Survival Of The Fittest

(Markham Connor continued from Chicken Soup for the Soul.)

Statistics. The class that some people considered to the superior of the mathematical studies, if only cause it was easier and they didn't have to deal with the dreaded integral and derivative. Something like that. Markham stared lazily at the blackboard, his notebook opened to a blank piece of paper. There was the general inane chatter surrounding him that started up every time before class started and he wasn't particularly interested in hearing any of it. Stuff about last night's TV shows or the finals that were coming up or prom.

'Ugh, prom. I don't want to even think about that.' He thought irritably to himself. He had no plans on going, but his father was telling him to go and even his mother had called to ask him if he had gotten a date for it. He could say no to his father and no to his mother, but when they both wanted him to do something? He was helpless. So now he had a nice new suit back at home to wear and hopefully could find some poor girl who just wanted someone to go with and didn't particularly care about looks, personality, or interest. They probably didn't exist.

For now, though, he needed to concentrate on his studies. High school statistics, while not nearly as rigorous as the classes taught in college (then again, which ones are), was still a rather demanding class and he wanted to ace it if only cause it would help for his psychology major in the future. He had been doing well so far but there was no time to slack off.

Now if only the teacher would show up, everything would be great...

(Opening Thread for Ignatian Teller)


'That's it' Ignatian thought to himself as he held the pencil lightly between his thumb and index finger. 'No need to rush this, just take your time, line it up and...' He flicked his wrist sharply and was rewarded with a dull thunk as the pencil embedded itself point first into the ceiling tiles. 'Man, the teacher needs to be late every day.'

Statistics was an interesting class for Ignatian; for while the subject matter wasn't too difficult, and could even be downright interesting at times, the teacher droned on and on. Standard deviation this, scatter plot that, it was enough to drive a person crazy! So Ignatian decided to take this momentary reprieve from monotony to perfect this lost art of pencil flicking, and decidedly not think about the rapidly approaching prom that seemed to be the only thing people wanted to talk about these days.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead with his hand 'So much for trying to distract myself from prom,' He thought to himself, a wry smile coming to his lips. 'Might as well try to distract myself from being on fire or something.' He shook his head and hopped up to grab his pencil from the ceiling.

'Now then, what to do about this situation... It's certainly not that this school is lacking in attractive women, far from it. It just seems like everyone has paired off already.' He looked about the room for a moment, eyes settling on Markham. 'Take that guy for example, Mark... or was it Conrad... Connor? Whatever, the guy's decked out in nice clothes, I bet he just asked someone today.' Ignatian shook himself out of his thoughts and quickly looked away.

'Yep, today's shaping up to be an interesting day.'

((Neill Robertson continued from Jamaican Blues))

Neill stared blankly at the front of the room. Statistics was about the only type of maths he was capable of doing, once he got his head around the concept nothing was particularly difficult. Not like calculus where he had seen a single expanded equation run onto multiple lines. So why was it that his calculus teacher had shown up the day previously, and the statistics one hadn't? Typical that it would work that way around. At any rate, it wasn't long now until he would be shot of math forever, how much could there possibly be when majoring in linguistics? If it turned out there was a hidden math module somewhere Neill reckoned he would actually cry.

From his position next to the wall (a wall that didn't contain a window, much as he would like it to, though he had a tendency to stare out when placed beside one) he turned so that he could see the whole room. Running his hands through his hair, he decided to speak up to the generally silent class. It was kind of a mark of being seniors, he mused to himself, if they were freshmen they would probably have been throwing chairs around right now. Leaning back against the wall Neill stuck his hand up in the air, and waved it, pretending to ask a question.

"Soo," he said loudly, looking at his classmates. "How long do we wait before we can legitimately leave?"

(OOC: Sorry for the delay :V)

Ten minutes. Ten minutes of mindless thinking, pencil tapping, and irritating staring at the clock and wondering when their hare-brained teacher would show up. Not that he hated Mr. Sanchez. He was a great guy and very interested in his subject as well as teaching, so every lesson was more like a miniature guidebook into the wonderful world that was statistics. If, you know, someone actually wanted a guidebook to the wonderful world of statistics. Judging from the increasingly loud crowd around him, Markham believed no one did.

Someone asked when they would be able to leave and Markham took notice of who it was, taking out his little black book and jotting down a quick note under the name. Neill Robertson. Another day, another note. He turned back after his work and answered the question. "Fifteen minutes."

As if summoned by the voice, Mr. Sanchez raced into the room, slamming his suitcase onto his table and skidding to a halt. "Whew, sorry I'm late! Had a little traffic problem near my house! Has to be bad luck to have a car crash right outside your intersection, huh?"

'...Yes, yes it is.' Markham thought to himself.

"Anyway, let's begin, shall we? Open your books to page 153!"

(Jonathan continued from Survival of the Attentive)

"Anyway, let's begin, shall we? Open your books to page 153!"

There was the cue. Jonathan opened his eyes and glanced at the teacher. He was peppy, like most people who liked teaching. Not that he could see how you could like going to school for years so you can make less than a sanitation expert. Oh well, time to learn about statistics. Again. He didn't see the reason for this class, but the school board knows all. Bunch of rich pricks. How does that saying go again. "There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics"?

Jonathan rose from his seat as he pulled his book from his bag at his feet, flipping through it until he got to page 153. He then stretched his hands as he pulled out a pen, flipping it between his finger as the teacher continued to talk. Jonathan scracthed his nose as he suddenly sneezed.

'Man what a nice day it is outside...' Ignatian sighed to himself as he looked wistfully out the window. 'I wonder how late the teacher has to be before we can just leave...' Almost as if on cue, Neill spoke up: "So, How long do we wait before we can legitimately leave?"

'Convenient timing' Ignatian thought to himself, as Markham said, "Fifteen minutes." He took a quick glance at the clock, 'okay, only five minutes to g-'

"Whew, sorry I'm late! Had a little traffic problem near my house! Has to be bad luck to have a car crash right outside your intersection, huh?" Mr. Sanchez said as he bustled into the class. "Anyway, lets begin, shall we? Open your books to page 153."

'Car crash? Was it serious? Was anyone hurt?' Ignatian thought, somewhat alarmed. 'No, it couldn't have been, otherwise he'd be more then 10 minute late... Besides, he's being way too casual about it for something serious.' Satisfied, he dug through his backpack for his book and some paper. 'Okay, now where is my pencil...' he thought to himself, looking under his bag and around his desk. He looked up. 'Oh.'

There it was, his only pencil stuck in the ceiling tile halfway between his desk and his neighbor's. 'Well now this is a pickle...' Ignatian thought to himself. 'Lets see. Mr. Sanchez hasn't noticed yet, but he definitely will if I jump up and grab it. Do I really want him calling me out in front of the whole class? Or maybe I could just...' He leaned over to the kid sitting next to him, Jonathan, and poked him in the shoulder.

"Hey, uhh... Jonathan," he whispered. "You wouldn't happen to have to have an extra pencil would ya?" He gave a grimace and flicked his eyes towards the one lodged in the ceiling before shrugging helplessly. "I'm in a little bit of a bind here"

Jonathan pulled out a pencil, dropping it on the guy's desk as Mr. Sanchez wrote something on the board. He didn't say anything, didn't need to, didn't want to. Let them have their little prom. Stupid fucking dance anyway, nothing but an excuse for them to dance and then go off to parties and get drunk and skull fuck each other. He chuckled to himself as Mr. Sanchez turned on him.

"Ah, Jonathan, perhaps you could explain what you see before you?" Mr. Sanchez gestured at the equations on the board. Jonathan sighed as he looked at them, before answering in a bored tone.

"The Mann-Whitney U, and a pencil stuck in the ceiling" he said, pointing out the pencil in a way that won't draw attenion to Ignaticus or whatever his name was. He was okay, plus that scar was pretty sweet. Jon would need to make a note to ask him about that.

((Eiko Haraguchi triumphantly returns from I don't know where))

Truth be told, one of the best students in the class was barely paying attention to the goings-on around her. The antics of the class clowns who stuck pencils in the ceiling didn't interest her, and the teacher's story of his car crash got little more than a nod of sympathy out of her. She had her textbook ready at her side and her notebook and mechanical pencils in front of her; she was ready for the part of the class where there would actually be schoolwork happening and she'd get to do some math problems.

So far, so standard. Problem was, Eiko wasn't truly into the class today. Her mind was partly focused on her more recent failures. Not in terms of schoolwork, but in terms of her social life. To be specific, it was the matter of Prom. She figured she might as well try to make herself seen at the most prominent social event of the year. She had just the person in mind, too. He was well-to-do, debonair, and studious, exactly the sort of person Eiko herself was interested in becoming.

Problem was, Ilario Fiametta wasn't interested in going to Prom with her. In fact, she'd learned that Abigail Atkins, the Student Council member, had asked him earlier and also been rejected. So what was he thinking? Was he just not interested in going to prom? Or was he holding out for a different sort of date?

There was a lot about Ilario she didn't understand. The boy was an achiever, a hard worker, and a skilled student. So why did he seem so sad all of the time? He had none of Eiko's confidence, he was reluctant to socialize, at least with her, and he seemed reluctant to talk about his father. Eiko had nothing but respect for her own father, so this last fact seemed especially strange to her. Maybe she'd ask Rosa about it sometime. Rosa was a lot more fun to be around.

She looked up from her introspection. Sensei had to have started teaching by now. Hopefully she hadn't zoned out to the extent that she missed the beginning of his lecture.

Mr. Sanchez nodded, sastified apparently with Jon's answer as he reached up, and pulled the pencil down, setting it on his desk at the front of the room. Probaly waiting for whoever threw it to claim it. The statitics teacher turned to continue writing as Jon looked down to take notes. He clicked his pen as he pulled out a notebook and started writing.

At least he would of, if it wasn't for the fact that his pen decided that moment was opportune to run out of ink. Jon almost swore as he pocketed the useless pen and searched his pockets for a replacement. None was found, as Jonathan sighed, searching for anyone he could get a pen or pencil from. Ignatmus was out of the question, which left the one person he didn't want to talk to. Eiko was exactly the kind of person Jon hated, an elitist spoiled clone of their parents and treated people like him as if they were lower than idrt. However, he also knew he would hate to be held back for one measly math class, especially considering he was as good at math as Friday the 13th' victims were at being smart.

"Hey" Jon whispered so Mr. Sanchez wouldn't overhear, tapping Eiko's chair. "you got a pencil I could borrow"

Markham dutifully scrawled down his notes as Mr. Sanchez continued his lecture, only really half-paying attention to the teacher. This was half review anyway, so he only really needed to look at the new stuff and write it down. He found it much more interesting to see the antics of his fellow classmates and continue writing down observations on them. Luckily, he was seated in the middle of the class. While not giving him a bird's eye view of the classroom, it was enough to watch those students in front of him...better than nothing, he supposed. It was simply another sample group that he could compile into a large list of facts about his various classmates. Harmless fun, to be sure.

'Another boring day, another boring class.' Markham thought to himself as he wondered just what exactly he would do for prom. He had to find a girl, after all. He'd have asked Irina except it was rather obvious the girl had no interest in him and instead wanted to go out with Ilario so badly that a blind man probably could have seen it. He grimaced. Ilario. Ugh. Even the thought of the other debater was starting to bother him. 'I can't let myself get distracted or biased...'

He looked up at the blackboard, seeing a brand new batch of notes that he had somehow missed in his quiet contemplation. He raised a hand, waiting for Mr. Sanchez to see it and call on him. "Excuse me, teacher? Could you go over that last part again...I'm afraid I missed it."

((Introduction post of Annaliese Hansen. Hope nobody minds.))

Throwing the door open with more force that was necessary, Annaliese strode confidently into the room. "Hey, Mr. Sanchez! Sorry I'm late. Dentist appointment. " She waved the pink hall pass at the teacher before dropping it on his desk and scanning the room for a seat.

Annaliese loved statistics and normally would have claimed a seat near the front but the front rows were mostly full and she really wasn't in the mood to climb over that cluster of juniors to claim the empty seat in the middle. Stupid dentist. Now I have that weird, slightly gritty 'just cleaned' feeling in my mouth AND someone's in my seat. Biting back a dramatic sigh, she veered off and headed off towards an empty seat near the back of the room. At least she would be sitting by Eiko and Jonathan, and Eiko was sure to have good notes she could copy.

Dropping down into the empty seat, she dug out her notebook and pencils. I bet that polish that the dentist uses isn't good for the environment. Or even fit for human consumption. Like those metal fillings they use. I wonder if the other kids here know that those fillings use mercury and can potentially give them heavy metal poisoning. Flipping to the next blank page, Annaliese quickly jotted down her newest idea so that she could do more research on it later.

Eiko was in the middle of an equation when she felt a tap on the back of her chair.

"Hey, you got a pencil I could borrow?"

"Of course," she replied, reaching down into her purse to retrieve her pencil case. She opened it up and retrieved one of many number two pencils she had inside, briefly looking it over to make sure it had a fine point.

She turned around and noticed for the first time the identity of the rather grungy-looking student who requested the pencil. Jon Jarocki wasn't a boy Eiko talked to that much. In fact, she couldn't remember talking to him at all before this point in time. Most of what she heard about him was second-hand information. Apparently he was a loner who enjoyed the morbid. She couldn't see him being much of a success after high school, but what the hell. It didn't cost anything to be nice to him.

"Here you go, Jarocki-san," she said, reaching back and allowing Jon to grab the pencil. "Feel free to keep it. I have many more."

"Eiko, is there something you'd like to talk about with the class?" Mr. Sanchez asked.

She looked back up at him and quickly withdrew her arm. "No, Sensei. Please continue." She blushed and focused on her notes once more, embarassed that she'd let her voice get loud enough to disrupt the class. Eiko didn't even notice that Anna Hansen was in the process of copying Eiko's notes and depriving herself of valuable listening practice.

Jon grabbed the pencil as he nodded in thanks. He quickly started to write down his notes as he frowned as a new girl sat down next to him, apparently the source of the loud bang earlier as the door was slowly closing. He frowned as he tapped the pencil against his head as he glanced at his notes. Something was off about them but he couldn't figure out what. Jon shrugged as he continued to write.

----

After the hour was finished, Jon rubbed his eyes as he rose from his seat, tripping slightly over his desk leg as he picked up his bag and dropped the pencil on Eiko's desk. "Worthless class"

(Jonathan continued elsewhere)

(OOC: I know, long delay. Spring break will do that to a guy.)

Ignatian started as the classroom door slammed open and Annaliese walked in.

"Hey, Mr. Sanchez! Sorry I'm late. Dentist appointment. " She said, taking a seat on the other side of Jonathon.

'That's one way to make an entrance,' Ignatian thought wryly to himself, looking over his shoulder at her as she sat. 'I guess some people just like to be the center of attention.' He shook his head and looked back at his notes.

Several minutes later he looked up as Mr. Sanchez said: "Eiko, is there something you'd like to talk about with the class?" Ignatian turned to look at the small Asian girl as she blushed. "No, Sensei. Please continue." She said, and several of the other students chuckled. 'Yeah, I feel for you.' Ignatian thought, grimacing. 'It's no fun getting singled out like that.' He sighed and looked out the window, wishing he were somewhere else.

He wasn't certain how long he sat looking out at the clear blue sky before Mr. Sanchez called out; "Mr. Teller, since it looks like you're paying close attention, perhaps you could tell me what we were just talking about."

'Shit.' He thought as he looked at the notes scrawled on the whiteboard. 'Well this is what you get for being so attentive.' He rebuked himself, and looked quickly over at his classmates, hoping for some help.

((Sean Carver and Mercedes Wilson Continued fromSimply Studying and Hunger Pangs

Already late, Sean thought as he and Mercedes made their way inside. Thankfully, no one seemed to give either of them a passing glance before he found a seat. He shot a nasty look over to where Mercedes had settled down before he opened his textbook.

---------

Mercedes couldn't believe she had bothered to even give Sean a minute of her time, and between classes!

God, why did I even bother, she thought as she looked over at Sean. He was already giving her the stinkeye -- as if he had anything to worry about. Still, there was something nasty enough in his look to get her angry. She rolled her eyes at him and silently mouthed the word "Sorry" in an exaggerated manner before turning her attention back to the front of the class. Now she knew why so few people liked the guy: if this was how he acted when someone needed his help with school, then his attitude would have to be enough to drive most people crazy.

She tried to pay attention, but from here should could still see Sean fuming. What the hell was his problem? They hadn't missed anything important that she could tell.

----------

How had he allowed himself to be held back like this, he wondered. This was the second time she'd bothered him about a studying session -- as if he was that good of a student!