What my personal essay should have been about

When I was in my Senior year of high school one of my friend's had gotten into the habit of writing poetry. She wasn't doing it to get anywhere, it was just for yuks. My friend, Tina, had written a particular poem which she decided to hand over to the school's literary magazine that sometimes published its stuff. The only problem was she had given the poem to the magazine with no name and no title. This was unacceptable by the mag. No one knew who had written the poem except for our other friend who was on the editing panel for the magazine. We knew she'd keep her mouth shut and our plan would go into action.
Tina had been pissed off when our magazine connected friend told us they would not put the poem in without a name and title. What was she going to do? She didn't want to admit it was her because then our creepy English teacher would be all over her like moss on a tree. If there were something more disgusting, and even moss ain't that gross, I'd use that metaphor instead to describe how weird this guy was. Even I didn't like him, but it wasn't going to stop us from figuring out a way to get the piece published.
This is where I stepped in. I suggested that my name be put on the poem and I force them to take it with no title still. The group agreed, I was the hard ass, I wouldn't take shit, so my friend's piece would get recognized without her name on it and I'd get a chance to play some mind games. I felt a need to piss someone off before I graduated from my dreadful high school. This was a perfect opportunity.
I met with one of the head teachers who helped run the literary magazine. She was supposedly an "art teacher", but her craziness made her less of an artist and more of a nuisance to the students. My friends had constantly been telling me up to that point how annoying this lady was, and I too had experienced her butting into my own art business. When she and I sat down to discuss the poem I was all fired up and ready to take her head on. Give me all you got lady, I'll knock you out. The teacher told me that the poem HAD to be named. I refused. I asked what the point of naming a poem really was, and why there were so many untitlted poems, but for some reason mine could not go untitlted too. She made some bullshit excuse about the school requiring her to have all pieces named. Give me a break. I bet they care as much about this as any other person. She forced my hand and still ready to be defiant, I said the name would be "Sonnet 69". You know, 69? Even she smiled. "Umm, I think that the students of this school will find that to be offensive." which is what she said to me. My response was along the lines of, "what do you mean??? I think it's just a number". My face remained serious as could be. Come on lady..."Well, it has that meaning and the students will think of that... No, you cannot name it that." Oh really? Well, fine... "How about Sonnet 420?" 4/20, anyone? Anyone? I got her on that one, but she still made a stink, "That means you've written 420 sonnets. I am sure you have not..." Why not? Don't judge a book by it's cover deary, I could have written 420 bad poems before I got to this one. Assuming makes an ass out of you and me.
To sum it up, my friend's name remained off the pages and forever anonymous, while I got credit for her work and did my duty as a friend, protected her from the creepiness of our English teacher. Trust me, I didn't want to the credit for the poem. I just wanted to be a jerk and put my foot down once before I left that school behind forever. The poem got printed as Sonnet 420 and my friends and I still laugh about it.

Why didn't I write that?