What would you expect a writer's greatest struggle to be on the SAT? (For all you cool non-Americans, the SAT is basically the test that gets you into college. It's kind of a big deal.)
Math, maybe? Nope. It's my vocabulary. (What can I say? I write for clarity, not with loquaciousness intended to perturb the laudable populace.) So I invented the SAT challenge. It's awful, but also kind of fun. Would you like to join me?
Step 1: Go onto and answer some vocab questions until you screw something up. (For every word you get right, you donate food to hungry people. It's a great site.) Keep track of all of the words you get wrong until you get a lengthy list.
Step 2: Write a story by CORRECTLY using each word, in order, throughout the story. Make it flow logically... No "Miles perused the shelves at the grocery store. Phoenix endured the arduous task of paperwork."
Step 3: Laugh at how awful it turns out, but do somewhat okay on the SAT.
Well, here goes. I hope you enjoy, and maybe learn some words (or make fun of my awful vocab. You can do that too.)
All I'd really wanted to see was Bullets the cat.
"...You're going to shove a steel pole through a strainer?"
"It's not a strainer, Polly! It's a sieve!"
"...What's the difference?"
"Sieve sounds cooler." Of course that would be her reason.
"Do you have weird names for all of your magical props?"
"They aren't weird!" she huffed. "They're the proper terms."
"But a strainer and a sieve have the exact same purpose, right?"
"They're completely different!" Trucy and her narrow-minded cultural assumptions. "It would be like calling my howitzer a cannon!" she exclaimed, pointing to a... Cannon.
"Once again... What's the difference?"
"A howitzer is shorter."
"...Can't you just call it a short cannon, then?"
"That wouldn't bemuse the masses, Polly!"
"I see you've been studying again, Truce." I turned around to see Mr. Wright with a bottle of grape juice in hand.
"Of course, Daddy! Gotta get into the best clown college they've got!"
"Ha ha. That's my girl." Mr. Wright dug into a plastic bag. "I picked up some pudding for you."
"Really? Thanks, Daddy!" He tossed her a package of chocolate pudding and pulled a spoon out of a drawer.
"You know, if you're going to take money out of my wallet, you might as well buy me some pudding, too," I grumbled.
"Ever heard of nepotism, Polly?" she asked, handing me a plastic cup.
"Yeah. Presidents giving important government positions to their families. But what does that have to do with pudding?"
"Favoritism to relatives."
"Ha ha, I'll be sure to get you some pudding next time. I just couldn't picture you eating pudding." I ripped the lid off of my package and rebelliously spooned some of it into my mouth. "Well, I guess I can picture it now. I'm going to have to propound now. You know... I've got my secret mission."
"Daddy, you used propound wrong."
"Huh? Doesn't it mean to set forth? Because if it didn't, Edgeworth really was just trying to sound smart."
(A/N: Can we just enjoy the fact that my dog just ran into my room with a cup of chocolate pudding in her mouth, and I had to chase her down? She didn't eat any, don't worry. I did, though :3)
"That's what it means, but not like that. It's more like... 'Polly propounded that Daryan was the killer, and Prosecutor Gavin totally freaked out'."
"...Really?" I think I just realized why Trucy technically owns this agency.
"I don't know why they expect high schoolers to know all this vocabulary. I mean, look at Apollo. He doesn't know any of this, but he's not a total waste of living tissue." ...I can't tell if that was a compliment or not.
"It's a prophylactic against dumb people!" she exclaimed. She grinned at our blank expressions. "Point and case. A prophylactic is a preventive. Like how hand sanitizer is a prophylactic against getting sick."
"I need a prophylactic against defalcators," I moaned. Even Trucy gave me a blank stare. I have to admit, that feels really good.
"I don't know that one," Trucy said.
"It's a legal term for people who take your money. Mr. Wright, you did pass the bar, didn't you?"
"...That was ten years ago."
"I can see that," I replied with a smirk.
"I lost my legal peerage a long time ago," he replied.
"Peerage... Social status?" I guessed.
"Nobility."
"Daddy, you were never that well respected."
"I think I trundled along just fine."
"...Daddy, stop making up uses for words."
"They see me trundlin', they hatin'-"
"Daddy. STOP."
"Patrolling they tryin' to catch me ridin' dirty-"
"Mr. Wright, I swear..."
"You are a pariah," Trucy firmly stated.
"...Is that even English?"
"It better be, considering how many times I messed it up!" Poor Trucy. I remember studying for that test. "Now get out of the vestibule and go on your secret mission."
"What, am I an outcast now?"
"That's what pariah means."
"Ouch. What about, uh... nepoism?"
"NepoTISM. It doesn't apply when your Daddy can't sing." Her face was so serious, I couldn't help but laugh. "Vestibule. Lobby. Out."
"Wow, they caught me ridin' dirty-"
"Daddy, I've got my howitzer out."
"Okay, I'm going, I'm going! Have a nice day, guys."
"I'll try. Enjoy your secrecy."
"I will. Enjoy your pudding."
"We will."
(MadFox did.)