I would like a shredded questions conference on my story.

Disclaimer:
1. If you do not believe that your teachers were once young, you may not understand this story or the concept of time.
2. Do not expect perfection from the following story. Perfection isn't fun.
3. Rebellion is nothing to fear. It has its place, in stories.

My friends were all in that class. We could talk and get nothing done. It was great. Mr. Tombs was a pushover in study hall. He had his own work to do. Bothering us was the last thing on his mind. My slack covered all of my actions. I would slack on over to the pencil sharpener pretending to need its use. Charlie wanted to work; I wanted to pretend to work. He had ambition; I had slack. I was better than homework, better than the teachers that gave it. I had four detentions because of that. I’m pretty sure it was four; it could have been more. Anyway, I stayed after school some days for not turning in work or mouthing off. That’s why they came and got me. I had too many detentions. They didn’t say that at first, though. All they said was, “We need to see Ben Wilkoff.” My friends and I looked at each other, knowing that I was in trouble, not knowing why. They took me to Mrs. Parmalee’s classroom. I hated Mrs. Parmalee. She had failed me the previous year in the advanced math class for not doing my homework. I faked it for a while, but she knew. She always knew. I was taken to her class, unfairly. I was put in there with the real hoodlums of Chagrin Falls Middle School. Neil Zucker brought knives to school. Jon Gunton snorted someone’s Ritalin in the library in the 6th grade. They always got caught, but they were still well loved by the student body. I was not. Not loved, not understood. I was put in that room with those kids, mostly boys. I wanted to know why. I had my rights. I demanded from Mrs. Parmalee an explanation. She didn’t have anything useful to say to me. She just wanted me to sit down. I was rebellious. I didn’t want to sit down. I wanted to know why I was in there. “You. You took me away from a class that I was peacefully coexisting in to bring me in here? Why? Drew, back me up here. Don’t we deserve some kind of reason? We can see what this class is. Why can’t you just say it? It is for all of the troublemakers, the people you think are losers, the ones that no one else wants to handle. Just say it. That’s why we are here.” “Sit down Ben. Your Schedule was changed. That is all you need to know.” I could tell she was not feeling very good about the way I was talking to her. I could tell she really didn’t want to discuss this matter any more. Making as much of a scene as possible, I sat down. I sat down and stared at Mrs. Parmalee, a personified evil. She said to get out a book. I got out a book and stared over it, right at her. She looked up occasionally over the next couple of minutes to find me, me and my devilish scowl. “Do you have a problem?” “Yes.” “Get Out.” “Why, I’m reading my book.” “Get out, now. Go down to the office and I will meet you there shortly.”

Writer's Memo:
1. I tried to write a piece about my past that exposed my frustration with my teachers. I also wanted to explore the idea of fairness and justice in schools. However, I was more successful at making teachers look evil than I was at exposing frustration.
2. I would have liked to expand the story and say what happens next. I would also have liked to reveal a little more of the setting in my middle school. I really liked the sentence structure of the piece and how jumbled it is.
3. I learned from this piece of writing that I am still quite angry about what happened to me in middle school, but I am more angry at who I was becoming if I had gone on in my rebellious ways.