WATTYS LONG LIST. He's got three polyamorous, pole dancing moms and his world is the stuff of which teen boy fantasies are made. But when he falls for a feisty cancer patient who is about to die, he truly learns how to live.
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Okay, crazy quilt chapter comin' atcha. Bits and bobs, as the Brits—and JJ--say. So just try and follow, if you can. You should be used to me by now, though.
So anyway, I missed my first two classes the next day. I got home early enough to sleep a little bit, but I was just too nervous about Kendall to get my silly ass out of the house on time.
And also, she kinda crawled all over me the whole night because she'd been so scared I was out there doing myself some kind of harm or something. I think she wanted to prove she wouldn't disintegrate if I touched her, too.
Mission accomplished. A couple of times.
When I finally did get to school, these friends of the tokidoki crew came running up wanting me to sign their backpacks. They went ape shit over my avatar, when I showed it to them. And agreed with my choice, too. Though I think they would've agreed with anything I said, to be honest. So cute.
And here's how you know God's lookin' out for you for sure, even on days when you kind of don't deserve it. Check it out:
I go rushing to the Attendance Office and instead of the usual "Well, better late than never, I guess," the clerk just hands me a pass, laughs and says, "Shoulda just taken the whole day. Won't be doin' nothin' but goin' back and forth to the auditorium."
So I instantly knew there was some kind of assembly that damned near all the teachers had signed up for. Because the office staff, or actually all the staff besides the teachers, had a "thing" about that.
If a parent called the office to complain that they'd left a message for some teacher and never got a call back, the clerks would say stuff like, "Well, there's an assembly today, ma'am..." With this real sarcastic tone. They're always telling people how teachers hate to teach.
And assembly days do kind of prove their point. See, they send out this email to the whole staff inviting them to sign up to see some awful band, rapper, acrobat or dance troupe that got eliminated from "America's Got Talent" in the first round or something.
They always give us this spiel about how they overcame disappointment—or sometimes drug or alcohol addiction--to follow their dreams. But I mean, if doing the same lame act that didn't cut it on TV all day, day after day in auditoriums full of cat-calling kids is their "dream," God help 'em.
Cause damned near every teacher signs up to take all their classes. Which means that by the end of the day, all the kids have seen the show over and over and over and over.
So they've got jokes. And when someone cracks wise, the other kids piggy back on that. And then they start talking so much the janky performers start trying to cajole them into showing "a little respect for your fellow classmates who might actually be enjoying themselves."
After which there's always a bunch of kids who try to abandon ship through fire exits and whatnot. So there's doors banging and teachers chasing after them until one of the VPs stops the show and gives the, "If you people don't behave, we're going to have to stop the show and send you back to class," lecture.
