Student
Mitch Monroe is a rash, gruff elventh grader who only appear's in a teacher's worst nightmare. Upon arriving to school perpetually late, he would disrupt classwith his grostequely loud snores and pods of drool oozing from his mouth. When asked about his assignments, Mitch is the first one to shoot his hand towards the sky and brazenly admit, " I didn't do it , Miss." Notorious for his rowdy behaviour toward his fellow students, he's even more infamous with the Principal. Constantly being told to show some respect, he seems to be incorrigible beyond recognition. That is, until he signed up for the state chess championship
Racous, was the least to say the atmosphereof the assembly hall when Mitch Monroe was called upon the stage as the Principal introduced this year's prospective champions. Among a band of elite straight A plus academics. Mitch looked oddly out of place. No surprises there for a jester with his shirt untucked, shoe laces undone, messy and overgrown facial hair.And I wondered why I had pitied him. Apparently, rumours broke out that Mitch participated to redeem himself to his teachers and family. I was sure that this was just another practical jokeof his to gain unrivalled, yet pointless attention. Mitch succeeded alright. But only because he was a loser.
Just as I had forecasted: he was hopelessly trashed by a minor chess player. Imagine what would have happened if he faced a professional player. Enough said. After lunch, Mitch returned to class where suddenly he was circled by a group of gleeful students who guffawed at him and jested. " loser" ', " attention-hog" and " wannabe". Infuriated, Mitch shouted in everyone's face and said this "Mark my words everyone. Mark my words. I am going to do whatever it takestowin this competition and you all will be sorry you ever looked down at me!" Famous last words, I presumed.
Second round beckoned the following week and oddly, I was looking forward to his arrival at the school library where the
Racous, was the least to say the atmosphereof the assembly hall when Mitch Monroe was called upon the stage as the Principal introduced this year's prospective champions. Among a band of elite straight A plus academics. Mitch looked oddly out of place. No surprises there for a jester with his shirt untucked, shoe laces undone, messy and overgrown facial hair.And I wondered why I had pitied him. Apparently, rumours broke out that Mitch participated to redeem himself to his teachers and family. I was sure that this was just another practical jokeof his to gain unrivalled, yet pointless attention. Mitch succeeded alright. But only because he was a loser.
Just as I had forecasted: he was hopelessly trashed by a minor chess player. Imagine what would have happened if he faced a professional player. Enough said. After lunch, Mitch returned to class where suddenly he was circled by a group of gleeful students who guffawed at him and jested. " loser" ', " attention-hog" and " wannabe". Infuriated, Mitch shouted in everyone's face and said this "Mark my words everyone. Mark my words. I am going to do whatever it takestowin this competition and you all will be sorry you ever looked down at me!" Famous last words, I presumed.
Second round beckoned the following week and oddly, I was looking forward to his arrival at the school library where the