"I just had a horrible weekend. I failed a test on Friday. I also gained a pound and the dress I ordered for prom no longer fits..." The superficial girl who personified The John E. Reinhart Institute for Higher Academics (this name is so stuffy it could stuff all the turkeys in the Midwest,) rambled on about her woes. It was getting really annoying really fast.
I will admit, I do lie a lot. Nevertheless, one of the few times I do tell the truth, the teacher calls me a liar. It all started with the summer assignment. Why is it that no matter what school I go to, I get a summer assignment? (Trust me on this one I have been to quite a few schools and they all love to assign summer homework.) This year it was the classic What I did this Summer essay (I mean come on am I in first grade, I don't think so!) On September 1st we had to read our essays out loud to the class (really is that not original), and then hand it in to the teacher. I hand wrote mine to be a bit more adventurous, no spell check people I just that good. Paper the essay was written on $3.99, pen I used to write it $1.00, time used to write the damn thing 30 minutes, the look on my teacher and classmates' faces … priceless.
For some reason the teacher thought I had made my whole summer up. I mean really, why he would not believe me when I said that my grandmother got herself (and me) kicked out of Russia, is a mystery. He did not believe when I also told him that my brother, Dominick (Dom for short), was royally pissed with Ellen (my grandmother) when I was kidnapped, by one of the many Mobs. While I was kidnapped, I kicked ass, took names, and then walked calmly out the door to find Ellen, in her favorite bar. Wait... nevermind. I do have a scar on my upper thigh from where I was shot. I would show it to the class and to the teacher, but I would have to hike up my skirt, and that might be taken the wrong way.
The only reason I wrote what actually happened to me over the summer rather than come up with a load of bull, is that I want to get out of this fuck school. I mean really who in their motherfuckin minds would believe that my mother genetically altered my brother and mine's DNA, and because of her we have had people after us for as long as I can remember. Moreover, for the last however many years, we have been keeping an eye on the Pattern and ZFT. That is a whole other freakshow. That is my life in a nutshell. So what is your sob story?