Mya thinks that Mr. Mils is very cool. Our physics teacher.
It’s sure that she’s cool when she’s lucky to be good in physics and her name is Marie, the first in the class. But she's really cool when we're not in physics like me.
And she even less cool, when she forces you with her big eyes like a predator and her strident cry ready to arise from nowhere and asks you to stay at school every Thursday night for an hour to perform exercises that I still don’t understand, instead of going out with my friends.
And it much less cool, when she talks to my parents about my current concentration difficulties, that I have potential, and that nothing is lost. I'm 13, not 5! She speaks as if I was absent, non-existent, like a ghost disappearing. It would be time she realized.
I thought I died that day. I know that Mr. Mils is looking to be nice-after all, it’s my mother’s Pilate’s girlfriend- but there she was doing a little great: first, the probability that I’m good in physics is very low, and even if this probability increases by miracle, JAMAIS I wouldn’t have gotten a good score, not to mention his uninterested course, and I’m going through it. I am unable to love math and physics. I can hardly understand his sciences which, I wonder and I am not the only one, what good are they useful in my future life as a writer?
In my personal interest and well-being, I do not see why I would be passionate about his classes. I also have a life, passions and desires.