"Oxen... Boxen... Meese... Potato..."
"Bria--er, Scootaloo?" Cheerily asked from her desk, "Do you mind telling the class what's on your mind?"
"IDIOT SANDWICH!" the filly blurted, throwing two slices of bread high into the air. Of which were shortly accompanied by the former sandwich's innards.
Sweetie Belle tapped her friend on the shoulder. "Wasn't that your lunch?" she whispered, ignoring the mayonnaise stains coating the ponies around them.
"AH'M A sNAaaAAAAAAaaaAAAEEEEeeEEEeekKk!" Scootaloo screeched as she sprung from her seat. Her fellow classmates yelled in shock as the filly went mad.
As Scootaloo was promptly dragged from class, (and later found to be a changeling who had happened to earlier stumble upon the Crystal Caverns), the class finally began to calm down from the chaos that their not-actually-a-classmate had wrought. However, when the real Scootaloo arrived late after a lengthy dentist's appointment, the drama yet again sparked.
"Hey Scoots!" Apple Bloom said coolly, "What happened earlier?"
Scootaloo grinned. "I gotpth mah bwases!" she beamed, showing off her mouthful of wires to the class. "Mah denthis say dath mah teef 're ath withe ath essells!"
A looming silence rolled over the class as everypony tried and failed to process what the filly had tried to say.
And more silence.
Somewhere, far, far away, a tumbleweed rolled across the desert plains. But that's not important, 'cause that thing isn't even close to where the schoolhouse is.
Scootaloo facehoofed, and began writing a note. Said note was then handed down her row, even though it was completely unnecessary. Why? Because ~~the author isn't all that great at comedy anymore and needs filler.~~ reasons.
At last, the young filly's note arrived at its destination in the form of a paper airplane stuck in Cheerilee's mane. The mare let out a long, drawn sigh before plucking the note from her head.
"I, Scootaloo of the Great Chicken Herders of beyond, have been gifted with a miraculous device known locally as 'braces', by which I now currently use to straighten my teeth. My dentist has complimented my aforementioned teeth as a 'gleaming set of chompers that look incredibly similar to eggshells in color and texture'."
A low murmur washed over the class, followed by a series of nods. Then, a single hoof raised from the crowd.
"But-- but if you were at the dentist, then why were you here just a few minutes ago?" Pipsqueak asked, "You were saying a whole bunch of crazy stuff earlier, remember?"
Scootaloo raised a brow in confusion. The thump! of her former imposter against the window was all it took to clear it up.
"Oh, uh, hi, Scoots." the changeling chirped nervously, "I kinda inhaled some shiny crystals earlier and felt all funny... but I'm better now!"
"There she is! Get back in that hospital, you! You're still recovering!"
"Whoops! gotta fly now. See ya later!"
Just as before, the entire class stood completely silent, staring at the little shapeshifter as she flew into the distance.
"Ey, come back here!"
Cheerilee turned back to the class and cleared her throat. "Um..." she began, staring at the wildly distracted class, "Oh! Quiz time!"
The class groaned like a horde of zombies.
Sweetie Belle precariously eyed the piece of paper that now sat on her desk. It was simple, really. Just a few multiplication and division problems. Except math was currently the last thing on the filly's mind. In addition...
A small pile of dirt found its way onto the corner of Sweetie's paper.
"Whooffs!" Scootaloo squeaked, picking up the spilled cup of dirt. "Welf. There blfows mah planth ah was grorins."
Sweetie rolled her eyes. Just a tiny bit, mind you, Scootaloo was her friend, anyways. Besides, only the corner of the pape--
Okay now, voice inside Sweetie Belle's head, you can shut up now.
...
ANYWAYS...
2x9 = [____]
It was a simple multiplication problem, one the filly had done many times before. The only problem now, however, was that she now found herself drawing Scootaloo's cup of dirt on the answer box.
Also, a question concerning pony anatomy had entered her mind as she watched Apple Bloom grasping her pencil with a hoof. How does hoof grip work?
Sweetie Belle turned to the side. The other colts and fillies in class were using their mouth, with some using levitation if they had the ability to.
As the filly continued with her ongoing debate over equine anatomy in her mind, she failed to notice the other foals around her completing their worksheets, and promptly returning them to Cheerilee.
And alas, it was exactly at this moment, that Sweetie Belle finally realized: She f
cked up.
"Wait-- no!" Sweetie cried out as Cheerilee came down the aisle, collecting the remaining papers.
"Time's up, class! Hopefully tomorrow we'll be able to get more done without any distractions..."
In her state of panic, the young unicorn also managed to somehow miss the fact that Cheerilee had just blindly plucked Sweetie Belle's paper from the desk, completely unfinished.
That simple action by itself would be an atrocity able to make Twilight Sparkle herself pass out. And it just happened.
Rarity sat daintily by the window-- the way a "proper" lady should... (um... her words, not mine). In her lap sat a freshly drawn design for a new line of fall sweaters. And maybe a cardboard cutout of Spike with some paper doll clothing taped onto him.
A loud "THUMP!" in the direction of her mailbox reminded her that Sweetie Belle's report card was arriving today.
The mare left her designs on a nearby table (and hid the Spike cutout under her fainting couch), and made her way towards the door. She squinted in the bright midday glare of the window before donning a pair of sunglasses, and head outside. A brief minute of collecting mail from the once-again toppled mailbox, and the task was done. A mental reminder was also made to later "Derp-proof" her mailbox.
Sifting through the various envelopes an amazing assortment of varied articles passed her eyes. Namely, bills, bills, coupons for Mallmart, bills, the 758th forced apology letter from Prince Blueblood, more bills, and finally... Sweetie Belle's report card.
"Hrm." she mumbled as she cut open the envelope-- she wasn't one to simply tear it open, unlike some ruffians. Soon enough, Rarity found herself skimming through her sister's grade, and once more, ignoring the school's complaints about how Rarity had signed herself in as her sister's legal guardian.
"A, B, B, --Oh my, a F--, and A..." she mouthed, her eyes skipping up and down the list of subjects and grades, "I'll have to ask her about this later..."
Sweetie Belle pranced into her room, oblivious to the fact that Rarity had read her report card. It had been a pretty great, albeit strange, day for the filly, and to her, nothing would bring her down.
At least, that's how she felt until Rarity knocked sternly on her door.
"Sweetie, dear, would you please come out and discuss your grades with me?"
"..."
Sweetie Belle debated on whether or not she should jump out her currently open window into the bushes below. She didn't.
"Um... okay?" she replied, opening the door. "I-is it bad?"
Rarity faked a smile. "Oh, you'll see, Sweetie."
"An A for language arts, that's good." Sweetie mumbled as she read through her card, "B's for science and history..."
Her eyes shrunk to pinpricks as she turned her focus to her math grade.
"An F?!" she squealed, "This is BS!"
"SWEETIE!" Rarity scolded, "A young filly like you does not use that kind of language!"
"I--I don't know what happened..." Sweetie sniffed in reply, "Sorry..."
Rarity's mood softened. "It's alright, dear. Now, tell me, do you have any idea how you might've gotten this grade?"
"Um..."
Sweetie Belle grunted as she eyed her third math quiz of the week.
2x5 = [___]
A) 10
B) 7
C) 3
D) None of the above
Smirking, the filly circled "D", and did so for every following question.
"Yeah..." Sweetie groaned as she buried her face in her hooves, "I think I got a little bit too annoyed with Ms. Cheerilee..."
Rarity put a hoof on her sister's shoulder. "It's alright," she began, "We can talk it over with your teacher tomorrow. Alright, dear?"
Sweetie Belle nodded, not saying a word.
Author's Note
Oh goody boy, I've surely memed up this story enough to be readable, right? Right?
I still feel like my comedy has been getting rusty over the past couple months...
Also, this story as a whole just felt kinda off while I was writing it, but I just don't know how. 
In the order that they're referenced:
Boxen
I'm a Snake
Cup of Dirt
And at this moment, he knew... he f*cked up.
