after him only to have a door shut in my face. After the teacher let me into the classroom, I took up my seat in the front of the class only to be greeted by Sammy, who decided that his seat was not nearly as comfortable as the one right next to mine. Mr. Salvato resumed his discussion of World War II. Mr. Salvato asked if anyone knew the location where the atomic bombs were dropped. Without missing a beat I raised my hand answering Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I had not learned a thing from English class. Sammy recognized this display of historical knowledge as a challenge. Mr. Salvato resumed and spoke of the inescapable destruction of the atomic bomb. The atomic bomb was known to leave entire cities in smoking craters, leaving absolutely no life left in its destructive path. The atomic bomb would obliterate anything in a split second and reduce a victim to atoms. Trying to exceed my level of intellectual contribution, Sammy felt the need to question anything more impressive than himself when he cried out and the atomic bomb certainly stole the spotlight:“Wait couldn’t you just stop drop and roll!?”. The whole class roared with laughter. I did not even chuckle. I was shocked. Was that really a question? Mr. Salvato dully responded, “You can’t stop drop and roll if you’re completely incinerated”. Awakening from my stupefied comma I broke out in laughter based solely on the seriousness of Mr. Salvato’s response to such a ridiculous question. I was in for quite a year.
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