Author's Note: I know, I have like a million stories going on, but I had this idea and thought it'd be fun. This is just the prologue. From here on out, it'll be journal entry style with comments and such. I hope you guys like it! Also, I can't really think of a good title, so if you have an idea for a better one, leave a review about it! For now, this will be the title. :P
We sat in homeroom, comparing schedules. English, Economics, Calculus, Physics, French, Psych, and Glee. A grin slid across my face. "We have all the same classes this year," I piped, handing Blaine back his schedule. He gave me a super star smile as he tucked his schedule into his notebook.
"We're lucky then. This year is going to rock. It has to make up for last year," Blaine said, tapping his hands on his notebook excitedly. After New Directions loss at Nationals last year, everyone has been chanting 'this year has to make up for last year'. We have to win this year, especially since there's no one in any classes below us in glee. This is the last shot any of us have.
The bell let out a shrill ring and we shoved off to our first class of the year, English. Our old English teacher retired last year, so it was some new teacher. She had jagged brown hair and green eyes; full of excitement since this was probably her first class she's ever taught on her own.
"Go ahead and sit wherever you'd like," she said happily, picking up composition books on her desk. Blaine and I quickly grabbed a table in the back, excited for this class since new teachers always had something fun to do, until he came in. The giant Neanderthal who ran me out of McKinley last year. Karofsky.
"Hey homos," he said, pushing Blaine's notebook on the floor. Blaine picked up his notebook, and let it roll off his back. We both knew we could handle whatever he threw at us, as long as we were together.
Once everyone was sitting down and quiet, our new teacher began her speech.
"Hi everyone. I'm Miss. Brown, and I'm going to be your English/Literature teacher," she started, making a / with her hand when she said that. "Alright, so I'm going to pass out your syllabuses first, and while I'm doing that, I'm going to explain my class a bit," she handed out small packets while she talked. "Every nine weeks you will be required to have read two books of choice independently and to do one of the options categorized on the syllabus. You can only use one category for the entire year though, so choose wisely. It doesn't matter when you have the project done, as long as both are completed by the end of the nine weeks."
On the list were normal things like a book review, a report, an essay pertaining to a topic in the book, a poem. But, then there were the more interesting things. Perform an oral interpretation, paint or sketch a scene from the book and explain, sing/perform a song that has to do with the book and explain, write a screenplay version of a scene in the book. This actually sounded like it could be an interesting class.
"We will also be reading plays and books in class, but there will probably be only one of those a nine weeks. We will be covering things like poetry, art in the literature world, and yes, we will have a section on music lyrics. But, in order for us to do these things, we also have to do grammar and talk about how to write formal letters and other boring things that you know how to do, but I'm required to reteach," she said, still sounding enthusiastic as she stood in front of the class and smacked her hand on her composition notebooks.
"Most of your grade, however, will be from these babies. Yes, they are journals. I want you to write anything in them, about anything. It could be about your day, a poem, anything. If you just feel compelled to write, go on ahead. You need to fill one of these by the end of the semester. However, here's the catch. You will have a notebook partner throughout the entire year, and they will be allowed to comment on what you've written," she said, voice getting a little more serious. "I want you all to be as truthful and raw as you can possibly be in these, with the promise that everything in these will be kept in these and these alone, unless there is reason for either your partner or me to believe that someone may become injured because we withheld the information. That being said, when you comment on something that someone has written, you are to be kind. If I read any abuse in these, you'll be taking my class next year. This notebook is fifty percent of your grade. It should be easy, since all you have to do is write."
I looked at Blaine, thinking about how good this would be for our relationship. It would make it so we could talk about things that might offend the other, but not drag it out into our lives. It'd make everything more open.
She started passing out a journal to every other person in the class. The composition books were completely white on both sides, and seemed like they were made of cardboard or something.
"I want everyone who has a notebook in front of them now to write their name on the front cover. If you want, you can decorate the front later, but right now we need to set this up. When you finish, I'll take them," she said, walking over to people who already had their names on them and picking them up off the desk.
"Your hand writing is going to make mine look bad," Blaine joked as I handed my journal to Miss. Brown. She smiled, like she knew something we didn't.
"Do I have everyone's journals?" she asked. Everyone gave some sort of sound that was supposed to represent 'yes', and then she started passing them out again, only to the people who didn't get one last time. "People who are receiving one now, write your name on the back of the journal. The person who has their name on the front will write on the front of pages, and the person with their name on the back will write on the back pages. Comments will be written on sticky notes, available at your local drug store, or on my desk," she said somewhat sarcastically near the end.
I closed my eyes and hoped that Blaine got mine. I opened them excitedly when I heard one drop on our desk, only to be disappointed.
Rachael Berry *insert gold star here*
"Really?" I grumbled. Of course he'd get Rachael's.
"Now, go sit next to the person whose name is on the cover. These are your assigned seats for the year."
Blaine got up and sat next to Rachael in the front, while the rest of the class shifted around. I froze as I watched the 'partner' walk towards me, carrying the journal with my name on it. He slammed it on the table and sat down next to me.
"I'd better get an A on this," Karofsky said angrily.