A Class.

It was an extremely hot Thursday in July. We woke up early at 6:20 AM as usual, prepared for the Secondary School Admission Test which was only 10 days later.

“What is the first class?” Milin asked me.

“Politics,” I responded.

“Damn it! Should we memorize the things we learned yesterday?”

“No, the teacher didn’t tell us to do that.”

Milin cheered, because he was feeling happy about the day. It was going to be such a good day without memorizing all the annoying stuff. We finally got to take a day off. However, things were not always what you thought.

The teacher came in when the clock ticked at 7:00. She was my politics teacher who was nearly 50 years old, the wrinkles on her face looked extremely scary with no emotion on her face.

“Take out your paper to write down the text you learned yesterday,” she asked.

“WHAT?” Milin said loudly.

“Write the text from the book down,” Teacher said again without looking at him.

The class became silent or it was when she stepped into the room. We took out our paper and began to write. However, we did not memorize anything. How could we write?  We muttered and cursed the teacher to die, but then a voice shocked us.

“Fuck you!”

It was not loud, but it was especially sharp in this silent class. It was Milin. The teacher rushed to his seat, began shouting at him. “What did you say? Fuck you? What do you wanna do? YOU fuck off!” She looked at him with a distort emotion and slammed at Milin’s face strongly. Milin’s faces flamed. He suddenly stood up, spit at her and walked out of the classroom with our gaze of astonishment.

“FUCK YOU!” He yelled back.