I am Tom, 17 years of age. I am studying at YYHS, an institute which self-claims to be the greatest high school under the sun. There are innumerable smart students here in this school. Getting straight A’s in middle school a breeze, I had no pressure then. In contrast, now I am stressed out.

Life here could not be more boring. I am supposed to rise at 6.10 every morning. Morning reading starts in the classroom at 6.30. A lazy guy, I normally procrastinate in bed after music starts playing on the BS prompting us to get up, and I do not leap out of bed until 6.20. I have to be in the classroom by 6.25. It is crazy to cut it so fine, but I have to. For one thing, ten more minutes of sleep is precious. For another, being late for school would incur punishment and rebuke.

I have four lessons in the morning and three in the afternoon. Most of lunch break is devoted to maths assignments in the classroom. After supper, there are three evening classes awaiting us, the last of which ends at 10 pm. This pattern of life stays the same, day in day out, for three years. To be honest, sometimes I do feel like escaping from the rut once and for all. That way, I could go anywhere I wanted and pursue my interest. I think that would be a good idea, but so far, I have not tried it out.

To counterbalance the mind-numbing existence, luckily, I have got three special teachers. They are Mr W, Mr P and Mr Z.

Mr W is my English teacher. He often narrates to us some inspiring stories in English about Chinese teenagers in class. Some of the stories were created by us; most by his former students. Listening to the stories, we cannot help but laugh while reflecting upon our own life. For his fantastic storytelling talents, we dubbed him Veteran Driver. It is not a derogatory title, though, for Mr W is a knowledgeable man.

Mr P is my maths teacher. Young and intelligent, he does maths so fast that we nicknamed him Mr Pilot. Answering a question, the teacher usually goes like a shot. If we turn to Mr P for help with a maths problem, his standard response is, “This question is very easy so I will not answer it. Use your head, boy, and you will work it out in time.” Treated by Mr P this way, I feel like kicking him in the ass. As time went by, however, I got used to it. Using my own head has served me well. My maths grade is much higher than before. Better still, Mr P assigns less maths homework to us than his colleagues to their students.

Most senior of the three, Mr Z is my physics teacher. Like Mr W the English master, he has loads of experience in driving, too, that is storytelling. Mr Z’s tales often contain great wisdom in them. One of his signature phrases is, “When you do a job, it should have a head and a tail.” I used to give up halfway through a physics problem. Presenting my answer, I used to leave out an intro and a conclusion. Thanks to Mr Z, I have formed the habit of seeing my assignments through. And I never forget to include in my solution a beginning and an end.

The three teachers are unorthodox, but I do learn a lot from them. Therefore, to them I owe gratitude.

Life here is boring and interesting. The monotonous groove I have been stuck in could have wiped out my curiosity, but thanks to the three wise masters, as well as my kind handsome classmates, life here is still well worth living.