I can be a horrible person

Today, in my Western Civilization final examination, I took note of a lovely little stink insect crawling along the edge of my desk.

Already most of the way through with the packet, I extended my pencil toward it. Tentatively, slowly, it examined the eraser and climbed aboard. Intending to send it onto the floor (away from the prying eyes of bloodthirsty classmates), to a potential safe haven, I flicked it forward.

I was sitting two seats behind a girl who I don’t know, and don’t particularly like, but I certainly don’t hate or dislike. Mostly, I find indifference towards her, except when she is eating candy or chewing gum in class, because the bloody sound is one of the most disgusting, audacious things a person can listen to, besides the shuffling of the sandals and paper of the girl sitting next to me right now, who’s still barely through her test (yes, I’m writing in class, which just further proves my point).

The little brownish, speckled insect was hurled silently forward and landed on the girl’s nice aquamarine t-shirt. It began to calmly crawl up her back. Her long, curly black hair slowly began to obscure it as she shifted her weight (ignorantly, innocently) in her seat and continued to write. It inched to the right, becoming visible again, and conquered the peak of her shoulder and continued down to her front.

I lost sight of it. I winced. I attempted to get her attention with some awkward, sheepish “umm”s and “uh”s. My teacher, a wonderful woman, smiled at me from the front of the room. I recalled her warning at the beginning of the period that we would lose points if we spoke. I know she likes me, but I didn’t want to play a rule-breaking teacher’s pet (and that only occurred to me later, really I just didn’t want to disobey her). So I remained silent and hoped Amanda wasn’t terrified of stink beetles.


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