James, what the hell is this??"
Mrs Amelia slapped a piece of paper onto her desk, which reminded me a bit of FBI intimidation tactics you see in Hollywood movies; the paper fluttered a bit before settling. I recognized it immediately because it was the course evaluation form from last week, you know, the anonymous one that they make you fill out once a year, asking you to be honest about it. Apparently, they lied about the anonymous part.
"That appears to be a standard course evaluation form from last week, ma'am. Notice the official school symbol and the checkbox format designed to quantify your educational experience on a scale of 1 to 5, as if you can rank it on a scale of 1 to 5-"
"I can see what it IS, smartass. I'm asking why YOU felt the need to write an essay in the section asking for feedback and comments." She jabbed a finger at the bottom half of the form, which I'd admittedly filled with significantly more text than the allotted space permitted. In my defense, they wanted me to be honest.
"The form asked for detailed feedback. I was trying to be thorough."
"Thorough." Ms. Amelia's eye twitched as she picked up the form and began reading aloud in that voice as if I had apparently committed a crime, "'the current classroom social structure encourages a hierarchy where participation grades reward performative engagement rather than genuine learning. Students who speak frequently are rewarded regardless of content quality, while those who actually think before speaking are penalized for silence. This system essentially trains us to value appearance over substance, which explains why student government elections are popularity contests. Everybody is so shallow that it honestly makes me want to jump off a cliff. In conclusion, if my evaluation changes anything, I will honestly eat my shoe or something.'"
"And exactly what is the point of you being such a smart ass??" she said as she put the paper down.
"I was just trying to give my honest feedback like the form asked for. If they wanted me to write that everything is so great and there are no problems, then they should have said so, even though that's being dishonest and undermining the agenda of the fo-"
The stack of papers hit me before I could finish my philosophical point about institutional integrity.
"Shut. Up." Mrs Amelia sat down heavily in her chair, "James, you're not wrong."
Wait, what?
"The system is flawed, participation grades ARE often superficial, the system hasn't changed even though we have been taking these surveys for four years now, you're observant and you clearly think about these things more than most students."
This was starting to sound suspiciously like a compliment, which meant a trap was coming. I'd known her for long enough to know this.
"Your problem," she continued, "is that you observe everything, criticize everything, but never actually DO anything, you just keep on complaining, and honestly that's annoying."
"In my defense, doing nothing has an excellent success rate at not making things worse."
"No wonder you don't have friends."
Ouch, that one landed clean, no warning, no buildup, just a direct hit to my sore spot. This woman was cynical, if I say so myself, and the thing with Mrs Amelia is that she did not mean to be rude or anything. What she said was the truth after all.
"Actually, I have a policy of keeping no one particularly close to me," I said, falling back on the only defense mechanism I had, being sarcastic and passing it off as a joke to save me from her judgmental words.
"Such a grand way to comfort yourself about being antisocial."
Okay, so she wasn't buying it. Fair enough.
She smiled, but it wasn't a nice smile; it was the smile of someone who'd just drawn a trap card in Yu-Gi-Oh and was waiting for you to walk into it.
"If you want things to change, you won't mind allocating some resources to the new Student Feedback Club the school has decided to make."
The words hung in the air, "The what now?"
"The administration loved your evaluation, well, not LOVED. I heard one of the teachers call you a disrespectful punk, but they agreed that student feedback should be worked upon." She pulled out an official-looking document. "And there's no way better to work on student feedback than having a club with students on it, and since you are the prime perpetrator in making this club, you are gonna be on it."
"I refuse."
"It wasn't a question, you're on it, now come with me."
I had learned the hard way that arguing with Mrs Amelia only led to more creative punishments. There was this one time, she had made me help the student council to set up an event, the student council president still gives me ugly looks to this day , which was fair since I had accidentally pointed out seventeen faults in their event planning process, which made them call me a complaining loser for some reason.
As we walked toward the committee room, a bunch of teenagers sprinted past us, radiating the kind of pointless joy only people with zero responsibilities can afford. It must be nice to actually go to a club you signed up for willingly.
Meanwhile, I was here because I made the tragic mistake of being honest on a feedback form. They preach honesty to be this supposed virtue, but only until you actually use it, then suddenly you're forced to "volunteers" for a committee with a fancy little name and instead of enjoying a normal after school life of basically doing nothing, I get to sit in a cramped room and pretend to be productive while teachers pat themselves on the back for supposed student involvement, truly, this is the peak of my youth.
"Who else is in this club?"
"One other student volunteered." Ms. Hiratsuka replied, "Try to play nice, James, and who knows? Maybe you will actually do something instead of complaining."
"Fat chance. But then again, who was I to judge? I'd written that evaluation, knowing full well nothing would change. Maybe I was just as performative as everyone else, complaining without actually believing in solutions, but at least I was self-aware about it, and that had to count for something, right?
"When exactly does this club meet?"
"Every day after school in room 2-B."
We arrived at Room 2-B within five minutes, which felt simultaneously too long and not nearly long enough. The door was already open and inside, I could see a single figure sitting by the window, backlit by afternoon sun in a way that made her seem angelically beautiful, she had long dark hair, perfect posture and eyes which would make even monks who have given up on worldly pleasures fall in love with her, she was reading an actual cloth covered novel, not manga, not a textbook but a novel.
She looked up as we entered.
"Ah, James," Mrs. Amelia said with entirely too much satisfaction. "Meet your fellow committee member, Elena Vale. I think you two will get along wonderfully."
The girl's expression didn't change, but that look on her face told me that she knew that we would not get along even if hell froze over.
"Pleasure," she said, in a tone that suggested it was anything but.
This was going to be a disaster.