Anyone may blame me who likes
The stupid therapist my parents sent me to has suggested that I go back to my online writing since putting things into narrative form is good, and helps define and shape experience and fears. Well, that was the way he put it. I haven't been writing since I've been busy. I've had papers to mark, but I'm not really supposed to be doing that.
Last week, when I was at the Learning Resources Centre table with Zenobia, the English teacher who's stuck with the Drama Club this year came up and said he had an offer I couldn't refuse.
"Or what? I get a horse's head in my locker?"
"Very funny, young lady. The principal said you were the student with the highest English average in the school. I need you to do some work for the department."
"What kind of work?" This sounded weird. Zenobia excused her current tutoring subject and started to listen in.
"This year's drama club production has turned out to be a lot more time-consuming than we all thought. I'm spending a considerable amount of overtime making sure nothing catches on fire like last year."
"Nothing caught on fire. It was a malfunctioning fog machine," I said.
"Whatever. The end result is, I have two classes worth of grade 9 students who need to be graded, and you're the only person around to do it," he said.
"You do realize I'm not a teacher, and I don't even have a high school diploma, let alone a B.A.," I said.
"Oh, I know. Other school districts have done this, so I think it's all right." I paused for a minute.
"Other school districts on television, you mean. This doesn't sound very legal," I said. The English teacher drew himself up and glared at me.
"Ms. Larson, you can mark the grade 9 students, or you can be the tallest Peaseblossom any production of A Midsummer's Night Dream has ever featured. The choice is yours." It wasn't really a choice, so I agreed to mark papers. Zenobia said she was lucky that the math department didn't do any theatre. We talked about how things were with our therapists, and how Zapata really should be seeing one. She had been depressed ever since Jeremy Jones started dating again.
"He can't do that!" she shrieked. Zenobia reminded her that Jeremy was a free agent and that Zapata already had a boyfriend. "It's not fair. You two get to see Jeremy all the time when you tutor him, and I don't." Variations of this went on every week or so.
My brother was sulking again, but this time because Duncan's online posts were getting boring. Arne had given Charles Wallace a talk about girls and art, which was his awkward but kind of nice way of explaining that I did the right thing in breaking up with Duncan. Arne told Charles Wallace that I had released Duncan to follow his music, and Duncan should appreciate that. Of course, Arne put it that I realized I was boring and just holding Duncan back. Now Charles Wallace just fumes when he reads Duncan going on about Eva Abuya's family.
"I could do that, but I don't feel like it," he said, "Anyone can do a 419. It's easy."
Last week, when I was at the Learning Resources Centre table with Zenobia, the English teacher who's stuck with the Drama Club this year came up and said he had an offer I couldn't refuse.
"Or what? I get a horse's head in my locker?"
"Very funny, young lady. The principal said you were the student with the highest English average in the school. I need you to do some work for the department."
"What kind of work?" This sounded weird. Zenobia excused her current tutoring subject and started to listen in.
"This year's drama club production has turned out to be a lot more time-consuming than we all thought. I'm spending a considerable amount of overtime making sure nothing catches on fire like last year."
"Nothing caught on fire. It was a malfunctioning fog machine," I said.
"Whatever. The end result is, I have two classes worth of grade 9 students who need to be graded, and you're the only person around to do it," he said.
"You do realize I'm not a teacher, and I don't even have a high school diploma, let alone a B.A.," I said.
"Oh, I know. Other school districts have done this, so I think it's all right." I paused for a minute.
"Other school districts on television, you mean. This doesn't sound very legal," I said. The English teacher drew himself up and glared at me.
"Ms. Larson, you can mark the grade 9 students, or you can be the tallest Peaseblossom any production of A Midsummer's Night Dream has ever featured. The choice is yours." It wasn't really a choice, so I agreed to mark papers. Zenobia said she was lucky that the math department didn't do any theatre. We talked about how things were with our therapists, and how Zapata really should be seeing one. She had been depressed ever since Jeremy Jones started dating again.
"He can't do that!" she shrieked. Zenobia reminded her that Jeremy was a free agent and that Zapata already had a boyfriend. "It's not fair. You two get to see Jeremy all the time when you tutor him, and I don't." Variations of this went on every week or so.
My brother was sulking again, but this time because Duncan's online posts were getting boring. Arne had given Charles Wallace a talk about girls and art, which was his awkward but kind of nice way of explaining that I did the right thing in breaking up with Duncan. Arne told Charles Wallace that I had released Duncan to follow his music, and Duncan should appreciate that. Of course, Arne put it that I realized I was boring and just holding Duncan back. Now Charles Wallace just fumes when he reads Duncan going on about Eva Abuya's family.
"I could do that, but I don't feel like it," he said, "Anyone can do a 419. It's easy."
posted by Zandra Larson at 8:45 p.m.
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