At Junior High we had six classes per grade.

The school had three floors, six classrooms per floor.
7 – 1 met in room 101. 8 – 1 had 201 as their homeroom.
9 – 1 was in 301 and 9 – 6 met in room 306.

This was how it had been since time began.
Then there was 9 – 7.

On that surreal September morning, an assortment of
students were led to a disused language laboratory.
Each seat was between high barriers.

As I gaped at these ‘prison seats’ I noticed
my classmates.

There were kids who had been left back twice. There were
kids who had their heads on backwards. There were kids who
were voted most likely to die in an electric chair.

There were also jokers, geeks, kids who didn’t speak
English, and me. What was I doing here?

Our teacher was young, lost and fearful. I don’t know what
she had been told, but she remained at the front behind the
plasti-glass protector.

I was wearing my darkers as I always did, and black
clothes. Not that I was a Goth, but I had been told by
my best friend that to survive one had to look bad.

The only kids who talked to me had pending Court cases.
I was bright enough to sound like someone who had
shared a cell, though I was really a good kid.

I suppose my ‘rep’ as badness incarnate had me put into this
class. Although I felt like crying for my Mommy, I took my
seat and began reading Einstein’s Theories, which I kept
hidden inside of a Superman comic.

As my ‘neighbors’ couldn’t see what I was doing due to the
partitions, I didn’t have to hide my book, but old habits
die hard.

As time progressed, 9 – 7 realised it was not exactly
part of Andries Hudde Junior High School. It was an
appendage. A place to stuff all those kids teachers
didn’t like.

Kids who disrupted the class with hard questions, or
stupid ones. Kids who had to go to the bathroom twice
an hour, kids who liked to tell jokes. As well as
psychopaths, sociopaths, and cannibals.

Now you would think, having been segregated from the
school we could be left out of the usual crock.

No.

We were expected to show, ’school spirit’ to ‘participate’
in school functions. Why?

The biggest crock at my school was Student Government.

9 – 7 hadn’t bothered to submit a candidate as class
representative. The teacher asked if she should pick
someone. No one answered. She picked Joanne who burst
into tears and refused to do it, threatening to jump
out of the window if she was forced.

The teacher realised anyone who dared to participate in
Student Government would be found in a dumpster.

We figured no one would notice that we had no class rep.
We were almost right. No one noticed except Shortshanks,
the Vice Principal.

He came barreling into the classroom with his usual
patriotic guff. I think he always regretted not getting
killed in a war.

As he berated us for our lack of school spirit and
patriotism, (if this had been after 2001 we might all
be in Gitmo), Glenn, the class clown, sprang up.

“Oh, you are so wrong, Sir! We have chosen our Rep!
It’s Richard Roses!”

Richard Roses was the school ‘pharmacist’. He sold many
interesting chemical combinations all of which were illegal.

He had never been caught, but ‘everyone’ knew why he kept
being left back; good business.

Hearing the name Richard Roses, Shortshanks became even more
pallid than he usually was, stared in open mouthed shock as
big tall Richard stood to acknowledge his position.

There wasn’t a sound in the room.
Glenn called on Richard to make a speech.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, the bell rang. We never heard
what Richard might have said. We packed up and moved to our
next classes.

After the first meeting of Student Government, (behind closed
doors) it was decided to scrap the idea.

Richard Roses was the only one to protest.

I have no idea what happened, but after that, 9 – 7 was
freed from every other school event. We were not asked
to sell tickets, attend sporting events, participate in
the school play, and left out of color war.