Chapter Four
The World Makes Sense Again
Gym's probably the only lesson in school I actually like, at least a little. I'm on the girls' football team, and it was practise today. Mr Chapin had us all running around like idiots doing all these 'team' exercises, and then we had a game. Just a little one.
I looked up when I got done for tackling someone. You might not see where I'm heading, but I swear I saw Curls - you know, the unwashed miscreant from Lit - talking to Donner. Are they related or something, or did Donner just want the last lot of Lit homework? Or did Curls just want the homework, actually, come to that?
Anyway, the whistle blows soon after that. "Great practise, everyone!" yells Chapin as we come off the field, and then, to me, "Good hustle, Stratford."
"Thanks Mr Chapin," I reply, heading over to the bench to get a drink.
And then there he is, in front of me. Curls. The unwashed miscreant himself, returned from the dead. Well. From the bench in the middle of the field. The coaches have given up trying to make him do PE. "Hey there, girlie," he says as I drink. "How ya doin'?"
Is he chatting me up?! "Sweating like a pig, actually, and yourself?" I reply. (Well, it's hot.)
He laughs. "Now there's a way to get a guy's attention."
Hmm. Maybe he's not going to go away so easily. I try sarcasm. "My mission in life. But obviously I struck your fancy, so you see it worked! The world makes sense again."
He laughs, and follows me as I walk off. "Pick you up on Friday then?"
"Oh, Friday. Right. Uh-huh." My voice is dripping with sarcasm. Such a good way to ask me out, the arrogant (not to mention unwashed) prick!
"Well, the night I take you places you've never been before."
Oh. My. God. How cheesy can you get?! I try a clearer tack. Maybe he's too thick to get sarcasm. "Like where, the 7-11 on Broadway? Do you even know my name, screwboy?"
"I know a lot more than you think." I'm actually quite impressed; not a lot of people have the guts to stand up to me. But, trust my luck that the only one that does is a curly-haired screwboy.
"Doubtful. Very doubtful," I reply, walking off. He just stands and looks after me. Wuss. That was pretty annoying - also pretty weird.
Never mind. I'm going to Club Skunk in a couple of nights. Letters to Cleo are playing. How cool is that?!
The World Makes Sense Again
Gym's probably the only lesson in school I actually like, at least a little. I'm on the girls' football team, and it was practise today. Mr Chapin had us all running around like idiots doing all these 'team' exercises, and then we had a game. Just a little one.
I looked up when I got done for tackling someone. You might not see where I'm heading, but I swear I saw Curls - you know, the unwashed miscreant from Lit - talking to Donner. Are they related or something, or did Donner just want the last lot of Lit homework? Or did Curls just want the homework, actually, come to that?
Anyway, the whistle blows soon after that. "Great practise, everyone!" yells Chapin as we come off the field, and then, to me, "Good hustle, Stratford."
"Thanks Mr Chapin," I reply, heading over to the bench to get a drink.
And then there he is, in front of me. Curls. The unwashed miscreant himself, returned from the dead. Well. From the bench in the middle of the field. The coaches have given up trying to make him do PE. "Hey there, girlie," he says as I drink. "How ya doin'?"
Is he chatting me up?! "Sweating like a pig, actually, and yourself?" I reply. (Well, it's hot.)
He laughs. "Now there's a way to get a guy's attention."
Hmm. Maybe he's not going to go away so easily. I try sarcasm. "My mission in life. But obviously I struck your fancy, so you see it worked! The world makes sense again."
He laughs, and follows me as I walk off. "Pick you up on Friday then?"
"Oh, Friday. Right. Uh-huh." My voice is dripping with sarcasm. Such a good way to ask me out, the arrogant (not to mention unwashed) prick!
"Well, the night I take you places you've never been before."
Oh. My. God. How cheesy can you get?! I try a clearer tack. Maybe he's too thick to get sarcasm. "Like where, the 7-11 on Broadway? Do you even know my name, screwboy?"
"I know a lot more than you think." I'm actually quite impressed; not a lot of people have the guts to stand up to me. But, trust my luck that the only one that does is a curly-haired screwboy.
"Doubtful. Very doubtful," I reply, walking off. He just stands and looks after me. Wuss. That was pretty annoying - also pretty weird.
Never mind. I'm going to Club Skunk in a couple of nights. Letters to Cleo are playing. How cool is that?!