She'll start to notice how easily she bruises. She bumped her arm on a heavy door at school. That could cause a bruise, right?
"Jenny, what happened to your arm? That looks horrible!" her mother will ask. She will blow it out of proportion, dwell on it, check on it daily to make sure it's healing.
"It's just a bruise, Mom. I bumped it on a pretty heavy door today at school. I was right behind the door, someone was in a hurry and swung it open; no big deal," she'll explain nonchalantly. But it is a big deal - bigger than anyone can even begin to comprehend.
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"If everyone would please look at the board!" Mr. Clements will shout. "You'll see that we have a lot to get done today!"
The conversations and socializing will continue. Laughter and random, unimportant banter will almost completely obscure the sound of rain pounding on the roof. Mr. Clements will awkwardly rub the back of his bald head and sigh loudly.
Five seconds later, his hand will meet his desk with enough force to shock each teenager into looking up at the front of the room, at him. "Well, after three weeks of attempting to get the attention of this class, I've finally figured out how." The smug expression on his face will give away his thoughts. Good God,I've finally gotten through to these impossible kids! They're actually scared of me, and I've got to keep it that way.
"So, today we are going to delve into the ever-exciting, thought-provoking world of Emily Bronte," he will say. Rain still beating down on the roof, thunder still heard at an outrageous volume, Mr. Clements will shuffle to his desk and sit down in his swivel chair. He will scroll down his list, calling each student by name: "Emily, Rush, Tiffany, Tia, Hayden..."
Half asleep, but aware that he is taking attendance, Jenny will shift her attention to the monotonous sound of her teacher's voice in an effort to stay awake. Why am I so tired? I went to sleep at eight last night and slept for ten hours straight! What is -"
"Jenny... You are here, aren't you? The appropriate thing to do when someone says your name is to acknowledge that you've heard them in some way." His sarcasm is never-ending.
She will grit her teeth and mumble, "I'm here."
His smile will be awkward, the expression on his face one of arrogance. "Maybe you need to get some more sleep, eh? Stop all of that late night studying?" Between the ridiculously off wink he will give her right after he is done spewing his know-it-all nonsense from his mouth and the fact that the day will have just started, Jenny will wince and slump back to her sleeping position.
"And... Jackson," he will finally say, ending the daunting chore of listening to him take attendance as he struggles to figure out the seemingly magical ways of technology.
My head is going to explode if I don't get out of here. She will try to make it through the day. She had never missed a day of school in her life. Why start now, when the culprit is probably just a flu and a migraine?
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"And that, class, is just a very brief introduction to the work of Emily Bronte." The bell will ring fiercely and startle Jenny awake. "Now, I expect you all to have read up to Chapter Four in 'Wuthering Heights' by tomorrow! Do not disappoint me!" he'll shout over the shuffling and talking of each student exiting his class, plowing through each other to get to the door.
"Jennifer?" Mr. Clements will start. "You should really start to get some more sleep. I know it's hard to stay awake and focused when you're not interested in the subject at hand, but -"
"Look, I actually am interested in this subject." She'll pick her backpack up from the floor and swing it over one shoulder. "'Wuthering Heights' is one of my favorite books, believe it or not." She will pick up her two textbooks and rest them in the crook of her right arm. "In fact, I especially like her poem, 'No Coward Soul Is Mine,'" she'll add, in an attempt to add some validity to her statement.
Mr. Clements will cross his arms and feign defeat. He will simply stare in awe as Jenny strides out of his classroom, a stunned look still stuck to his face, as if permanently glued there.
