One, Two, Free

To You,

It's hit me. Like a ton of bricks, to quote Hairspray.

I am psychic.

Here's the thing: I was told a few days ago that my Lit class wasn't on today, leaving me with the joys of double Maths this morning. Now, because I'm not a crazy person, I shall be dropping Maths next year, but clearly not doing it for the last four weeks of term would be MADNESS. I told my mother that going in today would be pointless, as I don't listen to my Maths teacher who, quite frankly, would be better suited to teaching a school of boring teacher wannabes. My cat is a better teacher than him, and I don't have a cat. My mother said no.

Anyway, when I got there, I said to my friend "I have a feeling Maths'll be cancelled- don't ask me how, I just know." And, lo and behold, when I got there (a little late, thanks to the brilliance of the bus company), my teacher said "If you're not doing it next year, you can go."

I'd travelled for an hour, crossing borders of counties unfathomable (Cheshire), paying £2.70 for the privilege.

I texted my mother, and she told me she was complaining to the college, although it was slightly her fault. Now I'm scared that I'll have to go back to Maths, but I'd rather sell my own skin than go back to that shithole.

Yours freely (hopefully),

M.

P.S. It was the Tony Awards the other day. I didn't win, but there's always next year.