School was boring. In art, we somehow got on the subject of drugs. Andrea asked me if I knew what a boone or a bone or somethin' was. I reply innocently, "What's a boone?"
Andrea gaped at me, Joey (the stoner) began telling me about the joint in his pocket, and Savannah shouted "WHAT?" and kind of laughed. biggrin
After school, Mrs. Towle told me how incompetant and selfish and procrastinating I am, and how the families and children were going to have to suffer because of me.
And I could only stand there, smiling gently and alternating between "Sorry" and "Yes".
biggrin
It took every single drop of self control I had in my body not to raise my hand, basking in the glory of it all, and bring it down hard on that frog face.
So then I walked to the middle school while Nick D. and Nick Parsons were walking for skiing. At first I was confused by the huge bags the skis were in. They were too long for lacrosse. Then skiing popped in my head. biggrin
Nick P. dropped back and said, "So how's the emo?"
"I'm not emo."
"Yeah, okay, I don't want you to kill me." *Nicky D. glances back at us, then up* "So Joey's really annoying you in Math?"
"He will repent for his sins dearly."
"Yeah, um, okay." *drops back to talk to someone behind me*
So then I get to the middle school and meet up with my old eighth grade teachers. Real cool. They remembered me. We talked for a couple of minutes, then I whipped out my papers and began the feeble begging.
Mr. T. decided to do it since it was math questions.
Except I forgot where I put the permission slips.
So I walked back to the high school and talked to Randi on the phone. I plotted Towle's death and screamed randomly so the skiing team looked at me a lot.
She suggested yoga since I keep everything in. Because soon I will crack.
twisted
Did Dennis's and some dude's science project.
Mingled.
I was outside when I turned around and Alina put her hand over my mouth and kissed it. I was like, "Um..." and then she did it to DJ, too.
...
COME BACK TO THE DAMN SCHOOL SHELBY!
No one's been that close to my face except for Jake when he stares at me. eek
And now three hours later I remember that the permission slips are in the plastic bag I gave Mr. T. Stupid stupid stupid.
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ASK YOURSELF in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple "I must," then build your life in accordance with this necessity..." - Rainer Maria Rilke
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