So you go and you stand on your own

Yesterday I had my math and chemistry exams. Thanks, R. P. Boire, for maximizing my misery in a more efficient way than you've done already. Last night at dinner my mother stared suspiciously at my brother and me.
"Dr. Patterson says that his son Michael's play is getting a workshopped production in one of the public schools, and that Michael's thrilled with the student they got to play him. Funny thing, though, according to Dr. Patterson, this particular student already has an agent. Michael told him that the agent seemed competent, although she was dressed in an R. P. Boire uniform for some reason. Do you two know anything about this?"
"Er, I should have changed before I went to the rehearsal?" I asked.
"I really worry when you two start working together on something," my mother said.
Tonight's the prom. I sort of have a date for it, since Duncan's playing at it, but I guess I'll be spending most of the evening watching Jeremy do the sound (it'll give me a good view of Eva so I can make sure she doesn't use her targeting breasts on Duncan). Charles Wallace sulked a bit about not being able to go.
"You're too young, and anyway, you have to fix your lines. The scene where Michael discovers his vocation as a writer needs a lot of work. I want to see the first re-write tomorrow afternoon," I told him.
"When I asked you to be my agent, I didn't think you'd actually act like one," he said.