Our Own Disturbed Ward

Ah, multiple choice game day.  Everyone around me feels hyped up and they’re smiling as they enter the AP English 12 room, what an odd sight to see.  I, for one, do not share their merriment for these days.  I don’t much enjoy forced conflict, I would much rather go about my business quietly, silently even.  People call me Chief Bromden, but in this room, I am by no means the chief; I will most likely end up on the losing team.  Assuredly, I don’t even hold a candle to the self-named Dream Team.  Looking over in disgust, I see their team, team 6, announced.  Instead of whooping or doing a fun choreographed cheer, or even sitting awkwardly, as my team, Team 7, will undoubtedly choose, the Dream Team vainly holds a simple number one in the air.  How I loathe them: “they are in contact on a high voltage wave length of hate” (31). No need to cheer or say anything when their team is called; a smug index finger pointed high is all they need to communicate what place they will receive. 

            “’A toast to toast!’” Kelly shouts for the room to hear.  Wow, what a clever team name. I like the simple and strong alliteration from Team Toast.  Not only that, but they can do so much with that word! They can make a toast to toast as Kelly just exclaimed; they can propel toast into the air by pantomiming a toaster; they can even tell other teams that they will be toast.  How versatile—I wish I was on Team Toast with those great girls over there.  I think if they don’t win, this might go down as my worst day in AP English 12. 

            The game begins.  Ms. Serensky announces that number one will go to … all groups.  I feel a rush of joy as my team wins a tally on the board.  But I remind myself, “it’s a minor battle in a big war” with that and each point (113).  The game progresses and I see that I am losing this war.  My hope wanes and I see the fog rolling in.  I wish I could shut myself out from this cruel world, from the sad embarrassment of getting dead last in the multiple choice competition.  Just above me in the ranks, but still obtaining zero extra credit points, is the mighty Team Toast.  The points were so close, so palpable, there for the taking.  However, the wretched Dream Team’s satisfied first place faces only serve to amplify how the extra credit points do not exist for me.  “But if they don’t exist,” I think, “how can a man see them?” (90). Perhaps I do belong back at the mental ward.  I certainly won’t survive here, not with my deaf mute discussion grade.