Highlights of 8th Grade English

One of the fun parts of packing for college is that I've been going through every thing I own. This includes schoolwork, straight back through 8th grade, when I first started saving things. I guess I get sentimental about anything I pour that much time into, which, in my opinion, certainly makes sense.

I found a brief graphic memoir from that year. The scanner isn't exactly functional at the moment, so y'all are going to have to cope with me transcribing the visuals as well.

Frame 1: "MOON" [image of a crescent moon, identical to the one in Starry Night, which was above my desk even then], "By Tessa"


Frame 2: "Gym class: it's some people's favorite time of day, but for others, it's a NIGHTMARE! "(Nightmare is written in squiggly, scary looking letters)

Frame 3: "I am a member of the second group"

Frame 4: [Figure labeled 'me' is in a push up position, with lots of wobbly lines around her arms. A male figure is next to me, also in the pushup position, with no squiggly lines. A teacher stands nearby, labeled "too fit teacher"]. The teacher is saying "Down! Up! One!" I'm thinking "But I can't get up!" and the other student is thinking "this is FUN"

Frame 5: "You'd think I'd at least have friends to complain with, but no! All I had was Barbie!" [I'm sitting with my knees drawn up to my chest while a ponytailed girl, presumably Barbie stands angrily next to me, arms folded. Two other girls are standing nearby with their arms around each other's shoulders]. "Oh my god! Did you see Tessa's shorts? Eww!" says the speech bubble for one of the friends. Barbie is saying "Gosh, Tessa! You only ran 5.8 miles! You were supposed to run 5.86. I'll have to tell Mrs. M!" "The teacher's pet was my new BFF," reads the caption at the bottom.

Frame 6: "I asked the guidance counselors to switch my class." [Three heads, in imitation of the gifted students's counselor, the general 8th grade counselor, and the one counselor I was actually comfortable talking to, were interspersed with the following text] "no no no no no no NO no no NO!"
"I was stuck." (the last is in a nested frame at the bottom right).

Frame 7: "So one day in March" [Mrs. M stands with a basketball under her arm]. Her speech bubble reads "Run around the really big field!"

Frame 8: [An aerial view of the field is shown. One fast person is out front, indicated by a circle with a bunch of lines trailing behind it. The rest of the class is in a large pack. Barbie and Me are both labeled near the end]. Barbie's thought bubble snakes out behind her and reads "Gosh, Tessa, I <3 Mrs. M. Do you think she'll give me an A+?" My thought bubble reads "AHH!"

Frame 9: [I've caught up to the rest of the group. My thought bubble reads "Yes! I lost her." There's a trio of boys immediately in front of me surrounded by the words "Do it!", "Dude!", "Yeah!", "Dude!". In front of them, the pair of mean girls from before are surrounded by "giggle!" and "hahaha."]

Frame 10: "Then, the guy in front of me moons me! (and everyone else behind him)." [the three boys have turned to two. One of them has the waistband of his gym shorts below a behind that has been censored by a black starburst]

Frame 11: "My poor eyes!" [An eye is illustrate]. "That was something I NEVER wanted them to see!"

Frame 12: My face turned bright red [a blushing girl with shoulder length hair (the same me I'd drawn the rest of the time) is shown]

Frame 13: I jog past the two boys. My thought bubble reads "Maybe if I run fast enough they won't notice me." The friend of the mooner, though, has the speech bubble "Man! Did you see her FACE?" Nested in the bottom right of the frame is "Oh well."

Frame 14: "I got back first. Mrs. M hadn't even seen. Not that I said anything--I was too embarrassed."

Frame 15: "The image had been seared into my brain. I was scarred forever." [a thought bubble of the butt, still censored]

Frame 16: "I told the kids on my bus after school." [My younger sister, my friend, and our neighbor with his emo haircut sit listening to me. I look despondent.] My speech bubble reads "And then...he mooned me."

Frame 17: "The thought it was FUNNY!" [Five giggling heads are scattered around the frame in various directions, including Mr. Emohair. They are surrounded by a very large number of "Ha"s]. "They were rolling on the floor."

Frame 18: "No one understands my traumatic experience." [I stare out the window of the bus, grumpily]

Frame 19: A small image of a crescent moon on a dark background.

Eeenteresting

I don't know if I've ever mentioned this, but I absolutely love babysitting elementary-school aged children. There are few things as wonderful as being paid to watch TV or do my homework after they've gone to bed. And even before the kids crash, they generally make perfectly good conversation. Aside from that, making $90 on a Saturday night is totally worth missing a night out with friends.

I saw that nasty substitute teacher who I saw on a flight to Florida at the deli near my house. This was the second time I'd done so. Let me just say that I will never, ever be happy to see her. Never never never.

I'm trying to work out the order of dorms for my housing lottery form. I have a paper to read for internship that I really need to actually read. I have some free time on my hands and very little to fill it with.

I have a lot.

The actual Thiel Fellows got announced a few days ago.  I suspect that they were going to have 25, and I wasn't replaced, but perhaps not. 24 is a nice round number in its own way. I don't feel that I regret the decision I made---I wasn't ready, and I recognize that. Unlike some people (I kind of want to make a comment about Jeff here), I've been trying not to let all of this go to my head, though I'm uncertain as to whether I've succeeded. I suppose if I'd actually taken the Fellowship, and I'd spent recent days giving interviews and whatnot, I'd probably be even worse in the arrogance department than I am now.

I'm trying to figure out how many pegs college will knock me down. I know it'll be hard, but how hard? Hard enough that I should take regular-level multivariable calc? I've been looking at the psets, though, and they're manageable. I'm thinking I might not work during the days this summer. I won't make that much money in comparison to what I already have, and there are too many productive things I want to do.

I want to make those black box cost estimates I was told would be a good idea. I also want to use the online resources to teach myself the difference between this year's multivariable calculus and 18.02 (yeah, the school anonymity thing is totally not working out), because I'd like to try to ASE out. I think that, given the fact that I only have a month, those are sufficient goals. One is less structured, one is much more regimented, but I like it, and I like the idea of spending my days learning. And the fact that my parents are buying me a laptop saves me the equivalent sum of money to what I would have spent buying one.

So, on the whole, I think it's a good idea, and I think the productivity will mean more to me in the long run than the extra cash (my savings have been doing pretty well after this year, despite the rather large crash-related hit).

These are my plans. They may not be grand, but I think they'll be just as good.

The Silent Boy

The first part of a story that will hopefully grow longer:

When he was born, nobody heard his cries.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

In November, Lana found(knew) that she was pregnant. She told her husband David. He rejoiced. They held each other and were happy.

In March, the small swell between her breasts and her hips began to grow. She rounded like an overripe balloon. Her husband stood behind her, her back pressed against his front. He pushed(slid) under her shirt, splaying(spreading fanning stretching) his fingers across. The fetus(baby child) kicked. He felt it. She smiled.

In April, the kicking stopped. David lay for hours with his ear on Lana's watermelon(cantaloupe) stomach. She shook and swore that she was feeling the rumble of a body inside her, but David could not hear it, could not see it, could not feel it.

In May, Lana was kicked and David was nothing. He(they) touched to make him feel it, made love to make him feel it within her. She shook and David was empty. The ultrasound moved but the heart was missing.

In June, David argued with the obstetrician. He wanted the baby gone before Lana felt the pain.

Lana refused to believe that the baby was dead. She swore that she would try to nurse the dead child before she let him be put in the ground, swore that his life remained.

David cried for the sadness that Lana would feel.

In July, Lana went into labor. David rushed her to the hospital. The way a good husband(father) should. Lana pushed for a day and half a night.

In August, the other half of the night came, fast and hard. David held her hand, and she screamed the silent scream of the undead. The baby came. His mouth fell open as the medic held the child in his sterile arms. The baby shook ore than a dead child should. David hater of horror cringed at the sight.

Lana held open her arms. She reached for the child. When he touched her skin, Lana began to shake again, as his cries sounded behind her ears. She put him to her breast. He squabbled closer to nurse, and his little mouth began to work.

Only Lana heard him as he sucked her tit(teat breast).

David put a hand on his wife, a finger brushing the child to ask her to give in to death. When his hand came down, he heard it to, the suck suck sucking of a silent mouth.

When Lana and David brought Christopher home, they held him always, for as soon as they put him down, his cries vanished.

In September, in October, in forever, Christopher grew.

Me? Tired? Nooooo

Cast of characters:

Dill, a crazy libertarian who thinks very highly of himself.

Livny, who we all know and love (or not, depending).

Stratton, who is secretly in love with Livny and only pretending to be straight (note: most guys here are in love with Livny. It is among the funniest things in the world).

Harold, who is a counselor.

Setting:

First floor lounge, some time after one in the morning.

Dill: I can bench.

Livny: Really? You can bench. *laughs at Dill's inferiority*

Dill: I do! I'm good.

Stratton: Hey, everybody, look at Dill.

Dill: I bench 160.

Livny: Oooh, 160.

Stratton: Check out Dill, he's totally jacked.

Dill: Hey!

Stratton: Look at those muscles. Ohhhh, man.

Dill: 160 is a lot.

Livny: Yeah, 160 is decent, I suppose. *looks at Dill, sizing him up* A bit of a stretch, but still in the range of plausibility.

Tea: 160...that's like me and two babies.

Livny, Stratton ignore Tea completely, Harold laughs, and Dill jumps.

Dill: Oh my god!

Tea: What?

Dill: I had no idea you were there!

Tea: Oh. Hi?

Dill: Yeah...

The Whole Extended Shebang

The Prompt:

Take Me To the River

For your final assignment of the year, I'd like to give you a chance to play some more with language and here, fiction. Like Twain, you'll create a picaresque/episodic short story that includes at least two (more if you like) shorter stories, based in some way on your freewrites over the past weeks, woven together by geographical motif and by some theme. If none of these will work, you're welcome to create new episodes.

To assemble this, then you might consider all of your freewrites, or a tleast their spirit, and how they might work together. Let your brain go loose, and thread through your thinking your geographical place- or another just as familiar and evocative. You might attemplt a classic, satiric, picaresque anti-hero; the most true picaro ranks low in social class and grapples with a corrupt society. Then again, you might now. Up to you.

You'll have noticed that Twain doesn't make a huge attempt to transition gently into his episodes; that's characteristic of picaresque fiction that you'll find in novels like Moll Flanders and Tom Jones and Candide. You also should feel free to shift somewhat abruptly, so long as your geographical location smooths the way and your overarching theme is present. Notice I didn't say obvious. We don't want to hit with a two-by-four!

Your tone can swing; consider how Twain's tone moves from the lyrical description of nights on the river to his rolloicking narration of Huck's attempt at disguising himself as a girl. In the same way your piece might move from clearly autobiographical, non-fictional pieces to those that are just as clearly fictional- or at least hyperbolized or altered significantly.

Tina and I sat at the counter in her living room, a counter that looked rather like a bar, and could have been convincingly said to be one, if shot from the right angle, provided that Tina and I were not spinning the seats around and around, kicking each other with each rotation, laughing from the sheer joy of being seven years old and happy.

After a few more spins I was clutching the counter. "I'm dizzy," I said.

"I'm," she said, turning once more before kicking her feet out and stopping against my chair. "Not. But I can stop."

"Good."

"You always get dizzy first."

"I don't get as much practice."

"No, you're a dizzy monster."

"A what?"

"A dizzy monster!" Tina hopped from the stool, picked up a discarded dress-up scarf, and began to twirl in circles again. "Blerrrgh." She attempted to grumble the sound in the back of her throat. She twirled over to me and pulled at my arms; unlike her, my feet were only inches from the ground, so I easily joined her motion.

"I'm a dizzy monster," I said.

"Oh no! Don't make me dizzy."

"I will too!"

"No you won't! I don't get dizzy. I'm magic."

"I'm magic. I'm a monster."

"Monsters can't talk."

As always, I went with her rules. "Blergonna eat youarghh."

"That's talking."

I stopped spinning. "I don't like not talking."

She stopped too. "Fine. Let's make a song."

"Do we have to?"

"Yes."

"What kind of song?"

Tina started to sing. "We are on a boat."

"Sailing on the sea," I said, repeating her melody.

"Lots of waves."

"I'm getting dizzy."

She gave me a dirty look before continuing. "I'm on a boat."

"We did this part already."

"Sing!"

"No."

"Fine. Let's play a game."

"What game?"

"You can pick."

"I can?"

"Sure."

"Let's play orphans."

"But we always play orphans."

"We can play escaping orphans."

"Only if we actually get to escape."

"We'll see."

"We have to escape!"

"You can't decide in the beginning!"

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Fine. Outside?"

"Okay."

We went through the door behind the bar and lay down on the patio.

"Guess what," said Tina.

"What?"

"My butt hurts."

"That's 'cause you're an orphan."

"No, it's cause I need to fart."

"Tina, you're ruining it!"

She blew raspberries, then, in an attempt to create louder noise, she brought her forearm to her mouth.

"Tina, The Giant will hear!"

"I'm not Tina, I'm Annie."

"You're always Annie."

"That's cause it's the best name."

"I want to be Annie."

"Annie isn't tall. You're Mary."

"How come Mary is tall?"

"Stop arguing, The Giant will hear."

I decided it was time for us to wake up. I reached over and poked her.

"What?"

"The Giant isn't here, we should escape."

"Okay, let's go."

She crawled to the edge of the patio and then began to roll down the grass. I sat at the edge, indecisive. She stopped, sat up. "Come on!"

"I don't think I'm supposed to roll."

"Why not?"

"I'm just not."

"But you're too big. He'll see you."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Now, come here!"

I stretched out on the grass and began to push myself along, over over over, until I bumped into her. She rolled more, and I followed, rolling and rolling. She stopped a few feet before a tree, and I slammed into her. She went forward, then yelled.

"Oh no! The Giant!" I said.

"You broke it!"

"What?"

"You made me break my fairy houses!"

"Did not."

"Did too! Look." She sat up, and I followed. There were shattered remains of houses in the imprint of her body. The leaf roofs had fallen to the ground, and were lying about the houses, slightly crumpled, very browned. Half the twigs were snapped, littered about. Some had merely fallen from where they had been pushed carefully into the ground, and the rest had merely been pushed somewhat further in. I felt sorry for the houses, but it still was not my fault.

"You made me roll."

"You didn't stop."

"That's why I'm not supposed to roll."

"That's stupid."

"Is not."

"You broke my fairy houses!"

"No, I didn't!"

"Yes, you did!"

"I don't care."

"I care."

"They're stupid. Fairies don't actually live in them."

At that, Tina stood up. "I quit."

"What?"

"There are fairies."

"No."

"I say there are."

"But how do you know?"

"I can feel it."

"What do you mean?"

"I can feel them at night. I look out the window, and I feel them."

"You see them?"

"I feel them. They plant little flowers outside of their houses, and every night they grow and grow until they touch the sky."

"The houses?"

"No, the flowers."

I looked up. The sky seemed very far away. "That's tall."

"Yup."

"Do they really get that big?" I was still staring up above me, trying to figure out just how far away the sky was. I couldn't seem to describe it using any words I knew.

"They grow forever."

"Wow." I was quiet.

"Now they won't grow."

"Huh?"

"You crushed them and they won't grow."

"We can build them again."

"Later," she said, and got up off the ground. Standing, she managed to be taller than my seated form. I stood up, towering above her again, and she tugged my hand. "Come on. Let's go play."

Vignette 2

I stood at the corner of Tina's yard, armed with a towel that had a piece of fabric sewn onto the side that could be used to actually hold the towel itself, creating a bag that was just large enough to hold my bathing suit, her birthday present, and, of course, the swimsuit itself.

I was there for Tina's eighth birthday. I'd spent so much time trying to find the towel, which she'd given me for my own birthday two months previously, that I was running late. The yard was full of girls, her friends, all of them small and blonde, mysterious and unknown and entirely unreachable. There were many of them, and I couldn't see Tina in the flood of unfamiliar faces, so hugged my own mother goodbye and went inside to find Tina's. She was in the kitchen, unloading bags of groceries.

"Hello Mrs. Bloom."

"Hi Shelby. Why aren't you outside?"

"I have to put on my bathing suit."

"Tina's upstairs changing, if you want to go there."

"Okay." I turned to leave. "Here's my present."

"I'll make sure she gets it."

"Good." I turned, left the kitchen, and went upstairs. I pushed open Tina's door while simultaneously greeting her. I didn't see her for a moment, then spotted her standing just inside her closet, wearing only the bottom half of her swimsuit with her hands on her hips. "Hi, Tina," I said again.

This time she responded. "I can't find it."

"Find what?"

"The other half."

"Wasn't that the one your brother used for the Happy Half-Birthday Halloween thing he went to?"

"Oh! Yes! I'll go get it." She turned, walked around me, and went out into the hall. "I forgot how you're smart."

I began turning my towel-bag inside out to get my suit.

"See you later," she said, shutting the door behind her.

"Yeah, I'll have to..." I trailed off. She was already gone.

I walked over to the window after I'd changed. Tina was rolling down the hill again, and three other girls were following her down, laughing and smiling. There was a group of girls in the tree, another with their legs in the pool, and another kicking their legs in the hot sun where Tina and I had been sleeping mere weeks before. They were happy, all of them, no playing of orphans, no getting sick from twirling. Perhaps if I was there, with the girls, it would be fun for me, too.

I went downstairs, outside. When I was closer, I was still taller than them, but they somehow felt bigger. I didn't know them, and Tina was busy, so they all continued their games as I walked towards the tree where Tina kept her fairy houses. I sat down to look at them, but the ground was empty. I looked for the bits of leaves and scraps of wood, and I finally found them in a small knot in the tree, stacked up neatly. I pulled them out and carefully, precisely, constructed a tiny house. It had three wooden walls, one with a tiny peephole, just big enough for a miniscule eye. I placed a leaf in the middle, the first floor, then another on top, to mark the roof. I was glad that faeries were light, because even the breeze was almost enough to knock it over. I watched the house for a time, hoping that, just this once, the faeries would forget that I was here and come during the day, that they could plant their flowers, and that the stems could rise up and up until they covered me up and I would stand still, perfectly still, a part of the tree, and Tina would come over and visit me because she loved the faeries' plants, but the people were too loud for us to truly disappear.

A pair of girls came up behind me, looking over my shoulder. "What's that?"

"A faerie house."

"Why would you build that?"

"Tina likes them," was all I said.

"That's stupid, faeries aren't real," said one of the girls, and the other nodded her assent.

"But if people think that they are," I said, "maybe..."

They laughed, and ran to Tina, and I couldn't quite hear them, but I saw Tina laugh too, and then she looked at me in a way that said that I'd done something wrong, only I didn't know what it was. I stayed with the house for a time, trying to adjust it so that with each rush of children, it still stayed upright. Then Tina's mother came out, carrying an armful of shaving cream cans, one for each child. I tried to stay by my house, but she called me over, and I accepted my very own can. It was light green, and it said on the front that the insides would smell like mint. When she blew a whistle and the girls began to scream, I sprayed a bit into my hand. It sat there for a moment, a dark gel, then began to grow. It grew and grew, spreading and stretching, turning while and filling with air until it towered above me hand. I put another drop on top, which sunk in that began to grow as well. I thought that the faeries would have liked to see it, the sticky stuff that could match their flowers.

Vignette 4

We were ten, and still at different schools, but Tina still came over every so often. On this day, we sat together under a tree in my backyard.

"What do you want to do?" I asked.

"I dunno, what do you want to do?"

"I dunno, what do you want to do?"

"I dunno, what do you want do do?"

I laughed. "Remember back when we would build faerie houses every time we visited?"

"Yeah, you said they were for babies."

"I was just saying that, though. I still liked building them."

"I know! You started building one when I had all my friends over, and they were like, wow, that girl is so weird."

"Hey!"

"They said it, not me."

"Fine, I won't get angry then. At least, not this time."

"You never get angry."

"Maybe someday I will."

She shrugged, doubtful. "So, what do you want to do?"

"I dunno."

"We could build faerie houses, like we used to."

"Do you want to?"

"Sure. You want to try to get some sticks?"

"Okay, you go for the flower petals. We'll regroup in seven minutes."

"Seven?"

"Ten is too many, and five isn't enough."

She thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "Sounds good."

I went to some bushes in the neighbor's yard, forsythia that had long ago stopped blooming, and broke off a leafless bottom branch. I scavenged around a birch in the front and a dogwood in the back, looking for branches that felt right. When we regrouped, Tina was holding a pile of petals as well as a few interesting leaves. We sat in some dirt near the wall of the house where we couldn't be seen from the windows. She passed me bits of daisies and I handed her discarded daffodil stalks.

Her constructions were tiny but complicated. She put twigs in a criss-cross and placed a single flower into each and every one, crafting rainbow walls more fragile than glass. I built one like a tiny wigwam, with sticks in a round circle, ferns woven in and out, and a maple leaf on the top. I built my next out of shreds of bark pushed against each other like playing cards, trying to match her fragility, while she followed my Native American idea and constructed a teepee. We soon had a small village constructed of barely there houses, of trees without trunks and tiny platters of inedible food. We divided our halves with a small indent, a river that would bring water to the whole village. When we were done, our supplies exhausted, I sat back. She continued to trace her finger along the tiny, waterless river.

"Do you think any will come?" I said.

She was silent.

"I mean, I know they don't exist, but a girl can always dream."

She still didn't speak, and as her finger reached the base of the river, right next to her knee, she let it stop and looked up at me. "I'm moving."

"Do you want to swap spots? It's pretty comfortable here."

"No, I mean, I'm moving to a new house."

Now it was my turn to look at her.

"It's in California. The trees are funny there, all big, and you can't reach the branches even if you try."

"California is far away."

"Yeah."

"When are you leaving."

"Tomorrow."

"Oh." Tomorrow was very, very soon. "You hadn't mentioned it."

"I don't like thinking about it."

We sat in silence. I began to trace the path of the river, as she had before, then stopped and began to create a second river surrounding my half of the village. Tina was unmoving.

"Do you think," she said "that these will grow?"

"The rivers?"

"No, the faerie houses. Will they put down roots and grow flowers that touch the sky?"

"Maybe."

"You have to look."

"I'll look at night, when they grow."

"It'll grow big enough for you to visit me."

"In California?"

"Yes."

We were silent again, and I looked over to where the sun was, since I knew that was west, and looked for California. The farthest I saw was Long Island. "Tina?"

"Yes?'

"Did the ones in your yard ever truly grow?"

"No."

"This one won't either, will it."

She looked at me, and she said the same hopeless word as before.

Vignette 5

Tina had been gone for two years when we finally, finally got to visit her. We arrived first to a restaurant in San Francisco, where she now lived. San Francisco was big. Everything was bigger than it was at home, where there was nothing but empty space, big green yards, and the occasional house. But there was a beach near the restaurant, a little sliver of the outdoors, and after we ate, our parents let us leave, and we began to walk.

We were in middle school by then, and we were old and all grown up, so we tried to talk instead of play. We walked from one jetty to the next and back, sharing words of growing up, of her friends back home whose names I've finally learned, of the hopelessness of middle school boys. We tried to talk of who we were becoming, but we were soon back to where we once were. We recounted a thousand childhood games in precise detail, the name of every pirate ship, the each daydream of a lonely orphan. I thought about suggesting play-acting again, but it somehow felt as if here was not the place.

After many lengths, we returned to our families. Her brother, who still only toddled, had surrounded herself with tiny piles of sticks, and my sister, Ella, who was already in elementary school had placed leaves on them, trying to make them beautiful. We sat with them for a time, adding layers, shifting piles, until we'd created another miniature world, this one decorated with shells in place of petals.

This time, I did not bother to ask Tina if she thought our plants would grow.

Vignette 6

In high school, one develops these annoying chores, one of which is babysitting one's younger sister. I usually did this by ignoring her, and this evening was no different. I was on the computer in the living room, using an instant messenger to pretend that I wasn't stuck at home. For once, Tina was online. I said "Hello."

She responded. "hi wats up"

I said, "Oh, not much, and you?"

"sum stuf. nm. g2g."

I had to look up her abbreviations online. I didn't talk like her anymore, didn't think like her. I'd tried to talk with her before, and it was always the same; I'd try to reminisce, and she'd use such cryptic terminology that I soon became utterly lost.

I stood up from the computer and went looking for Ella. She wasn't in her room, wasn't in the basement, or watching TV, or even in my room. I went into the kitchen to use the phone to call Mom, certain that I'd lost my sister, when I finally spotter her outside.

She was sitting beneath the tree in the backyard, staring at a house of sticks that she built yesterday, filled with with flowers and little pieces of popsicle. It began to rain, but she still sat there, so I went outside to bring her in. As I got closer, I heard her talking.

"Priscilla, how are you today? And your son? Did he like the cold sugar? It's my favorite. Are you happy here? Would you prefer to be by the shed?"

"Ella?" I said.

She looked up at me, smiling. "They talk to me."

I stopped, and the rains began to pool on the tops of my ears and slide slowly, slowly down.

"They talk to me, Shelby. I can hear them."

"They don't exist."

"Yes, they do! They're here. I can feel them."

"You can?"

"Come here. You can feel them, too."

I walked closer, and she tugged my hand, pulling me down. Her tiny palms were damp with rainwater.

"Look, Shelby. See them?"

The house was small, smaller than small. She'd worked on it carefully, each twig elegant, each leaf precise. She'd even crafted furnisher, a feat that Tina and I had never managed.

The faeries weren't there at that moment, she said to me, but when they did, the house would be alive, and the twigs would stand, and tiny little flowers would grow around it. The flowers would grow until they touched her knees, her waist, her shoulders and her brow, until they wrapped up around and stretched up and over the tree, over the house, up and up until they circled the very stars.

She said it would grow soon, because it was raining, but that we needed to be very still.

We sat together and watched until it was too dark to see, and the twigs and branches and flowers had sunk deep into the all-consuming mud.

Muddy Waters

The two of us stood at the edge of the road. The pavement was hot, hot enough that I could feel it through the thick calluses on my bare feet. The street we stood on was lined with trees, it’s entire surface coated in the mottled shadows of leaves. We were in the edge of this darkness, at the barrier.

In front of us, to the left and right, was a stone wall. The wall was unbroken, unworn by time or use. The stones fit perfectly next to each other, the cement was smooth, and the barrier, despite the fact it came up barely past my waist, seemed insurmountable. We had been walking alongside the wall for a time, as we had finally turned left from Julie’s house and gone away from the beach, and now, right here, there was a wall.

In the wall, at the place where we had stopped, was a gap. It was as wide as the three of us if we stood shoulder to shoulder, so a hair wider than the usual door. The sunlight seemed to push outwards from the smooth lawn beyond, and the only thing blocking us was a single chain hanging across the gap. The lawn was small, barely bigger than my garage, but at the end was a wooden dock that glowed in that way that metal ones couldn’t, and beyond that, the mud.

“I want to go in,” said Karen.

“I really don’t think we should, though.”

“But it looks so nice.”

“It’s somebody’s yard, though,” I said.

“I want to feel the sun,” said Karen. “I’m going in.”

She ducked under the chain and turned around, expectant. I looked at Julie.

“You go,” she said.

I considered ducking the chain, but a closed gate was a closed gate, so I went to the wall, the smooth-cut wall, pushed my arms on it, and hoisted myself up. My ankle caught on the corner, and I felt a slight snag before my entire foot caught, and I tumbled off of the wall into the light grass. I stood up immediately and looked out at the lot. The grass, even while I stood on it, seemed unreal, but the dock looked as if it would be more tangible. I walked towards it, to it, stepped onto it. I could feel Karen, who stood still by the gate, watching me. I stepped forward again. I moved closer to the shore, then closer, and then I was at the edge of the dock. I looked down to see the water and discovered that it was mud, dark and thick. I bent, picked up a pebble, and dropped it into the muck. It rested on the surface, not rippling, not sinking. I stared at it, entranced.

Karen came up behind me. “What are you doing?”

“Look.”

She moved next to me, then looked down at the rock.
We stood in silence. I looked up, following the muck. There was water, out there, but the mudflat stretched out all the way to the island in the middle of the river. I looked at it, wondering what was there. Karen’s eyes were still on the pebble, and her gaze was calculating.

“Do you think,” she asked, “that it could hold us, too?”

“Probably not.”

“But would we sink all of the way?”

“I dunno.”

“I’m going to try it.”

“But you’ll get your pants dirty.”

“Fine.” She undid the tie and took them off, hanging them on a support. “I’m going in.”

“Wait.”

“What?”

“I’m taller than you. If we’re testing for the bottom, I should go first, because I’m less likely to sink over my head.”

“Okay.” She looked at me expectantly.

I shucked my own pants and hung them atop hers before sitting on the edge of the dock. I stuck my legs out in front of me, not touching the mud.

“That won’t work.”

I made an annoyed noise, then began to lower my heels. The right made contact first. The mud was cool. It held under my foot, its surface bending as I pressed downwards. I lowered the other foot, pointed my toes, and slipped in.

“Do you feel a bottom?”

“Not really, but…” I wiggled my toes around a bit, feeling the chilled pressure along my skin, between my toes.

“But what?”

“It feels strong.”

“What?”

“We won’t sink.”

“If you say so.” She prepared to leap in.

“Don’t jump.”

She came and sat next to me, pressed in her feet, then stood. She sunk slowly until the mud was just past her knees. She lifted her leg, stepped forward, then looked back at me.
I stood, and I sank. The mud rose, slowly, pushing up and up till it stopped, about a foot higher than it had started. I lifted my left foot, pulling against it, then cleared the surface. The mud sucked into place beneath me, and my foot felt suddenly free. I lowered it again, this time further, and repeated the process with my right leg. Whenever my leg came up, the mud was dirty, grasping, grimy. When it went in, it was calm and warm and good.

Karen had already progressed a good ten feet. “Are you coming or not?”

“Coming where?”

“The Island.”

“Oh.” I stayed where I was, wiggling my toes, feeling. “Isn’t the mud enough?”

The Ohhhh Man

The group of us were as tight as cat-dog, the animated Siamese twin gone wrong in Karen’s favorite TV show—if anything, we were tighter, as we would never dream of fighting. After all, we were ten years old, double digits, and well beyond such a juvenile activity.

On this particular day, it was morning, an August morning that, even while the nighttime cool attempted to settle in, the sticky warmth to come was visible in the clear sky that had already hit its bluest. I was up early, more or less, but I was almost finished with my fourth read-through of Half Magic, so I’d spent a few hours reading it before I picked up the phone to call Karen.

I unwound the cord of the phone and began my attempts at communication. I had to dial three times, as whatever sticky substance resided under the keys did an even better job at getting buttons stuck during the summertime. The number finally went through, and Karen didn’t pick up. I hung up on the answering machine and called again. No response. I called a third time, and when I heard her younger brother announcing “we aren’t home right now, but Mom—uh, Sharon--says hi,” I dropped the phone back onto its base.

“Mom!”

“I’m outside,” she called back.

“What?”

“I’m outside!”

“Oh!” I put on sandals and went out the door. “I’m going to Karen’s. Sharon says hi.”

“Tell her the same. Call if you aren’t coming home for dinner.”

I walked past Mom, further down the yard, to a collapsed section of stone wall tucked behind the hedge. I went down the steps before closing my eyes and continuing. I stuck out my arms, always cautious, but I enjoyed the reminder that I could, in fact, truly make this walk with my eyes closed.

When my hands hit her gate, I opened my eyes again, pushed through, and ran further down the hill to her back door. I took off my shoes before unlatching it and entering.

“Hello?”

I heard nothing for a moment, followed by some loud thumps. Her dog, a black lab as wide as he was tall and with a tail thicker than my fist, was banging himself against the door to the kitchen. I followed him over and saw Karen’s mother with her arm deep in the freezer, digging.

“Hi Sharon.”

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

I shrugged. “My book was good.”

“That’s lovely.” She resumed shuffling through whatever was in the back of the fridge.

“Where’s Karen?”

“She’s with Anna. I think--” she grunted before finally yanking something out.

“Okay, thanks.”

“Finally got it.” She waved a chocolate bar at me. “I’d give you some, but I know your mother wouldn’t appreciate it.”

“Oh, right, Mom says ‘the same.’”

“Doesn’t she always?”

“Yes.”

She peeled back a section of wrapper. “Have fun at the beach.”

“What?”

“That’s where Karen and Anna went, the beach. At least, I think it was the beach, although it might have been Anna’s house, or maybe the Deli, but they’re out somewhere. They only left a little while ago, you could probably catch them.”

I nodded and left, this time through the garage, which I closed behind me using the keypad outside. I had barely made it out of Karen’s driveway before I saw the pair rushing towards me.

“Oh! Good! We were just coming to get you!”

“You were?”

“We saw,” began Karen, but she cut herself off with a breathless gasp, so Anna filled in.

“It was terrifying.”

“Crazy.”

“So scary.”

“What was it?”

“Oh.”

“Well.”

They looked at each other for a moment, then began to talk at the same time. “The omen,” said Karen, at the same time that Anna said “the box.”

“The what?”

“You mean we didn’t tell you?” said Karen.

“Didn’t tell me what?”

“About the omen!”

“You definitely didn’t.”

“Are you sure? Because I think we did,” said Anna.

“I think I’d remember.”

“You never know, you could have forgotten,” said Karen.

“I wouldn’t forget.”

“Doesn’t everybody forget?” said Anna.

“Not me.”

“Well,” said Karen. “I suppose I’ll have to tell you. But, I don’t know, you might be better off not knowing.”

“Yeah, it’s a pretty scary story.”

“Tell me!”

“Well, are you sure you can handle it?”

“Yes!”

“Really sure?” added Anna.

“YES!”

“In that case,” began Karen, “we need a good location.”

“Does it really matter?”

“Of course it matters. I need to go right where we were, when it happened.”

“If you say so,” I said.

“We should go,” agreed Anna.

“Well, where was it?”

Anna looked at Karen, who appeared deep in thought. “The tree.”

“What tree?”

At this, Karen looked up. “The one by the tennis court, near the Sloat’s house.”

We walked together towards said tree, which was actually a network of trees, a pine hedge with a soft green coating hiding a spacious inside with the perfect concentration of large, sturdy branches.

“Anna,” I said, “I need a least a hint.”

“I’m no good at hints.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not. I’ll give too much away.”

“No hints,” said Karen. “You’ll find out when we get there. It’s only around the block.”

“It’s a big block.”

“It’s half the size of my old block,” said Anna.

“You’re old block was megabig, then.” I turned to Karen. “Tell me.”

“No.”

Then to Anna. “Tell me.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Fine.”

We walked in silence towards the trees, before crawling through our usual gap and settling ourselves among the branches. Karen was the littlest, so she was on a flimsier, higher branch. I was clumsy, so I was leaned against the trunk towards the middle of the tree, straddling a branch so thick it was practically a log. Anna was perched a few feet in front of me, where my log began to thin. To our left was an empty branch, somewhere between mine and Karen’s in sturdiness. When Harriet arrived later, the final fourth of our group, she would sit there, and we would hold court to plan the day’s attack upon the world.

For now, though, we were only three, and all I could see was a story that was shared by two.

“Now,” began Karen. “The story of the O Man. On this very morning, we saw him, for the first time, and this experience has—“

“I thought you said it was an omen,” I interrupted.

“No, I said O Man.”

“You definitely said omen.”

“No, I didn’t. Anna, did I say omen or O Man?”

“O Man.”

“Like I said,” continued Karen. “Today, on this very morning, we first saw the O Man.”

“If you’ve only just seen him, why do you call it the first time? It’s not like there are other times.”

“Do you want to hear or not?”

“I want to hear.”

“Then listen! Today, we first saw the O Man. Well, actually, we first saw the O Box. This box was large, and it was cardboard, and it was right there.” She pointed behind her, towards the house of the neighbor to whom these trees belonged.

“Where?”

“Right inside the tree wall.”

“Oh. It can’t have been a very big box.”

“It was.”

“But there’s not a stamp in the needles.”

“That’s ‘cause it blew away.”

“Oh, right.” That made sense. I hushed up and let her continue.

“First thing in the morning, Anna and I were walking towards the beach. Now, we weren’t going to come in here, because this is the thinking tree, but we heard this awful noise coming from the driveway of the house—”

“Was it a car?”

“Be quiet,” said Anna. “I can’t hear.”

“You don’t need to hear. You were there.”

They both shushed me, and Karen continued. “There was a crunching noise, a big, loud crunching noise.”

“Just like this,” said Anna, breaking a small stick off of the tree and rubbing it against its trunk, “but louder.”

“Exactly. Well, we heard this noise, and we didn’t know what it was, but it sounded dangerous, so we crawled into here and climbed up a tree to hide.”

“This tree?”

“No, the one closer. I wanted to see what was happening.” She paused. “Anyways, we climb up, and then, while we’re sitting up in the tree, the crunching gets even louder.”

Anna began to rub her stick against the tree again, for effect.

“Then, we see the box. It’s right underneath our tree, and it has a big red O on the top.”

“O like the letter, or Oh, like oh my gosh?”

“The first one. Why would someone put O-H on a box?”

“Maybe it’s their initials,” suggested Anna.

“Or maybe it’s not.”

“It could be, though,” I said. “Owen Heart, or Oliver Hephastus.”

Karen, who had been about to cut me off, looked confused. “Hephastus?”

“It’s this poisonous thing that miners get.”

“Well, this was a man, not a kid.”

“That wasn’t what I—never mind. Who was the man?”

“I’ll get to it. We’re sitting in that tree, and we’re hearing this noise, and we suddenly see the box, and that’s when we realize that the noise is getting louder, and maybe the noise is coming to take the box!”

“Why?”

“Well, what would you think? The box and the noise, both didn’t make sense, so they had to be together. Anyways, we rushed back through the branches, and we were moving so fast that if the man had seen us, he probably would have thought we were escaped monkeys or something, but then we were sitting further back, and then, through the tree, comes a man.”

“The O Man,” said Anna.

“He took the box,” said Karen, “put it in his car, and left.”

“I thought you said the crunching wasn’t a car.”

“I said it didn’t sound like a car. There’s a difference.”

“Oh. So, what do we do now?”

“I dunno,” said Anna. “But we could try to figure out who he is!”

“How? It’s not like we’re going to see him again,” said Karen, “but, well, maybe—now I don’t know that this would work, but it’s an idea—maybe he’s stopping at all of the trees like this, and there’s another box, with another letter, and they spell something.”

“But where are there other trees like this?” asked Anna.

“At that house on your street,” said Karen. “The one with the big fancy gate.”

“The one where you have to push buttons to get in?” I said.

“That’s it. I bet our O Man is going there.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“We should go,” I said.

“We can eat lunch when we reach my house,” added Anna, “and we can stop and get Harriet on the way.”

“Good plan,” said Karen. “Ready?”

“Ready,” responded Anna and I in unison. The three of us high-fived, climbed down, and then began to walk.

Omegle Can Be Entertaining

Particularly when you spend the entire conversation discussing potential alien invasions and zombie attacks.

Now, I need to do another free-write for English, but, well, zombies are far more fun. I shall pull up the list of potential topics as I talk.

Fiction from a limited narrator's point of view. I could do that, probably, but what to write about?

Childhood Make-Believe, Acting.

I like that topic.

Child's Concept of Heaven and Hell

I left the shades open at night so I could see the stars. I would lie on my bed, pretending to sleep, with my head pushed all the way into the corner so that I could see up, over, all the way to the stars. I watched them, and I felt them move, and I felt them breath. The stars were my people, and if I just tried hard enough I could walk among them.

I sat in the dark, my knees curled up against my chest, watching the sky. The planets together made stars, the stars together made galaxies, the galaxies together made the universe. Could there, then, be other universes, that spun with our own and sent out their own tendrils of existence? Could a universe, not a planet, not an individual, but an seemingly infinite spread of stars, be the plaything of a deity? If there could be infinite stars, why not infinite universes, spawned from the droplets of a universe cloud that sent out tiny, heavy particle that begat another big bang.

When I died, I would have my own universe. We all would have our own universe, our own world, where all understanding is known and the entirety can play out before our eyes. Where we can see the souls of the stars as easily as the people, feel the voice in the vacuum as well as in sound. When a tree falls in the woods of our carefully crafted universe, we can hear it.

The universe I live in, as I watched over my world, looked rather a lot like my grandmother's apartment in Florida. I suppose that is what happens, when one's heaven is the stuff of dreams.

There were nights when I could do little but ponder the future. It would be nice to be omniscient, but even in death, would it be possible? And how could I reconcile the simultaneous truth of all religions with their numerous contradictions? I would read by day, texts of what could be, words that I didn't know piled into sentences with structures beyond my grasp. I wanted a pattern, a similarity, a simple this is what is and was and will be that seemed constantly inescapable. A heaven of angels seemed no more realistic than my universe of gods, waiting for the final day of reckoning seemed rather less likely than the lot of us walking, gray and soulless, through a refugee's world before flying towards the sun and dissolving to Dust.

I thought too much for a child. I thought so much that I knew that I thought too much, and elected to leave the issue of where we went up to the individual.

I would go to a heaven of my own, and use my time to visit the heaven of all I knew. My grandmother could sit with Jesus in the clouds, Aunt Joan could settle herself fully into the memory of each individual and meddle, my dog could trail me loyally while plucking milkbones from midair, we could have houses for the homeless, and the entire world would get what they needed, what they expected.

But the expectations began to push against each other. What heaven do you give the criminal, what haven is allowed to a wicked man? Does the remarried widower live with two wives? I suppose that, with infinite days, each wife has infinite time, but there are just as many restless nights, alone. And then, if we are given what we expect, is the atheist truly allowed to desist?

I did not know. I did not like that I did not know. I eventually discovered, however, that I would be much better off, overall, if I was willing to wait.

Tea Learns All About Health

Also known as it is late and I don't feel like writing a real post so you're getting more schoolwork.

Obese children are at risk of heart disease because they have old-person arteries. However, parents pretend it's baby-fat and elect not to put their children on diets and destroy the self esteem of a miniature person. Also, this is boring and fat related and blech, so not happening.

So, moving along to the second health article. This one is about a new virus in South Africa. It causes flu-like symptoms but is followed by death from respiratory and circulatory collapse, which basically sucks. There were four deaths and one recovery and nothing else. Phew.

Viruses are scary. They are also invisible. Like Harry Potter while wearing his invisibility cloak, but evil. Well, not evil. Self-serving, I suppose. Ebola is also scary. It's intangible, too, which is a big word, which I am adding here to make myself sound more intelligent.

Also, best description of viruses ever "semi-alive bundles of nucleic acids." I'm not certain it's strictly scientifically accurate, but we can pretend.

Not-So-Scientific Scientifical Adventures

Today, Julie gave her "state of the project" ASR presentation. Which reminds me, I should be working on mine....eh, I'll do it tomorrow.

I wish my back didn't hurt. It's making typing uncomfortable, and I don't understand why it's only the right side. It's extremely odd. Mother dearest thinks I strained it unloading the truck, but I doubt that, as it took all of two minutes to unload the whole thing. It was quite nice, actually- all of the brush was stuck together, so I pulled on a branch and the whole thing came out.

Anyways, I got to Science Research and was rather dismayed to discover that Mario was there, because I had specifically chosen to wear the pants on a day when I wasn't going to see him. However, he didn't comment, so I think he may have forgotten about them. Well, that or getting laid was enough to stop him from being creepy about other people's butts.

Let me reiterate- EWWWW!!! MARIO! DOING THINGS! SEXUAL THINGS!!! EWWWWWWWW!-

To fully make that point, this is a conversation on my facebook wall:

Kathrya: AH. GRETCHEN. THE THING I TOLD YOU WAS TRUE.
EWW.
EWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.
EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.

Gretchen: I KNOW!! I REALLY WISH IT WASN'T.

Kathrya: ME TOO. SO DISTURBING. ON SO MANY LEVELS. BRAIN A-SPLODING.

Gretchen: NOTHING WILL EVER BE THE SAME. AAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Kathrya: NO IT WONT NO MATTER HOW MANY IRVING JOKES I MAKEEEEEEEEEEE :(

Gretchen: hahahhaaaaaha

THIS IS JUST SUCH A TRAUMATIC MOMENT. THE EARTH IS SLOWLY STRAYING FROM ITS ORBIT. WE'RE DRIFTING OFF INTO SPACE. IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD!!!!!!!!

Kathrya: IT IS THOUGH THE EARTH IS NOW OFF ITS AXIS I DO NOT UNDERSTAND HOW THIS COULD HAVE HAPPENED EWWW. LOOK AT IT THIS WAY. AT LEAST THERE WERE NO BABIES. THEN I REALLY WOULD DIEEEEEEE.

Gretchen: AHHHHHH!!!! THERE WOULD BE BABY CLONES. AND WE WOULD ALL DIE!!!!!!!!!

Kathrya: YES WE WOULD. THE WORLD WOULD START TO IMPLODE AND COMPLETELY DESTROY ITSELF.

Gretchen: THE HUMAN RACE WOULD BE ENEDED. ALL LIFE WOULD BE DESTROYED.

Kathrya: OH SO TRUE. I HOPE I WOULD DIE SOON SO I WOULD NEVER HAVE TO LAY EYES ON THE KIDS

Tea: OKAY THERE WOULD STILL BE ONLY ONE BABY BECAUSE THERE IS ONLY ONE GIRL INVOLVED EXCEPT FOR NUMBER 6 BUT THAT BABY WOULD BE REALLY MESSED UP BECAUSE ITS PARENTS WOULD HAVE THE SAME GENES BUT YEAH

Gretchen: EVEN ONE BABY IS ENOUGH TO DESTRY THE WOLRD. RUN FOR YOUR LIVES PEOPLE, EVEN THOUGH THERE IS NOWHERE TO HIDE.

Tea: I don't know- I think the art department would be an effective hiding spot.

Kathrya: uhm, I doubt it, because the mother is very artistic I've heard.

Gretchen: why did we stop the caps? it's so much more dramatic.

Tea: OKAY FINE, BE THAT WAY! ANYWAYS AHHH EVIL DEMON BABIES

Gretchen: THAT'S WHAT I SAID TO START WITH!!!!!

IT'S SO MUCH BETTER TO JUST RUN AROUND SCREAMING OUR HEADS OFF

Kathrya: I CONCUR. GOD. BABIES. EWWW. NOT WITH THOSE PARENTS THEY WOULD MAKE HIDEOUS BABIESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Tea: AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH BABIESSSSSSSSSSS EWWWWW

Kathrya: PROCREATION IS GROSSSSSSSSSSS ESPECIALLY THEMMMMMMMMMMM EWWWWWWW HE HAS COOTIESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS /acts like a five year old

Gretchen:THIS IS MUCH BETTER!! :P

Tea: WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY FIVE YEAR OLD BUT EWW COOTIES LAST NIGHT THERE WAS A GIANT BUG IN MY ROOM AND I STARTED SHRIEKING AND MY MOM HAD TO COME AND KILL IT FOR ME AND IT WAS TERRIFYING BUT NOT AS TERRIFYING AS THIS SITUATION I SUPPOSE.

Kathrya: NO GIANT BUGS ARE FAIRLY SCARY BUT THIS DEFINITELY TOPS IT ITS LIKE A WHOLE HOARD OF GIANT BUGS AHAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Gretchen: LIKE LIFE SIZE SPIDER SCARY!!!!!!

Tea:ACROMANTULA WTF!!!!??!??!?!?!??!?!(INTERROBANG)

Julie: YOU ARE COOL
EWWWWWWWW
UGLY BABIESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS AND PROBABLY NOT SMART EITHER
I BET HE BELIEVES IN COOTIESSSSSSSSSSSSS

Cammie: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWW AN ARMY OF EVIL UGLY CLONE BABIES!!!!!!!!!!1!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!!!!1!!1!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND THE 1'S WERE NECESSARY

Tea: I LOVE THE ONES THEY ARE TOTALLY AWESOME AND WAYYY COOLER THAN NUMBER ONE AND ALSO DID YOU HEAR THAT NUMBER 27, THE ONE WHO DID THE DEED, IS NOW DEAD DUE TO SOME STD OR OTHER?

Cammie: OH NOOOO!!! THAT MEANS THAT NUMBER 27 WILL BE REPLACED BY AT LEAST 2 MORE AND WE WILL HAVE 9 EVIL MUTANT CLONES RUNNING AROUND THE SCHOOL!!!1!!

Julie: THEY ALL DID IT BECAUSE THEY COMBINE ON THE WEEKENDS UNLESS IT WAS DURING THE WEEK WHICH WOULD BE EVEN CREEPIER AND CAN STDS REALLY KILL YOU? WAIT THEY CAN WE LEARNED THAT IN HEALTH CLASS. NOOOOOOO WHAT WILL HE DO WITH THE EXTRA?

Tea: NO THERE ARE NOT ANY MORE WE BEIEVE, IN FACT, THAT THEY ARE SLOWLY DYING OFF, WHICH IS SIMULTANEOUSLY FORTUNATE AND UNFORTUNATE. WE WOULD ALSO LIKE TO REPORT THAT 27 WAS THE ONE WITH THE NICE ASS, AND THAT THEY ARE NOW NO LONGER WORTH LOOKING AT.

not that anyone was looking anyways...

Anyways, speaking of out-of-the-blue inappropriate comments, after Julie's presentation, the floor was open for questions and comments.

Mario: You seemed rather...tense. I mean, not like, tight, per se, but, just, somewhat nervous. Maybe afraid, or...

Tea: Uncomfortable.

Mario: Yes, uncomfortable.

Julie: I am uncomfortable.

Mario: You need to try to relax. Think of something calming, like Lumiere's shirt. It's so nice, and pastel colored. Pale blue is a calming color. And you could imagine undoing to buttons with your tongue.

I Love Babysitting

Especially when the babysitee is twelve years old, shares his easter chocolates, and watches the sixth Harry Potter movie with you.

So I basically got paid forty bucks to spend three hours hanging out and watching movies. That is, in my opinion, an epic win.

----------------

In other news, here is a story I wrote at the beginning of sophomore year.

----------------

Every June, the town's public library would hold a fundraising event. Seats were sold for a minimum donation of twenty-five dollars. The sizes of the tables varied, as most of them were either dragged in from the various sections of the library or loaned to the building by patrons. Some tables sat twenty people; others held only two.

At one of the smallest tables, during this particular year, sat a comparably small woman. Her companion, a man who, according to his name card, was called Kevin, had yet to make an appearance, so she had picked up the book in front of her and begun to read. A few minutes later, the mysterious Kevin arrived.

"Hello," said Kevin. "I'm Ryan."

"Are you certain that you're in the right spot, Kevin?" she said, looking pointedly at the name card.

"Kevin Ryan. I go by my last name."

"In that case, I'm Jane Collins. Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise." He paused for a moment to let her speak, but she had returned to her book, so he decided to just keep talking. "Say, what book did you list as your favorite?"

"Jane Eyre."

The man looked at her, waiting for the punch line, and after a few moments she raised her eyes to look at him. "What?"

"Tiny Jane loves tiny Jane. You must be joking."

"I assure you, I am perfectly serious."

"Please, you actually enjoy Jane Eyre? You probably just like it for the similarities. I'll bet you hadn't even picked it up until right now."

"Of course I've read it, and I enjoyed it very much, thank you. Just because some pompous men might declare it 'too girly' doesn't make it any less worthy of praise."

He snorted.

"Oh, you disagree."

"I've read better."

"Such as...?"

"Walden, by Thoreau."

"Please! That's not even a novel."

"It's got great description and interesting philosophy."

"A canned response if I've ever heard one."

"Fine, have it your way."

She returned to her book, and he picked up Walden, flipping through its pages.

"Look at this," he said.

"I'm reading."

"Read this, then. Page 104. 'The note of the whippoorwill is borne on the rippling wind from over the water. Sympathy with the fluttering alder and poplar leaves almost takes away my breath; yet, like the lake, my serenity is rippled but not ruffled.'"

"Improper use of a semicolon."

He ignored her and continued speaking, this time using his own words. "Notice how he uses this passage to unite himself with the natural world. The word ripple is both an emotion and a birdcall, and it also connects his serenity to the lake. And this isn't just here- the whole book carefully constructs human's connection with nature."

"There's no need to lecture me, I'm well aware of what good writing is."

"Then you agree that Thoreau is better than Brontë."

"His nature descriptions might win out, but, truly, anyone could write those. It takes a true master to create strong characters and properly describe humanity. The only character Thoreau respects is himself."

"His guests are just as fascinating."

"He's simply transcribing events to paper. There's no true comprehension of humanity."

"And Jane Eyre's so much better?"

"Yes."

"You going to back that one up?"

"It's not that simple. Part of the beauty of Brontë's work is the change in the characters, particularly Jane. And even the smaller ones behave in such interesting and unique ways. It's truly wonderful."

"I'm not seeing the proof."

She marked her place and began thumbing through the book. "Here's a bit where Jane talks about Mrs. Reed and herself. 'It was her nature to wound me cruelly; never was I happy in her presence. However carefully I obeyed, however strenuously I strove to please her, my efforts were still repulsed, and repaid by such sentences as above,' the above referring to Mrs. Reed telling the principal of Jane's future school that Jane is a lier. Each of the points was carefully made twice. Jane 'obeyed' and 'strove,' and Mrs. Reed 'repaid' and was 'repulsed.' The repetition makes doubly certain that the reader understands, and shows that the character's traits manifest themselves in multiple ways, just as an actual person's would. Aside from that, the passage gives insight into both characters; it shows how young Jane reacts to cruelty and the exact pain Mrs. Reed is capable of inflicting."

Ryan opened his moth for a rebuttal, then stopped himself when he discovered he had nothing to say. "You do seem to know what you're talking about."

"Of course I do! You could have just listened in the first place. Brontë's characters are every bit as valuable- truly, they are more so- as Thoreau's endless love affair with trees."

"Are you trying to imply something about Thoreau?"

"I wouldn't dream of it."

---------------

Song to Nick Jonas

By A Middle Schooler Near You (well, Tea after she got out of the shower today, because she was entertaining herself. In the shower. And by entertaining herself, I mean writing bad musical-theater-y songs, not whatever you were thinking of, Kathrya)

(Sung kind of to the tune of "A New World, for some of the bits, and kind of to the tune of Ocean Avenue. No, I don't know why)

Nick Jonas

I love you I love you I lo-o-ove you

Nick Jonas

When you ask me to marry you I'll say I do

Cause you're all that I want

from 3000 to forever

and you're all that I need

when I'm burnin' up this world

It's Nick Jonas forever, with the hair and too tight jeans

my Nick Jonas

I saw you

in concert last month and you almost touched my hand

you smiled

at somebody else but I know it was meant for me

Cause you love me right now

with the heart that you have

and you wish you could be here

and not on your dumb tour

it was Nick and me forever, just the two of us, no more,

Nick Jonas

I think we need to talk

I wrote this song last week

and some things have happened since

I've changed

I've grown

I've moved on with my life

Because, you see, Johnny

Johnny from science class

he has hair that's just like yours

except it flips counter-clockwise, way to the left

And Johnny

with his eyes so blue that the sky gets jealous

told Eric who told Laura who told Darby who told me

that Johnny

Thinks that I'm cute

and it made me kind of excited

So, Nick, you're all that I wanted

from 3000 to forever

but I have grown

you've gotten old

and it's time to move on

Because last week in science class

while he was burning methane gas

Johnny tore his eyes from the flame

and he looked at me and said

"movie? friday?" and I said "what movie?"

and he said "whatever you want."

So on Friday, Johnny and I saw New Moon

and a new light dawned on my life

Nick, dear, I loved you once, but better days have come

I can't marry you now

It's not you, it's me,

There's someone else

You're too distant

My heart now belongs to

Taylor Lautner

It's doesn't quite fit but you're really more cute

Taylor Lautner

You've taken my heart so you'll have to commute

You're all that I want

For today and for forever

You'll hold me close

And ditch Taylor like bad weather

Because Taylor

I lo-o-o-o-o-ove you.

My Saturday Night

Kathrya, your commenting system is down, so I suppose I'll have to use this as my mode of communication.

I spent my Saturday night babysitting for my neighbors, Quincy and Quentin. I studied for physics while we ate dinner, then I went to get out the court cases I had to read for gov, only to discover that I brought the worksheet with me but left the cases at home. My plans for productivity thwarted, I resigned myself to actually socializing with the kids.

Quentin, however, had other plans. He spent somewhere in the range of three to four hours playing Roller Coaster Tycoon 3. I knew that I should have kicked him off the computer, but, really, why you consider the amount of time I spend browsing the internet, it felt hypocritical. Besides, Roller Coaster Tycoon does teach basic economics and physics, which I'm sure is good for him.

Quincy and I spent the entire time watching an iCarly marathon. It involved a lot of bad pranks, crazy siblings, fights among friends, and a ridiculous amount of unsatisfied sexual tension (or whatever it is UST stands for). I mean, seriously, Freddie and Sam kissed in the first episode we saw, then the second one made no mention of it, then in the third one there was a huge fight about said kiss, and then in the next one he kissed Sam's twin sister, who he actually thought was Sam, and then in the entire movie they pretended that the last three episodes hadn't even happened. I mean, seriously, Nickelodeon, if you're going to go to the trouble of creating a massive romantic subplot, you might as well actually include said subplot in your hour long movie!

Not that I enjoyed iCarly at all. I am a mature young adult, oxymoronic though that is. I have more uppity tastes. Like Glee. Which is, like, so much more mature than iCarly. I feel like Kim from Bye Bye Birdie on Friday, a flat chested twelve year old with the characteristic orthodontic lisp, singing about how lovely it is to be a woman, with womanly curves and no more braces.

Okay, so I kind of enjoyed the TV show at least as much as Quincy did. Then, after she went to bed, I left it on the same channel so that I could fast forward the commercials. She wasn't feeling well, so she came back down and caught me watching something involving dancing singing guys who were supposed to be 16 year old JoBro clones, but more closely resembled an aging NSYNC. I believe that I have officially undermined my own authority.

Stop the Pops

A booklet found inside my copy of Eragon, which I'm currently rereading.

Cover:

NEWS THAT POPS SHOULD NEVER SEE

Featuring: Quinn... Gone

TABLE OF ConTents (the truth)

By Genie

Rules.......................1

More Rules............2

THE Plan................3

Quinn & Kate.........4

Quinn is gone........5 (special edition)

The Oath................6

IHATEKATE.........7

RULES

1. Never trust a pop

2. If you lose a friend to The Pops, Join The club to make it easier to move on

3. Be wise! stay away from pops

4. Do not say 'like' more 10 times in every 2 seconds

5. You must Hate The backstreet boys and Jessie Mcartney to be in the club

6. KATE is the only Pop you can have fun with

THE PLAN (a real plan)

by Genie

Even though I hope Quinn's popularity is only Temporary I still am going to ditch her if she comes back to my table at lunch. Like when she scooted to the other End of the Lunch table on my friend we will do the same For her. Scoot away. I don't want to but If I have to I will.

QUINN+KATE

Quinn was totally in love with M. she wanted to marry him. M is the 5th grade smarty-pants, has tiny eyes, and a good sense of humore. Not that a good sense of humor is a bad thing. He is fairly ugly. I DON'T KNOW HOW SHE LOVES M

QUINN....GONE (a true experience)

by Genie

My friend Quinn used to be a nobody. Now, she's gone. Gone To the dark, dreary popular side. I told her all my secrets. Even who i had a crush on. Luckily I know who she likes. M. I hope her popularity is Temporary. I miss her a lot. But... QUINN IS GONE.

THE OATH (an oath)

by Genie

I solomnely swear that I will never become a pop, always hate pops, Jessie Mclartny, The backstreet boys, and never leave the club.

I HATE KATE

Kate is such a Popularity freak. She is totally in love with AC, the 5th grade "HOTTIE" Her possie includes N, J, M, N, N, N, N! N totally loves Kate.'

RULES

1. You have to Hate Jesse Mcartney, Hilary duff, adn the Backstreet boys.

2. You can't be obnoxious

3. You can only have fun with a PoP if they aren't with someone from their gang.

4. You can't be a POP!

5. You can't be obsessed with shopping.

6. Don't treat a pop club member like a servant

7. You can't say like a lot.

Quinn....Gone

My ex-Friend Quinn glanced at me and starkied talking About how weird I am to her friends. It's sad that she left to the Pop side I wish an elephant would trample her.

The Gang

The worst gang on earth is the Pop gang. They do the most Damage. The rest aren't as Bad.

We've GOT to STOP the POPS! (somehow)

Hola!

Maybe Sturken just won't show up? The rest of his family, but not him. I'm trying to decide whether that would make me happy or sad.

I reread the seventh Harry Potter book today and yesterday. Rather than crying when Harry decides to die, as I normally do, I cried at the epilogue. The epilogue! The goddamned epilogue that is tacked on and completely ridiculous. Harry was being such a good Dad, and the kids were so cute, that my eyes just started welling up. I didn't sob, but I did get rather more teary eyed than I would have liked. I fear that I'm growing into my Dad's crying habits.

Also, I have proof that techies don't even register on the radar of actors. Yesterday, I was painting a sign in the blackbox before rehearsal ended. Then, when it did, people came rushing in. I assumed that they were just getting their stuff, but there was an awful lot of rustling around and male voices. I peeked over my shoulder, curious. The first thing I saw was a couple of shirtless guys. I turned beet red and went back to my work. A couple of painting techies clearly didn't qualify as a dressing room breach of privacy. I could still hear them talking and changing behind me. The guy who played Danny (the one I'd seen when I turned, who was not all that fit) was making jokes about his need to work out. Then, a girl walked in from the hallway. I think it may have been one of the kids in Genie's grade, but I'm not sure. Someone made a protesting noise, and she responded with a flippant "It isn't anything I haven't seen before." I heard a muttered "that's what worries me," but the sound didn't reach her. They eventually trickled out, leaving the other painter and I in silence.

Science Day!

Another Saturday, another morning devoted to the Columbia Science Honors Program. On this particular morning, I rode the train in with Mario, Sean, and Grandma Rose. It actually ended up being hardly awkward at all, since my wonderful Grandmother seems to have no problem talking to people. One interesting thing I discovered is that there is this program at MIT the weekend before Thanksgiving, where you basically get to take fun, but totally random classes, and I totally think that we should all sign up for it next year.

When we got on the train to go home, there were no three empty seats together, so, after canvassing the entire train, Mario and I sat together, and Sean sat nearby. Sean spent literally the entire ride on the phone with his friend, and it sounded like he was explaining the entire curriculum of calculus, or something, but regardless, he talked the entire time, and Mario and I settled down and listened to our ipods. I had rather a bit of difficulty getting comfortable because for the first time, I got stuck in the seat with the low back, and whenever I tipped my head back to far, I slammed into a useless metal bar.

There was an adorable small child seated in the row in front of us, and he spent a lot of the ride sending his beanie-baby giraffe on reconnaissance missions over the back of his seat before peering slowly up over it, grinning maniacally at me, and ducking back down. I smiled every time.

There were quite a few interesting conversations, so I'll share one a day for a few days. It'll give me something to write about, at least.

I was sitting quite contently in my seat, listening to some random spanish song I had gotten for free on itunes. I was slouched down so my head was leaning against the back of the seat below the weird metal bar, so the top of my head was about level with Mario's shoulders, when Mario started cracking his knuckles. I went, "Ughh!" and made a face before shivering.

He looked down at me, confused. "What?"

"That knuckle thing! It's just, like-" I shuddered.

"What, this?" He cracked his other hand.

"Ew, don't! My hands don't do that, it's so weird," I said.

"Seriously? You can't crack your knuckles? It's Co2 build up, or something, right? I don't see why that wouldn't happen to your hands."

I tried to crack them again, before giving up. "How do you?" I asked.

"you just, like-" He hooked the lowest segment of a finger on his left hand between the pointer and thumb of his right. "Pull in, then out."

I attempted it again, but still could not succeed. "Maybe it's cause my hands are stretchy."

"How?"

"Like, I can touch my thumbs to my wrists," I said, demonstrating.

"Hmm" He took his right hand and bent it forward, tugging the thumb towards the wrist. It stopped about a half and inch away. He frowned at it for a moment before hooking it between the pointer and thumb of his left hand and tugging, producing a series of loud cracks.

"ahh, god, that's so... ick!"

He grinned, producing the second true smile that I'd seen out of him today, and did the same to the other hand.

"Mario!"

"What?" he said, feigning innocence.

I gave a mocking glare, and we both returned to our ipods. During the next few minutes, he yawned repeatedly, rubbing his face.

"Are you alright?" I asked.

"I'm fine. I think the coffee's wearing off." (he had gotten a massive ice latte thing before class)

"Are you really that addicted to caffeine?"

"No, it's just, like, the crash afterwards. And the train, and everything. It's just, ach" He tilted his head left, like I do when I crack mine, and made an "ach" noise.

I didn't see what that had to do with the conversation. "Is that a tired noise, or a neck cracking noise?

"Tired, but-" he grinned, and tipped his head sideways, trying to gross me out again, but couldn't get his neck to crack.

"Oh, here," I said, and cracked my own.