2

Still frustrated with myself, I quickly packed my things to go to the last class, which was in the lab. At my school, we had two fronts for physics, chemistry and biology: the theoretical classes in the classroom and the practical classes in the laboratories. Since in the practical classes the students apply their theoretical knowledge in experiments, you probably deduced that I am just as smart in laboratory biology. And I am. But I would really like someone to explain to me one day why I always, always failed this subject.

The explanation that I saw as the only possible one was that the lab teacher didn't like me. Unfortunately, Mr. Suan didn't give my class practical classes, only theoretical ones. Our lab teacher was the most obnoxious, ignorant, disgusting, stuck-up, pathetic person a man can be. He always kept this superior air about the students, except for the slutty Smithers, because he had probably already fucked her. And three quarters of the girls at school. Sleeping with teachers was almost a routine at my school.

I swear I don't know how these girls can see any quality in this guy. His contemptuous giggling annoyed me, that voice of someone who is always making fun of your face made me mad, and I really abhorred his unfunny jokes with the idiotic people in my class. In short, my lab biology teacher was probably the most ridiculous teacher you could find in that school.

"Good morning, professor," I heard Kelly repeat, in the same manner as 50 minutes ago, when she sat down facing the bench. The only difference was that now she was chewing a grape gum. How can one be a living déjà-vu without wanting to blow one's own brains out?

"Good morning, Smithers," that drawn-out voice of a perverted man replied, half-indecently approaching the girl with an expression that was disgusting to say the least, "I was going to ask how you're doing, but your skirt has already let me see that you're still as fine as ever."

Frankly, if it was me, I'd shove my hand up that piece of shit's face. But thank God it wasn't, so I just ignored the preliminaries of the two brainless beings present in the lab and started to copy the report that was already written on the blackboard. At least this professor had a slightly more understandable handwriting. Probably the only quality he had.

"Professor, are you going to hand in the reports for the past classes today so we can study for the exam?", Amy Houston asked, looking sleepy. I think the only reason she didn't sleep during the practical classes was that the benches used to have a reinforced cleaning with some products Amy was allergic to. I know this because one day she dozed off in the middle of the explanation and her face got all swollen and stuffy just on the side that was in contact with the bench. That day was pretty disgusting, but at least now Amy has discovered that she has classmates and can socialize with them when she is not so sleepy.

"In a hurry, Houston?", Nicholas Cassano, my lab biology teacher, sneered, in that routine boredom voice. "If you want, you can leave.... And take Velarde with you."

I looked up from my notebook to him, feeling disgusted just to see him smiling mockingly at me. Without moving, I just took a deep breath and asked, putting together all the education my parents had given me:

"What did I do this time?"

Professor Cassano, standing next to the main whore, just kept looking at me, as if he was eating me with his eyes. What the fuck, why does he have to stare at me like that every class? I think he must have some kind of fetish for people who hate him.

"I didn't tell anyone to copy the report off the blackboard," he replied, calmly, walking slowly towards me with an evil grin on his face, and before I could see what had happened, the sheet where I had already copied half of the full blackboard was crumpled in his hands.

He lowered his face to be at the same height as mine, and I immediately turned away, focusing all my repulsion for him on his gaze alone. God, that guy was insufferable! On my last day at that school, I swore to myself that I would shoot him in the head with a bazooka. And this thought was getting stronger every day. Although it would be a shame to ruin those intensely brown eyes that knew exactly how to draw attention to that face. But who cares about that anyway? Oh, yeah, I don't.

The whole class watched the tense moment in silence, and I could see with a wink that Smithers was enjoying my torture. Mr. Cassano threw the little paper ball that used to be my report over his shoulder, causing it to fly away without much effort, and mumbled debauchedly the phrase he always used with me before leaving me alone as long as there was no reason to ridicule me:

"All over again, Velarde."

Every week it was the same suffering. Luckily we only had one lab biology class a week, which was already a lot for me. Putting up with the despicable Cassano making fun of my face for the most idiotic reasons and, what's worse, making everyone laugh was extremely irritating. I had to be almost saintly to ignore that retard and finish my reports.