Every teacher loves to check homework, and most students love to find ways to avoid doing it. I was no exception, and my strategy was simple: do the homework for only the subjects I cared about, which, let’s be honest, weren’t many. That year, we had a new Vice Principal, and with him came a set of rules that made our school feel more like a football match—or, now that I think about it, more like a traffic light. He introduced this card system: green for the teacher’s pet, yellow for the slacker who still had a shot at redemption, and red for the kid who was probably beyond saving.
Getting a red card wasn’t easy, but after three yellows, it was game over. In our language class, Kath Sir was the enforcer. He demanded not one, but two notebooks—one for regular days and another for Fridays. Naturally, I only had one, and when he asked for the other, I’d just shrug and say I forgot. That excuse worked until it didn’t. Soon enough, a group of ten of us, all equally notebook-challenged, were sent to the new VP.
Rash, ever the crafty one, waited until the end of the session to whip out a ‘new’ notebook, claiming his old one was full. The VP bought it, and Rash walked away scot-free. Me? I didn’t even bother with that much effort. Kath Sir seemed to have a personal vendetta against me, though I could never figure out why.
One day, during his class, Rash was trying to protect his bag by balancing it on his head—a classic move to avoid it getting smacked by a friend. Kath Sir noticed and told him to put it down and ‘read comfortably.’ Being the smartass that I was, I echoed, ‘Yeah, put it down and read comfortably!’—the same thing Kath Sir had just said, but with a mischievous grin that implied I was exposing Rash’s secret.
For some reason, this sent Kath Sir into a fit of rage. He called me to the front and started slapping me. We had a theory that when teachers were this angry, it meant their spouse hadn’t let them... well, you know, the night before. So, there I was, taking the brunt of his frustration. But I was determined to show no pain—because back then, if you didn’t flinch, you were basically a hero. I coolly walked back to my seat, acting like I hadn’t just been slapped silly.
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The whole card system didn’t last long anyway. Turns out, the VP’s son was the worst student in school, failing seven out of eight subjects. Within a year, both the VP and his son were gone. Talk about poetic justice.
As for the other subjects, they were mostly forgettable—except for English 2. The stories had these cool illustrations, and after each lesson, we had to draw something and write a biography of the author. Our funds were running low, so Rash and I had a brilliant idea: we’d start charging our classmates for our artistic services. Rash was a natural artist, and I wasn’t too shabby either, so we charged ten cents per drawing. The business took off, and we had our own little art-for-cash operation going. As they say, ‘If you’re good at something, never do it for free.’ It was the perfect way to practice our drawing skills and make some pocket money. Unfortunately, the gig ended when we ran out of chapters.
That same year, we got a new science teacher. Sarah Ma’am, our old one, had just gotten married and was on her way out. In her place came Romaika Ma’am—charming, beautiful, and actually good at teaching. Rash and Yath already knew her from previous classes, so they had a head start on winning her over.
Then came the annual drawing competition. Classes 6 through 8 were competing, but instead of practicing, Rash, Dan, and I spent our time goofing around. At one point, Rash grinned and said, ‘Wanna see a magic trick?’
‘Sure,’ I replied, always up for some mischief.
He held up his fists and said, ‘Look closely, and you’ll see magic.’ I focused hard, expecting something amazing. With a dramatic flourish, he yelled, ‘Abra ka dabra!’ and then flipped me off with both middle fingers.
I burst out laughing, but before I could catch my breath, Romaika Ma’am walked by and saw the whole thing. Her eyes widened, and she shook her head, saying, ‘I never expected you to be like this, Rash.’
As she walked away, I was still laughing so hard I could barely stand. Some magic trick, indeed!