I'm a pyromaniac!

In primary school, I was reading a book called 'Wicca'.

And as things go, I got obsessed with this instrument of power, the pentacle.

Oh joy, it was a pointy star within a circle, how delightful was that! How pretty! How cool! And I was special because I was the only one who knew what it was, because everyone else was reading Enid Blyton or Meg Cabot...

No! I had to tell the world about the all-mighty artefact that was the pentacle! So I put my god-given art skills (haha not) to crudely draw out a large pentacle on a piece of drawing board. And I remember frantically searching for a silver crayon. I didn't find one.

So! I made do with a grey pentacle with white highlights to simulate shiny silver! Ingenious! I had fun. I cut out the holes where holes were meant to be, and I got a very awkward looking, 20 by 20 centimetre, drawing board pentacle. And I pasted it on the class display board.

Did I tell anyone that I went to a Catholic school?

The next day, my teacher walked in. She looked at the pentacle. Her eyes bulged. And she half screamed, half squeaked, "Oi! Who put that the wall???"

And everyone went 'Tiffany!', because they had all admired it when I put it up. She screamed at me to take it down, quickly. Then she ripped it off herself, crumpled it up and tossed it into the bin. She had a good aim.

I didn't understand. All the hard work I put into a pretty pentacle, gone! I had thought she would be impressed, but instead, I spent the rest of the day looking forlorn and slightly red in the face. How could she?

What came worse: There was a Mountain of Do-Goodness on a section of the classroom. It was divided into three parts, the Very Well Behaved people, the Average People, and the delinquents. I, I was average on the morning my teacher ripped my hard work off the wall. I was torn. But by the end of the day, I was broken. Because my teacher had told someone to move my name from the Average Joe section to the Delinquent Den section. I was absolutely mortified. What had I done to demote myself? Why? Why? I was nearly to the peak, and now I was on the foot. I wept and picked up my Wicca book, hoping to cheer myself up.

My teacher confiscated the book for a week. Until I swore never to bring it to school again.

It was a catholic school, dudes. D: