Prompt: Then she punched the teacher and everything went downhill from there. 

I swear, this is the first teacher I've punched in my teenage life!

Oh, don't give me that look. I know that look, you know, the "I don't believe you for a second, young lady." You know what else gets on my nerves? When people call me 'young lady.' Ugh.

Anyways, if you're still adamant that punching the teacher was wrong -- I can read that expression on your face, don't try to hide it -- I'll set the scene for you.

First period English class. They call it Pre-AP, but we all know that's a lie. Half of these kids had to have their parents tie their shoes in the morning because they couldn't figure out how to do it themselves. I jest, but you get the idea. 

Not-so-Pre-AP English is in A227, the ugliest room you've ever seen. Honestly, just a glance at it is enough to give interior designers a heart attack. The walls are the most hideous shade of green you've ever seen, like a thousand cats simultaneously vomited on them. The paint is clumpy and smeared with awful browns and yellows, confirming my cat-vomit theory, and the rest of the decor is no better. Geeky posters are slapped up along the walls, next to some lackadaisical English ones, like our teacher has to convince himself that he's a teacher as well. He can talk about the internal makeup of Tribbles for a whole class period but can't stutter out a sentence about periods?

Periods like the grammatical periods. Get your mind out of the gutter. 

Anyways, enter Mr. Lackley. Yep, his name is Lackley. His parents had to convince themselves their son was going to be a slacker, so hence the name. I think his first name is something like Jeff, but honestly I couldn't care less.

Lackley would be a weird dude in real life if he wasn't my teacher as well. On the first day of school, when you want to make a good impression and all, he waddles into the room with a 'Phantom Menace' T-shirt stretched tight over his beer belly and a half-shaved, awkward haze of stubble over his cheeks. He blinked at us vaguely for a few seconds, like, kids? What are kids doing in my classroom? Before walking over to his desk and peering at his lesson plans. 

If you don't already despise this man's guts, which you should, I'll elaborate. After Lackley's lackluster performance on the first day he only grew worse. Let me pander to you for a moment and show you the depths of his ineptitude.

I guess I should begin with one of his most infamous, and frequently repeated, moments.

"Where's the paper at?"

The paper part is the important thing in that sentence. It's the preposition. And what did our elementary school teachers drill into our little skulls at age six?  Don't end a sentence with a preposition! Honestly, you call yourself an English teacher?

That's a minor offense, though. And I'm sure that you can't be fired based on your use of basic grammar. Although it sure would be nice if an English teacher had a real-world outlook on his subject, but that might just be me. 

Lackley is lax when it comes to teaching, as well. Half the time he hunkers over his school-issued laptop squinting at the screen like some overweight nearsighted slug, staring at god-knows-what. I've had some fun fantasizing about what he gawks at all class period. At the top of the list is porn and KirkxSpock fanfiction. Either is probable, based on his crazy rants about Star Trek. Maybe it's Star Trek porn. Who knows with this man...

Every lesson is as dull and dragging like sandpaper, and just as painful. Droning about Romeo and Juliet, which we've read, oh, I don't know, a million times? And then he plops in front of his desk and shows us some edgy interpretation on Shakespeare -- edgy by the school's terms, I guess, because it's as boring as his lessons, which is saying something -- and goes back to his slack-jawed staring. I think I saw him drool on his keyboard once.

Now that you've got a good idea about Lackley, let me entice you with an image of his class.

There's the white boy thugs who hang out with the real thugs in the back, wearing those stupid pants that cinch up above the ankles and sag so low you can see four inches of their Tommy Hilfiger underwear. They ogle their phones and show off their awfully gaudy 'kicks' and talk throughout the entire class, which I've considered doing as well. An error on my part, I have too much faith in this class.

The cheerleaders/A-list girls, or should I call them the Snapchat clique, since that's all they do during class, are next to them in the back. Duck-facing and throwing up peace signs all class, they couldn't care less if Romeo died. Unless he was hot, and then they still wouldn't care.

The people who actually try, who I have slowly seceded from, sit near the front. Ramrod-straight backs, wearing clothes that their fifty-year-old mothers would find trendy, inquisitive eyes roaming over the room when they realize there's nothing their minds can absorb in Lackley's droning. I can't stand them, their ever-so-polite attitudes and their shameless kiss-up-ness that practically radiates from them. It's cloyingly tangible.

And then there's me, the odd one out. The rebel, the one who's always on her phone, or so it seems, blogging about the woes of her freshman year English class. I guess you could say I'm the troublemaker who snaps her gum and sticks it under the desk with vehemence, which I have been known to do on many occasions.

But enough about me, or the cat-sick classroom. Time to get on with the teacher-punching.

Lackley was droning on with a lecture, double chins waggling in a strangely hypnotic way, and my eyelids were already beginning to droop even though we'd been in class for only a few minutes. I must have fallen asleep, because I was jolted from my stupor with one thought in my mind -- the incessant need to pee.

I know this might seem like an intimate thing to say in a blog post, but after a few minutes of foot tapping I surrendered and my hand shot into the air. Lackley jumped a little, like he was surprised, probably because not all of his students had dozed off during his lecture. Examining my hand with keen interest, his eyes finally fell to my face.

"Yes?" His voice was as dry and crackly as a McDonalds burger patty.

"May I use the restroom?" My voice was sugar-coat sweet, and I had to roll the words around in my mouth a few times to wear out the edges. Particularly the 'you ugly excuse for an English teacher' part.

"What's the new rule, Sabina?" His voice took on an even lower tone, like he himself was falling asleep. I think I even saw his chin drooping to his chest.

"To use the restroom you need to have your ID." With all the sass I could muster I flourished my ID badge towards his flabby, pockmarked face, wishing nothing more than to jam it down his throat. 

"That's not how I recall it." Lackley's puffy lips sagged in a frown and my anger sizzled to a boil.

"Oh, is it?" I seethed, forcing my lips into a sweet smile. "How do you recall it, then?" Like Lackley could recall anything if he tried. He's like a brontosaurus -- a brain the size of a walnut. 

"Students are not allowed to use the restroom at all during class." Lackley's watery gaze dropped to his fingers, not daring to meet my burning gaze. Or at least, that's how I like to think about it.

"Is that so?" I growled, and the class took a slow inward breath. All dozing kids suddenly jerked awake, and every eye fixed on me. We all knew Lackley was a pain, but no one had ever challenged him before. Now was my time to shine. 

"Yes...?" He trailed off, like he didn't even believe it himself. Then again, this was the man who thought that Reavers were going to attack us when the fire drill went off, so maybe nothing was really concrete in that air-filled head of his. 

"Because that's not how the rule was made apparent to me." The argument was circular, but it I spun Lackley around enough he would probably consent and let me go.

"I'm afraid not."

Apparently not.

"Sir," I pleaded, appealing to his moral side, "I really have to go." To add to my point I shimmied around in my seat a little, to no avail.

"I can't allow you to go, Sabina." Lackley's usually mellow voice was adamant and I was slightly surprised, before I remembered that I didn't care. 

"Well, according to school rules I can." In one smooth motion I lifted my self from my seat and started down the aisle. Everyone was staring at me now, disbelief etched across their faces. In a way I took it as a compliment, but I could have used the support. You're on your own now. 

"It would do you well to sit back down." Lackley grumbled, seeming like he didn't mean the words himself, and I couldn't help but laugh. 

"Why, sir? I'm following all school rules." I retorted, taking another step forward. Startlingly, Lackley did the same.

"Besides the fact that I am forbidding you to do so!" His double chins flapping, Lackley scowled.

"Why, sir?" I parroted, crossing my arms in the epitome of my rebellious teenager attitude. "We have a free day anyways. To my understanding there's nothing to keep me from going to the restroom."

One of the thugs from the back let out an 'oooh, kill 'em' kind of sound, and I appreciated the gesture. Floundering for a response, Lackley's lips flapped soundlessly as he searched for an answer.

"Because I said not to!" Came the final reply, and I dramatically rolled my eyes. 

"Is that the best you've got?" I retorted, letting a small smile creep onto my face, and Lackley's jaw dropped as I sauntered past him and headed to the door -- and to freedom.

"I command you to stay right where you are!" He gasped, holding out a hand.

Raising an eyebrow, I smirked at him. "Oh, you command me? This isn't Star Trek, sir. This is real life, and if I need to go to the restroom I'll be damned if I'm going to." I was half turned to the door before Lackley leaped forward and latched one flabby fist onto my arm, expression darkening.

"You will stay here!" He roared, and I twisted my wrist helplessly in his grasp. For a paltry, overweight nerd, he had a pretty strong grip. After a few seconds of tugging -- and a few seconds to approve that Lackley was not going to let go -- I started kicking at his shins.

"Let go of me!" I demanded, aiming slightly higher, and Lackley's grip tightened painfully.

Well, there's only one way out of this, I conceded.

Setting my jaw, I turned as if tugging again, with one hand hidden behind my back tightening into a fist. Someone behind me hooted and I spun back to face Lackley, eyes burning, then slammed my fist with all of my might into his jaw. 

And, let it be said, everything went downhill from there.

//hey y'all! I know it's been way too long, but I haven't given up on this story by any means! 

P.S. if you like covers go check out my new graphics book!