Crack 1
The Crack-filled Life of Huang Zitao
“Uggg, what is life,” Huang Zitao groans as he sits in his room at a desk doing Chemistry homework that he can’t figure out how to do for the life of him. Tao, a junior in high school, is currently experiencing a bunch of bull known at school as ‘preparation for college’, a time to be feared if you’re one of the lazy s that just gets by with barely any studying.
Unfortunately for Tao, he belongs to the aforementioned category. But it wasn’t his fault, of course! Oh no, no, no. It’s not his fault that the genes his parents passed on to him didn’t give him a photographic memory or even an affinity for numbers. Numbers and science in particular, Tao the most at.
“Quantum energy can my ,” he mumbles to himself as he repeatedly taps his pencil on the wooden surface of the desk. For the next half hour, Tao uses Google to his advantage and completes his five worksheets quickly. There’s a knock on his door, “Come in,” he says politely.
His mother walks in with a glass of water and sets it down next to him.
“It’s late,” she says, “How are you doing on your homework?”
“It’s all good,” he says, picking up the glass of water and taking a sip. Tao’s mother crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows with a smile wrinkling her face.
“Mmmhm. Is that so? Is that why you have Yahoo Answers up on your laptop screen looking up the answers to your worksheets?”
Dammit, Tao thinks. “Hahaha, you’re funny Mom, what Yahoo Answers?” he says as he not so slyly closes out of the window only to then reveal his Girl’s Generation screensaver.
Stealth level: 0.
His Mom only laughs, “My son is such a fanboy.” Tao puts on his unamused face, and his mother coughs and smooths out her skirt.
“Anyway,” she says, “I came here to suggest something. Why don’t you get a Chemistry and Math tutor or something? I know you don’t like your teachers at school, so maybe if you find a friend or someone who’d be willing to tutor you would be better. Someone around your age. Do you think that’s a good idea?”
Tao listens to her words and realizes he's never really thought about it before. He wasn’t all that enthusiastic about having to take extra time for tutoring when he could be sleeping, but hey, he needs to get his together and pull up his grades or he’ll never become the man he wants to become! That is, the kind of manly man that works as a Gucci designer. Seriously, how much manlier can you get?
Okay, so maybe Tao isn't really serious about the whole Gucci designer thing, he just has a teensy bit of an obsession, nothing big. And by obsession I mean rows of $75 colognes, leopard print jackets, and tight pants decorating the walls of his all too impressive wardrobe collection. And of course, you can't complete such a fabulous collection without designer sunglasses to frame his beautiful face. Such a fashionista.
His Dad actually wants him to follow in his footsteps and be a neurosurgeon, but come on now. Lezbereal. If that ever did on the off chance happen, Tao is sure there would be a 99% chance of him somehow accidentally disconnecting the brain from the spinal cord. He doesn't even know if it's actually possible to do that unless you have the brain of a turtle, but he's still 99% sure it's possible. Because he's Tao, and he's known for being the snazziest wushu master there ever was except for the fact he's academically uncoordinated. Poor child can barely pass his Pre-calc class. But then again maybe he'd do better if he didn't spend all math class taking limitless selfies. One time his teacher literally torpedoed a piece of chalk at his face because the duck face was just one selfie too far.
His mother says goodnight and Tao shuts his laptop. He flops into bed and burrows into his covers saying goodnight to the world and closing his eyes with a refreshed smile. That is, until, he remembers the Pre-calc test he has tomorrow, which he completely brushes the thought of off, but not without having pleasant dreams fantasties of burning down his school, dramatic maniacal laughter resounding from some unknown figure from up above.
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