Your source for everything that’s not happening in Freshman IB
Volume 1, Issue 1
You Know You’re in Freshman IB When. . .
•A test in every class in one day doesn’t scare you.
•You distract yourself in your two math classes by playing games on your calculator.
•Multitasking comes naturally to you.
•Procrastination comes naturally to you.
•The homework’s due in less than twelve hours . . . but you still haven’t started nine out of the ten pages.
•Lunch is a prime location to do homework or study for the test next period.
•The bus is a prime location to do homework or study for the test next period.
•Your bus is essentially silent in the morning. You have to get some sleep outside of class, after all.
•You stopped listening in Chemistry in first Quarter.
•A sticker on the test you just got back excites you.
•You’re eternally prejudiced against young, blonde teachers.
•The sight of pink elbows will forever give you nightmares of communists forcing you to color maps until your fingers bleed. After which you will be forced to write paragraphs that will be graded holistically.
•News of Nelson Wintringham’s tenth girlfriend this year doesn’t surprise you.
•Fanta is the Elixir of Life.
Rumor has it. . .
The first wave of standardized testing has ended, and Freshman IB is breathing a collective sigh of relief. Well, not really, since for most of them it was cake, but that’s beside the point. A few have been hospitalized from the stress of having a week of tests followed by the FCAT. Those who were unable to complete the test in the allotted time (thus defying the expectation for IB students to finish within a half an hour) were kicked out of the program, effective immediately.
After the test, a game of blackjack in the “M” homeroom resulted in the loss of various mp3 players and cell phones. Though the betting of Rachel Metras was at first assumed to be a joke, Jake Mullery still waits to collect his winnings.
Several who were forced to take their tests in the Science buildings have gathered to campaign for more comfortable stools. Unfortunately, most students asked to sign their petition said that when the school could get enough money to supply the bathrooms with soap, they would start caring about butt-bruising stools. The group gave up hope at hearing this, due to the extreme unlikelihood of a sanitary public bathroom.
Another group was gathered for a much less practical purpose: figuring out how to spell “yiff niff.” Headed by Luis Soto, the group was consulting various English teachers and even trying to contact the writer of the short story in order to discern the spelling of the imaginary word. Maya Meredith, Freshman IB’s presiding Grammar Hitler, was approached for a spelling suggestion, but she insisted that the cause was just too stupid to lend her name to it.