THE EIGHTEENTH

I got in trouble today (technically, yesterday-but until I fall asleep my day isn't done.) This was a big deal. I can remember every time I've been so much as reprimanded by an etcher.

First Grade. I'm running down the hall back to Miss. Moore's class form my

Accelerated reading group. I'm in a hurry cause its Thanksgiving and we're making mini turkeys out of apples, toothpicks and marshmallows. I'm about halfway there when I'm stopped by Mr. Buxton, whose villainous handlebar mustache automatically makes him the meanest teacher in the school. He tells me that running isn't allowed and asks for my name. I can barley say it because the snickering sixth-graders are so grown-up and intimidating. He writes my name on his calendar and tells me if he stops me again before he turns the page, I will have to take the late bus home. (The late bus is a pretty hefty threat because it's for bad kids.) I cried all the way back to my classroom, where all the kids were making mini-turkeys and singing sings about Pilgrims and Indians. Miss. Moore asked me what's wrong and I answered I don't like books anymore. For a while after that, I pretended to forget how to read so I didn't have to walk all the way to Mrs. Steinbeck's third-grade class and miss out on all the fun my first-grade friends have with Miss. Moore.

Fifth Grade. Someone has written KAGOME H. IS A BITCH in pencil on the

Door to the middle stall in the girl's bathroom. This really upsets me. Ayame- who at the time was my best friend and a very reliable source-tells me that it was written by Lisa Caputo. Lisa has been holding a grudge against me ever since I said that I don't like sleeping over at her house because her father doesn't wear any underwear underneath his bathrobe and sits with his legs spread wide apart at breakfast. So it's recess and my friends and I are hanging out by the backstop, playing the fortune-telling game MASH like we always do. I've just found out that I'm destined to marry Screech from "Saved by the Bell," have size kids, drive olive green golf cart, and live in chance to get back at her! Kick her" I kicked her. Lisa screamed then cried, which catches the attention of our teacher, Mrs. Cahill, who tries to get Lisa to tell her who kicked he. She tells her. Then I explain it was because she wrote the "B" word about me in the girl's bathroom. Mrs. Cahill makes us both take the late bus home. (The threat finally put into action.) My dad is still reconfiguring a network, or whatever he does with computers when he isn't riding his bike. My mom is showing a newly minted Wall Street Millionaire a wildly overpriced beachfront property that will bring her sweet commission. I know I'll get home before either one of them, so I don't worry about their reaction. They never find out about it.

Eight Grade. Although I was pissed that we got caught, I never felt bad about

anything Sango and I wrote in our Brutal Book. Thank god our English teacher only lectured us about using our hyper observant brainpower for good, not evil. Whoo-boy! Imagine the shit that would've gone down if she'd read our character assassinations to the class.

I tended to exaggerate for effect. On Ayame: Did the orthodontist remove half her brain along with her braces? On Kagura: She kisses up to Kikyo and Ayame so much they're crapping strawberry lip smacker. But Sango only spoke the ugly truth. On Kikyo: If Kikyo keeps thrusting her ta-ta's in Mr. Cole's face, she just might ace Algebra after all. Observations like that made it clear to me that Ayame ditching me for Hiten was the best thing that could have happened to me. Sango was the friend I always wanted but never had.

To add to this list, today's misdemeanour. When I get bored in class, I write sad song lyrics all over my book covers. I'm currently in an eighties phase-no surprise there. My current favourite is featured in "Pretty in pink," the third instalment of the Molly Ringwald teen queen trilogy (all of which I've enjoyed over and over again thanks to the programming execs at TNT, who seem to agree with my assertion that any John Hughes flick should be classified as a "new classic":

Please, please, please…let me, let me, let me…

Get what I want this time.

The Smiths' ode to yearning didn't get me in trouble. In a less musical bad mood, I guess I scribbled: LIFE SUCKS, THEN YOU DIE on the cover of my Chemistry book. I don't even remember doing it. But it raised the unibrow of Mr. Scherzer, who quickly informed my guidance counselor, Mrs. Glick, who called me out of Trig to meet Brandi, the school's pseudo shrink. Her nameplate says "Professional Counselor," Which I figure means she's a few credits short of a legit Ph.D. She probably couldn't find enough evidence for her doctoral thesis to prove that hugs are indeed better then drugs.

Brandi is mean skinny the kind that doesn't come naturally. And makes her face look all hollow and scary. She tries to make up for this with a bug-eyed bubble and gush that I know better than to trust. She-like me- is a fan of the eighties, but her devotion has tragic consequences: Kentucky-fired bangs and suntan panty hose.

Every inch of space in the counselling office walls is covered with posters that are supposed to stop us from driving drunk, doing drugs, have sex, and sticking our fingers down our throats. Most of them are totally corny: There once was a girl named Lydia, who had sex and got chlamydia…

Others aim to depress the hell out of you. The Best/Worst one had a blow-up of a girl's yearbook picture. Her name wasMiranda Greenbush and she was pretty in an unimaginative JCPenny catolog sort of way, like Ayame. Underneath her pic is a list of her activities: National Honour Society, Field Hockey, Soccer, Home coming Committee, French Club. Then underneath that it says in bold print: Two weeks before her yearbook came out, Miranda was killed when she got into a car with a drunk driver.

I have to admit it made me think about what would happen if I got killed by a drunk driver. I can understand why the Tsurai's won't fly Sango in for my Bitter Sixteen, but I assume they'd pay for a flight for my funeral. Who else would make sure that my mom buried me in my denim halter dress-especially if I died in winter? I could see my mother arguing that it isn't warm enough for me to wear something that is sleeveless, you know, because it's very important for dead people not to catch a cold.

Plus, I'd want Sango to make the show-stopping speech, "The Kagome You Never Knew." She gave a similar speech at Kohaku's mass, so I know she can handle it.

I don't know how she handled it, to tell you the truth; Kohaku's death went so public. The Tsurai's found themselves in the middle of a local media feeding frenzy. TEEN'S DEATH EXPOSES TOWN'S SECRET SHAME screamed the headlines of the "Ocean Country Observer." YOUTH OVERDOSES, SHOCKED LOCALS CALL CRACKDOWN shouted the "Asbury Park Press." In death, Kohaku became emblematic of the "atypical" heroin user, which sparked McCarthy-ensue paranoia that YOUR CHILD MAY BE NEXT. See, Kohaku didn't come form a "bad family." Mrs. Tsurai was a nurse. Mr. Tsurai was an elementary-school teacher and Eucharistic minister at Saint Bernadette's, the Catholic Church they attended as a family every Sunday. Both parents were active in the PTA and never missed a Back-to-school or ignored a bad report card. How could such a tragedy happen to such a good family? Everyone wanted answers and the only person who had one was dead.

Quite frankly, I think the reason that Kohaku got so high was because he was bored out of his mind. He was a really smart guy, and really smart people in shikon high have it rough. There's nothing to do here. His death really made me sad (still does) and not only because he ripped me apart to see Sango cry and wonder why? Like everyone else. I had always fantasized that when we got older Kohaku would see me as more then his little sister's playmate. Not that I had a crush on him or anything. He seemed like someone who would understand me. I was looking forward to being his equal. His friend

However, I can't seem to get out of the anger stage of my grief. I can't help but feel like Kohaku ruined everything, not just between us, but also between Sang and I.

I t was kind of ironic that I was thinking about all this when Brandi told me about Scherzer saw on my book cover and asked me if I've thought about suicide.

Deep down, I wanted to tell her that I've considered killing myself no more then the average almost sixteen year old honour student with no best friend or boyfriend and bigger bumps on her face than in her bra. But there's no way that Brandi would understand.

Brandi a gradated from SH about fifteen years ago- a fact unearthed by Kagura via an uncle who used to "bang" her. (Kagura's verb choice.) We found the year book from that year in the library and saw firsthand that our Professional Counselor had swept the most crucial Class Character awards: Best Dressed, Best Locking and Most Popular. She was Upper Crust all the way-or whatever they called the U.C then.

I wasn't about to confide in her because there's nothing more annoying than an adult who tells me that I will look back on all of this and laugh- especially when it comes form an adult who heartily tee-heed all along. This is why I also refuse advice from my mother and my sister.

So I told her this was all a misunderstanding. "Life Sucks Then You Die" is not my personal philosophy, no, no, no. Life Sucks Then You Die (L.S.T.Y.D) is the name of an indie funk band that I just love, love, love. She not only bought it, but also started to act like she's heard of them because she couldn't stand the idea of not being clued in anymore.

"They had one song that got some airplay," I said.

" Right! They did, didn't they? What was the name again?"

Her peepers were popping right out of her head at this point.

"Tongue-kissing Cousins."

" Right!" Brandi starts nearly every sentence with that exclamation. It's method of positively affirming her mixed-up counselees, something she learned in one of her Professional Counselor lasses no doubt. " 'Tongue-Kissing Cousins.' That song rocks."

"It's a slow jam."

"That's right! A slow jam."

And so continued our bonding for a minute or two until she deemed me stable enough to let me go with nary a mark on my permanent record.

Then a kind of weird thing happened.

I walked out of her office and nearly tripped over two bare legs covered in scars and scabs. Inuyasha Takahashi was slumped in a chair, stretching his long limbs right in front of the door. Inuyasha is what we at SH categorize as a" Dreg." I think he was waiting to meet with his parole officer. Last spring, he got busted for buying or selling or using-I don't know for sure-as part of the town's war on Drugs effort that followed Kohaku's death. Inuyasha was four years younger then Kohaku and his burnout buds, so they made him their marijuana-smoking mascot. (He's year older then Sango and me, but he's in our grade level because he got left back in elementary school for doing God only knows what.) Of course, marijuana being the gateway drug and all, they moved on to the bigger and better mind-altering substances: acid, E, 'shrooms, Special K, heroin, etc.

The other thing about Inuyasha is that crack headed girls who don't know any better think he's sexy. I don't see it. He's gotlong blacktangled hair that a girl could never run her hands through. His eyes are always half-shut. His lips are usually curled into a semi-smile, like he's in on a big joke that's being played on you but you don't know yet. He always has a girlfriend and he always cheats on her. Thus, Inuyasha is widely known by the moniker "Krispy Kreme" Because he's always "Burnt to a crisp" and is rumoured to have "bought three boxes of donuts." (In SH lingo, that means he's slept with at lest thirty-six girls. I dozen donuts per box-get it?)

In short, Inuyasha Takahashi is precisely the type of "Unsavoury character" that the Tsurais wanted to get Sango away from. This really wasn't necessary because Sango hates Inuyasha and the rest of Kohaku's former friends almost as much as she hates drugs and alcohol. She would be profoundly disappointed if I associated with him or his vices, so I walked right past him. My hand was on the doorknob when he called out to me.

"Hey, Tongue-Kissing Cousin!"

Though I used to see him sometimes at Sango's house, Inuyasha and I had never. Ever acknowledged each other's existence before. So I froze, not knowing whether I should (a) Laugh, (b) say something, or(c) ignore him and keep on walking. I chose a brilliant combo of (a) and (b).

"Uh, yeah. Ha. Ha. Ha."

I turned around and saw that Inuyasha was smiling at me. It freaked me out. I mean, it wasn't an unfamiliar smile. He smiled like he knew me and was used to looking at me full in the face even though I don't remember him ever giving me so much as a lazy I'm-too-stoned-to-avert-my-eyes look when I walked past him in home room. (Oh by the way you might be wondering why I have homeroom with Inuyasha Takahashi while I'm a H and he is a T. Well to be honest I don't even know why, but we have been in the same homeroom since the beginning of high school. Actually know that I think about it a lot of kids last names don't start with the same letter. You would think that the school board would fix this little problem but they haven't. All well.)

"I almost pissed myself out here," He said

"Uh, thanks, I guess."

"You're a natural con artist."

He was still looking right at me. I giggled. I always giggle like a girlie-girl when I get nervous. Its most annoying habit.

"What other secrets are you hiding?"

I chewed my lip (my seconded most annoying habit) and flew through the door.

The thing is, he's right. I get going on a lie and I can't stop. This is a largely untapped talent. I could probably talk my way out of a bazillion sticky situations-if I only got myself into them. It was just weird hearing it from someone who doesn't even know me.

THE TWENTIETH

My insomnia kicked in three months ago; right after Sango told me she was crossing the ocean. Since then, I've learned to hate every inch of my body.

I'll be lying in the dark urging myself to sleep, when I'll suddenly become excruciatingly aware of how sweaty my thighs get when stuck together in the fetal position. So I have to shift them. Hen my thighs are ok, but a lock of hair falls across my forehead and I can't stand the weight of it on my brow. So I brush it aside. Then my forehead is ok, but the toes of my right foot get all cramped up. So I have to crack them. Then my toes are ok, but then I get an itch on my butt. So I have to scratch it…

This goes on for hours with every conceivable combination of body parts and complaints. I've tried warm milk, counting sheep, even the I-dare-myself-to-stay-awake-reverse-psychology trick. Nothing works. I've stopped short of Tylenol PM because I don't want to be a person who requires drugs to get in and out of bed. As if Kohaku weren't enough of a warning, I've seen too many "Behind the Music's" to let that happen.

There is only one good thing about my middle-of-the-night restlessness. I have some crazy-ass dreams that are really easy to remember when I wake up. Take last night's, for example:

I show up at a student council meeting wearing nothing but a pair of polka-dotted panties. My nipples are doing a full on, friendly how do you do? To everyone in the room. No one minds, as though I always show up for after-school activities nearly natural.

The meeting is just about to get under way when Naraku comes up to me all outraged and yells, "Kags! Why are you showing everyone your tits? Today isn't Whip 'Em Out Wednesday!"

And then Ayame says, "And it's not like she has much to show off."

And then Inuyasha Takahashi says, "But she has a lot to hide in the inside."

Then I announce to them and everyone at the student council meeting that I'm conducting an experiment. I'm testing how comfortable everyone is with the sight of my breasts. The auditorium, which is now standing-room only because the entire student body is there, burst into applause.

Then Sessho-maru Wada whispers in my ear, "I though you were being a tease. But now that I know it was an experiment, I admire you."

I could lie and say that's when we have hot-buttered sex right there on the stage in front of 8000 screaming students. But unfortunately for me, that's when I woke up. Christ, I can't even touch him in my dreams.

Dreams are so weird, aren't they? I mean, you can't control who shows up in them. Like when I saw Inuyasha Takahashi in homeroom today, my stomach bungeed down to my toes, then sprang into my throat. I was actually worried that he somehow knew that he was in my dream last night. Of course, he didn't even look up from his notebook he's always scribbling in. He'll never know. But it makes me wonder if I was in anyone's dreams last night.

So what do you think? reveiw if want to!