SAT Prep Class Sucks

You know, my life is full of plans for world domination and hanging out with my super-hot older girlfriend, Elle, but even I have to get my head out of the clouds sometimes, even if keeping my feet on the ground (so to speak) sucks.

What am I talking about? I'm talking about planning for my future. Of course, my old plans will have to change a bit, but I'm sure Elle and I can steal her daddy's gold and get an awesome apartment. I just need to get into college first, and that's where the SATs come in.

So I took an SAT prep class with Debbie, May, Martha, Claire, and Elle. I think Elle came along because her dad never let her do normal teenage things. That, and I imagine she wanted a chance to take some of Claire's blood.

It was kinda boring at first, going over the stupid rules of English grammar and the robotic language of Math formulas, but the essay writing was where it got interesting. The teacher was this little man with bad hair and glasses, and he got a bit overexcited critiquing our essays.

Debbie was "so brave" for writing about "her struggles with alcohol abuse" but needed "to tone her language down in order to remain sympathetic." May and Martha's essays were "profoundly uninteresting" and "could be interchangeable with the musings of any other teenager." Claire's essay, about meeting her grandmother for the first time, "perfectly utilized the archetypes of the maiden and crone to tell a whimsically over-the-top story." My essay "described the trials and tribulations of adolesence with the superhero and science-fiction mythos skillfully woven throughout."

But when he came to Elle's essay, the teacher just sputtered and said, "Good job."

"What was that about?" I asked her.

"Oh, I just wrote about the time I got a kitten for my birthday and dad made me electrocute him to death. No biggie. Besides, he's probably just subconsciously mad at the company or whatev. Didn't you see the marks on his neck?"

When everybody left the class, I decided to see for myself. "So, Teach," I said, "What's your story? What hidden talent are you hiding?"

He just looked at me and said, "Kid, I can grade a scantron sheet test just by looking at the dots, and you, I'm afraid, are woefully average. Hate to break it to you, but you're not the alien god you pretend to be."

...Eh, forget him. He's just another servant of the machine. I know I'll rule the world someday!

But I did learn something worthwhile from Elle and her essay: Sometimes it's a relief to not be the craziest person in the class, you know?