won’t happen again, because I will wear duct tape over my mouth once a month to ensure it doesn’t happen again.” I frantically blink, hoping to give the appearance of tears. I wonder if I can poke myself with the pencil without his noticing. That would make me cry.
Can you believe this drivel I’m making up? Who knew I’m this quick on my feet? I should maybe think about a career where I’m all off-the-cuff all the time. I’m good at it. Passing this authoritative moment with surfing colors.
He pats me on the shoulder. “That won’t be necessary. We don’t like students to hurt themselves as part of self-expression, or in this case, self-unexpression. It’s against board policy. So please, don’t use the duct tape, I’d hate to see you back here.”
“Okay, no tape. But I will be supercareful about what comes out of my mouth.”
Super?
I used the word “super.”
He nods, all serious. “There is the need to make sure you understand the gravity of the situation. Now, I think you did have a point and I really appreciate you being so candid and taking responsibility for your actions. That ranks highly for me.”
Goody. I nod, try to smile.
He doesn’t seem to notice. “I want to talk with you anyway about a high school exchange program we submit student applications to each year.” He picks a thick packet off his desk. “I’m sure a girl like you is very interested in the world around her.”
He’s waiting for a response. “Of course.” I nod vigorously.
“Good. Some years the competition is very stiff, and rarely do we have multiple teachers suggest the same sophomore, but this year your name came up several times.”
“Really?” I fail to see how I popped out at people when the words “international” and “travel” were batted around.
“It’s a confidentiality issue that I can’t tell you exactly which of your teachers think this would be an exceptional opportunity for you.”
Why the hell not?
“So if it’s all right with you, I’ll have the school’s guidance office work on the paperwork from our end, and all you need to do is fill out these forms and essay and submit them by the deadline.”
He hands the packet to me. I open my backpack and shove it in as politely and nicely as I can. I sense he has more to say that I may not like to hear. “Okay. I will fill it out and send it in. Sure.” What are the odds, really?
“Good. Good. Also, here’s the information on soccer tryouts.I think this might also be a very good venue for your creative and unique approach to the world.”
I think he just called me a freak. Ah, one of the grown-up crossroads. He is offering me an olive branch of compromise. I pretend interest in soccer and he pretends he influenced my life in a healthy direction. “My friends and I were just discussing the try-outs.” I try to look all perky.
“Really?” He’s pleased.
Like I’d lie about that? Of course I would, but I don’t have to, thanks to Clarice.
“Really.”
“Well then, I’ll expect to see you at tryouts and we’ll just consider this conversation concluded.” He pats my shoulder.
“Great.” I try to sound all TV Land.
He scribbles on a pass. “Here’s a tardy slip. Better get to class.”
I practice my inflection. “Great.”
“I’m glad we had this talk.” He actually looks glad. Odd. Silly, silly man.
Slater. Aka Mr. Butt-Twitcher. “Nice of you to join us, Garibaldi.”
I slink into a desk near the front. No one likes sitting in the front of this class. We’re all afraid the twitching could be a contagious African disease he picked up in the Peace Corps.
“Richards, explain to the class what we’ve been discussing.”
Andrew sits taller in his desk. “Our term project, sir.”
“Sir”?
Suck-up
.
“Which is what?” Slater slaps the eraser against the board.
“A twenty-five-page paper about us.” Drew is going to slip a disk sitting that tall. No one has posture like that.
“Specifically
Can you believe this drivel I’m making up? Who knew I’m this quick on my feet? I should maybe think about a career where I’m all off-the-cuff all the time. I’m good at it. Passing this authoritative moment with surfing colors.
He pats me on the shoulder. “That won’t be necessary. We don’t like students to hurt themselves as part of self-expression, or in this case, self-unexpression. It’s against board policy. So please, don’t use the duct tape, I’d hate to see you back here.”
“Okay, no tape. But I will be supercareful about what comes out of my mouth.”
Super?
I used the word “super.”
He nods, all serious. “There is the need to make sure you understand the gravity of the situation. Now, I think you did have a point and I really appreciate you being so candid and taking responsibility for your actions. That ranks highly for me.”
Goody. I nod, try to smile.
He doesn’t seem to notice. “I want to talk with you anyway about a high school exchange program we submit student applications to each year.” He picks a thick packet off his desk. “I’m sure a girl like you is very interested in the world around her.”
He’s waiting for a response. “Of course.” I nod vigorously.
“Good. Some years the competition is very stiff, and rarely do we have multiple teachers suggest the same sophomore, but this year your name came up several times.”
“Really?” I fail to see how I popped out at people when the words “international” and “travel” were batted around.
“It’s a confidentiality issue that I can’t tell you exactly which of your teachers think this would be an exceptional opportunity for you.”
Why the hell not?
“So if it’s all right with you, I’ll have the school’s guidance office work on the paperwork from our end, and all you need to do is fill out these forms and essay and submit them by the deadline.”
He hands the packet to me. I open my backpack and shove it in as politely and nicely as I can. I sense he has more to say that I may not like to hear. “Okay. I will fill it out and send it in. Sure.” What are the odds, really?
“Good. Good. Also, here’s the information on soccer tryouts.I think this might also be a very good venue for your creative and unique approach to the world.”
I think he just called me a freak. Ah, one of the grown-up crossroads. He is offering me an olive branch of compromise. I pretend interest in soccer and he pretends he influenced my life in a healthy direction. “My friends and I were just discussing the try-outs.” I try to look all perky.
“Really?” He’s pleased.
Like I’d lie about that? Of course I would, but I don’t have to, thanks to Clarice.
“Really.”
“Well then, I’ll expect to see you at tryouts and we’ll just consider this conversation concluded.” He pats my shoulder.
“Great.” I try to sound all TV Land.
He scribbles on a pass. “Here’s a tardy slip. Better get to class.”
I practice my inflection. “Great.”
“I’m glad we had this talk.” He actually looks glad. Odd. Silly, silly man.
Slater. Aka Mr. Butt-Twitcher. “Nice of you to join us, Garibaldi.”
I slink into a desk near the front. No one likes sitting in the front of this class. We’re all afraid the twitching could be a contagious African disease he picked up in the Peace Corps.
“Richards, explain to the class what we’ve been discussing.”
Andrew sits taller in his desk. “Our term project, sir.”
“Sir”?
Suck-up
.
“Which is what?” Slater slaps the eraser against the board.
“A twenty-five-page paper about us.” Drew is going to slip a disk sitting that tall. No one has posture like that.
“Specifically
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