Resting her elbow on the desk, hand cupping her cheek, Icy drummed the eraser of her pencil on the polished wood. So far during the first 10 minutes of class Icy had stared out the window, contemplated life for about two minutes, remembered that she'd left the door to her house unlocked, took another minute to pray that Trent hadn't wandered inside to look in her underwear drawer (the boy had this annoying obsession with her), and had done a word by word analysis of the graffiti on the desk.
The conclusions she had arrived at with the graffiti were astounding. Upon finding a doodle of man parts (so kindly labeled 'peeniz' for those still in the dark about what it was). She'd given its drawer a psychoanalytic analysis—putting some serious thought into why the men in her school felt the need to draw their junk on everything.
She also tried to do a deep reading of the three line wanna-be-edgy-emo poem etched into the desk. But this was hard as you can't get much more outright than 'my heart flakes away like a black rose, my eyes cry for my bleeding heart, love is painful on my heart'. So Icy decided to pretend like the heart and the lost love was a metaphor for anarchy and the fall of a kingdom. That was much more profound.
Her favorite piece of high school desk art though was what looked like a picture of a mushroom in a tuxedo and a top hat…smoking a pipe. This school harbored such creative minds.
Icy also took the time to come up with a shitty love story for Jill and Garett, as one of the two had decided to carve their names into the desk inside a little arrow-heart. Icy decided that the two of them met in a Denny's parking lot after Garett tripped over Jill's discarded empty soda cup. He went to confront her about her vial littering problem and it was love ever since.
After coming up with all of this bullshit, Icy decided that chemistry class had to be the most boring class in the school if her mind was coming up with such absurdities.
"Okay class, now we are going to be learning about a technique where a solution of known concentration is used to determine the concentration of an unknown solution. Does anyone know what this is called?"
The teacher was met with a classroom sized army of blank stares.
"It's called titration."
From a seat beside Icy came a soft snicker.
Icy rolled her eyes. "And what's so funny about titration?"
This time the snicker was more of a booming laughter. "You said tit ration!"
"Oh my God." Icy grumbled. Of course she'd be sitting next to the dirty-minded class clown this year.
"Tit ration!" Bloom repeated. "Since we're rationing the tits, how many do I get and how many do you get!?"
Icy slapped her hand to her forehead. "None. No one is getting tits here."
"Oh really because I was just thinking you could ration your tits to me." Bloom wiggled her eyebrows.
"That…is the worst pick up line I have ever heard. And I had a parade of football douchebags lined up and waiting for me."
"That bad?"
"Yes," Icy hissed. "Now shut up before—"
"I'll be seeing you to in detention." Ms. Maddly stood just before Bloom's desk wearing the ugliest scowl Icy had ever seen on a human face. "I will not tolerate that kind of language in my classroom!"
Well, since she was already in detention, "what language?" Icy asked, "you mean tit ration?" When the teacher said nothing she continued, "I'm just trying to memorize the vocab words."
There came a choir of laughs. Bloom clapped, kicking her legs up and down in delight. "Yeah, tit ration!"
"I hope the two of you are close, because you're going to be spending a lot of quality time together after school."
Bloom leaned in closer to Icy. "Yeah, get ready to ration dem tits."
"I can't wait." Icy mumbled.