Math Words

It's not easy surviving high school! My name is Isabella Polygon , and this is not your average skew story. I am what the upperclassmen call "freshmeat", and today is the day that we freshman fear most at Scalene High School; freshman Friday. On this once a year occasion the freshman can scarcely be seen around campus; however, my friend Collinear dared me to go. If I do so I get gum for a year and the respect of my fellow classmates. The slope from my house to the school was adjacent, so I made a plan. At school, I stumbled upon a teacher who was on a tangent to another teacher about these festivities. Running into the girls' bathroom, I ran straight into Shelby Capoletti. She was a popular junior with all the right proportions, and she was well aware of it. She grinned menacingly at me as her friends picked me up and duct taped me to the bisector of the door. As the bell rang I used my foot to bring me my backpack, and grabbed the scissors using my mouth. I made a transversal cut and freed myself from that sticky trap in time to get to my first period class. I opened the door to see that I was the orthocenter of every aimed water gun. Unfortunately this was geometry and the ratio of freshman to upperclassmen was one to twenty. Each gun was congruent in size and in water amount. At the end of the period I came out looking like a drenched cat. After enduring the other two periods it was a tiny relief to hear the lunch bell ring. I had been tripped, pinched, tickled, hit with many things, and my sense of altitude was thrown off. The cafeteria was equidistant to the nurse's office. With the temptation of faking ill so strong, I clambered onward to the lunch room. I learned many things that first day. First, never trust the senior quarterback. I considered him acute guy until he threw me into a garbage can. Second, a sandwich may seem normal but make sure to check what's in there. Third, if faking the whole "I'm a sophomore" scenario make sure you are equilateral in looks and smarts. Last but not least, never dump chili into midsegment of seniors pants, they will not be happy. My theorem is to never be only centroid that goes to school on freshman Friday.