A Lesson in Autonomy Class

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.


I pricked my finger for the third time and cursed myself for signing up for autonomy class. It sounded perfect for a nerdy guy who didn't know anything beyond his books. Want to learn life skills? Try Autonomy. Learn how to change a tire, patch your own clothes, how to take a punch. Sign up now! Only thirteen students may enroll due to the course structure.

A girl I didn't know, Jenny? Jaime? Suddenly laid the shirt she was working on atop her desk and announced, “My mom says that you're teaching us gendered oppression and that I don't have to learn it if I don't want to.”

Mr. Bazzie walked over to her, the legs of his jeans scratching against each other. He collected her spool of thread and needle. “Congratulations, you receive an F for the day. You may sit quietly and watch what everyone else is doing and possibly learn something that way, or you can go to the principal's office and wait there for your next class.”

“I'm telling my mother about this.”

"Okay."

As he walked away, she whispered, "Prick."


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Comments (1 so far!)

ElshaHawk LoA

ElshaHawk LoA

Well, A for self-advocacy, C for originality because she is following her mother's opinions, which might also lower her self-advocacy score.., and F for participation in the class. Why'd she sign up anyway?

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