“Saotome?” the voice of his tormentor responded questioningly.
He shook off his nervousness, his mind coming into sharp focus as he began to counter the attack thrown at him. It was insidious move, created to throw chaotic fighters as himself off balance, making it easier for people like him to move in for the kill. Even now Ranma could imagine his tormentors cruel eyes as he struck his final, most destructive blow he had ever received in his short life.
“Eer, ahh… thirty seven?” He ventured, hoping against hope he had gotten the question right.
It began softly at first, but gradually as more and more students felt their control fade away the sound of boilsterous laughter rose to deafing levels.
Ranma gripped the edge of his desk, his nails digging into the hard wood, leaving splinters in their wake as anger from their laughter erupted in him.
The teacher sighed, his head lowering in blatant disappointment as he spoke in a demeaning tone, “If this weren’t Geography, Mr. Saotome, you might have been correct. However..” the teacher left it hanging, which only served to rile the other kids in class more.
Ranma was not stupid, not by any meaning of the word. He was, however, highly uneducated and he knew it. The rigors of the road left little free time to investigate the mysteries of the atom. To travel to the lands of thought and imagination with Hemmingway. To join in the journey of the Wyatt brothers as they went on to craft and create the Aviation field of today.
No, he was not stupid, and he loathed people who thought otherwise.
“Right.” He managed to get out through clenched teeth.
“Do try and pay more attention Saotome.” The teacher stated before moving on in the lesson plan.
He growled softly, not loud enough for the teacher to hear, but Akane behind him did. She looked at him curiously for a few moments in concern, not that Ranma noticed.
‘Looks like I’ll be making another after school stop..’ Ranma noted internally as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest, he ignored the smooth feeling of his silk shirt against his arms, the act usually calming him down whenever he felt the need to explode at his tormentors. ‘Stupid teachers.’
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(Posted Mon, 17 Nov 2003 14:39)
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