The Jokes of Life

Look, I never wanted to do this ice-cream scooping job for our school’s canteen. But the thing is, life doesn’t always offer you beautiful choices, does it? No. I was born a problematic ADHD student, and it should be the greatest gift in my life that my folks still kept me. Disastrous troubles were my second nature. And my folks obviously weren’t fond of this, see? They had an impressive talent of turning their withering faces into a serpent’s whenever I asked for a scarce budget.

I pulled the red cap on and shoved myself into the kiddo-sized vest. I called them the stupid uniform set.

The bell rang obnoxiously, and students were already bounding down the stairs in threes, their arms flailing about wildly as if there were some invisible monsters chasing behind.

I shoved the wooden make-shift counter into the centre of attention.

“Six scoops. Coffee’s, if you would, missy,” Scott’s gigantic stature loomed before me, blocking out the lights. He jeered, showing that he needed some really serious dental appointment.

I wouldn’t mess things up, I told myself over and over again. Not again. This was my sixth school, I wouldn’t be kicked out. Father would kill me.

With extreme care, I managed to magic a cone with six scoops of ice-cream straight on. The last one on the top was dangerously out of place, but I took the risk on sudden inspiration. I gave the mountain yet another large scoop of chocolate’s, which was dramatically full with chocolate chips and chunks of waffles. Jeez, what a talent I got here.

I shoved the cone into the air in front of Scott, his nose only inches from the scoops of melting ice-cream. I flashed my sweetest smile, “Don’t wanna starve those cute, porky triple chins of yours.”

The static in the air crackled, and the sky ahead seemed to have darkened a royal fraction.

Oops.

The amusement in Scott’s beady eyes seconds ago pulverized. Instead, I could almost see the ferocious fire blazing in his eyes right now, the other features on his face all frozen in a grotesque kind of way.

Scott started. He slashed the air and for a startled moment I thought he’d hit my face, but then silence ensued, only broken by a soft thud. The next second my feet seemed to be tingling with coldness. Scott had just slaughtered my ultimate craftwork the ugly and humiliating way.

Crowds formed, and whisperings rippled through the mobs.

I didn’t move a miniscule degree, because I knew if I did, Scott might end up in a hospital, and I would be doomed. I sucked at temper-controlling.

His mouth twisting into a crooked smile again, Scott dipped his fingers into a bowl of the ice-creams, and the hideous, toothy grin still not leaving his meaty face, he smacked his hand across my right cheek, sending bits of gooey ice-cream flying in every direction. My cheeks prickled.

A voice from the crowds sounded, “Oh yuck. Mega-yuck.”

That was it.

I yanked bunches of his collar into my fists and shoved him back. He did not budge the tiniest bit. I’d forgotten to consider his doggone elephant stature. Laughters erupted among the students.

Grinning broader, Scott reached out, about to dip his fingers into another ice-cream bowl. I had no idea what happened next. I didn’t remember losing control of myself but the next thing I knew was Scott miraculously toppled over on the floor, his whole body dripping with sugary ice-cream- even his bushy eyebrows. Laughters were higher than ever.

What happened after was so fast I barely knew it wasn’t an illusion. For a second I was lifted off the ground, and then rapid glimpses of the students around were all I caught and before I could register what was going on, I smashed onto the top of the counter, sending bowls and cones rolling all over the floor.

I hit the ground with a painful ‘umph’. My lungs felt like they were going to explode any second, and my skin my searing like mad.

I shoved myself up, my head spinning wildly and my ears throbbing. I made an unsteady beeline for the sumo-wrestler-porky Scott.

His brows shot up as if he’d received a flash-mobs birthday surprise. What, was I supposed to play dead so that his fans around could holler “Long live King Scotty”?

I sent a swift kick into his protruding abdomen and smack his head over my knee when he was bent over in agony. So much for the remarkable protective layer he’d got there, I supposed.

The events following Scott’s groan were again, fuzzy.

Blood. Screams. Total chaos. Principal. And something about a hospital.

I perched on the stool in my bedroom gazing out the window, the letter from the school in my hand.

I’d been expelled, for the seventh time, in a year. Father had said something about sending me to another school meant for troublemaker kids far away uptown.

I didn’t want to, so we argued, and I said something permanently irreversible.

“I never wanted you guys anyway!” I’d shouted across the room at the highest point of our argument. It was a nasty argument, by the way, if you really want to know.

I wished he’d just slap me across the face. At least THAT, would be SOMETHING. But Father stood speechless, and I knew whatever that was waiting ahead, was permanent darkness.

Still wordless, Father left, closing the door behind him quietly.

I crumpled up the school letter and chucked it out the open window.

I glanced over at the pile of books and other documents Father had left behind on my desk. The book atop read “RULES”. Must be from my seventh boarding school.

I actually felt sorry for that boarding school I was going to attend next week, because obedience seriously was the one thing you couldn’t expect from an ADHD.