Okay...
THANK YOU REVIEWERS!!! Thanks to *clears throat* Kelli Granger (Your reviews were very sweet. I'm sorry if the romance stuff isn't exactly your first choice, but I'm totally obsessed with it. I had more (romance,) but my little sister wouldn't let me post it) to TaNsHi (nice review! Yay!) to Coffe Luv (THANKS!!!) to Jade Roxanne (thanks so much!) and to anybody else who I haven't mentioned yet.
To *billy bob* : Okay. I honestly don't care if you don't like my story. It was kind of lame of you. I mean, if you're going to say something like that, at least sign your review instead of using some stupid name that sounds like a puppet on a kiddy show. Unless, of course, by some cruel twist of nature you are my crush, who I based Isadora's thoughts about Klaus on. (DON'T BE HIM!!!! AGGGHHH!!!) I highly doubt it. You could at least have said why you *did not like* my story. Okay. Done yelling at you. As if you're reading this...
Life at Prufrock went from Hell to Heaven in a surprisingly short time. The time it took, if you want me to be exact, was the time it takes for a girl to find out the most wonderful, smartest boy ever is assigned to her class.
Finally, somebody who I could switch objects to measure with. Before, I had been all alone, with nobody to switch with. But now I had Klaus, and he was iwayi better than nobody!
He was iwayi better than anybody, as a matter of fact.
It was wonderful to sleep on prickly hey bales when a few feet away Klaus Baudelaire was sleeping on one too. I noticed how he slept on his side, and how his mouth slightly quivered when he was asleep. It was wonderful to measure things all day when Klaus Baudelaire was measuring things a few desks away. I noticed how when he was really concentrating, he would put his tongue between his teeth and squint at the paper. I observed how he didn't like it when people licked their fingers to turn the pages of a book. I noticed every single minute detail about him, how he ate, which side of a water glass he sipped from, and how he buttered his toast. I watched how he acted when he was happy, and how he sounded when he was sad. I learned how he sharpened his pencil every half-hour. I noticed how he talked to Sunny and Violet, and how he spoke to teachers. But most of all, I noticed how when we looked at each other, everything went all soft and tinkley.
I started writing more couplets than I ever had before. They were all about, well, you know-who...
I started to realize that our friends weren't very lucky the day we met our new gym teacher. He had come to the Orphan's Shack and said that Violet, Klaus, and Sunny had good legs for running. He called us twins, and Nero did too. It was a bad day.
At Nero's six hour violin concert, I decided to bring up the subject of the awful gym teacher. "Our new gym teacher sure looks creepy," I said.
Duncan nodded. "That's for sure. It's that sneaky look in his eye."
Violet glanced around and leaned forward. "That sneaky look is because he's not really Coach Genghis. He's not really any coach. He's Count Olaf in disguise."
"I KNEW you recognized him!" said Klaus.
"Count Olaf? How awful!" said Duncan. "How did he follow you here?"
"Stewak," said Sunny, which Violet translated to mean that he followed them everywhere.
"But why did you pretend not to recognize him?" asked Klaus. Instantly, I agreed with him. Why didn't Violet tell Nero? Than he could get kick him out. I said so, but Violet disagreed. She thought that Count Olaf would just worm out of their accusation, and when Klaus agreed, it began to make sense.
They were starting to explain his associates when Duncan and I interrupted to say that we would help them. We had to. Klaus was really sweet and sounded concerned, but Duncan and I just shook our heads and Duncan said "never mind." He was right. I didn't mind about anything, as long as I could help the Baudelaires. And Klaus.
For the rest of the concert, we debated plans to reveal who Count Olaf was, and I showed Klaus a poem I was writing about libraries. He helped me with it, and three times he touched my notebook. Four times he touched my hand! Twice I touched his. Far too many times to count, I wondered if he was feeling what I was.