Pearl Freddy

There was one movie parody we had to save for last...

"This is ridiculous," I growled, hiding behind yet another garbage can. "We're going to freeze to death."

"Shh," said Thatcher, peaking out cautiously and then ducking quickly back in.

"Re-dick-you-lus," I repeated, quieter.

Thatcher and I were trying to skip school. 'Trying' being the operative word here, because we were not succeeding. Somehow, the security in the school had gone from siesta hour at a lazy Mexican town to Rambo. We were licked. We couldn't get anywhere near our lockers, because no less than six hall pass ladies and the assistant principle were convened on the second floor. Miraculously, we were able to hide in a closet long enough for one of them to pass on their patrol and then somehow managed to sprint down the stairs while they were gone. Now we were stuck on the first floor, miles away from the exit, and twenty minutes away from the end of any class.

"Why didn't we just not go to school today?" I growled, earning a slap on the back of the head from Thatcher.

"Shh," he repeated, "they're moving." And indeed they were. I got down on my belly and slithered across the floor behind a set of lockers. This brought me about ten feet closer to the door. I heard footsteps behind me and saw Thatcher enter my space as well, looking like he wanted to slap me harder. We huddled together and peaked out from behind the can.

"Okay...you go right, I'll go left," I told him. "One of us has to get out of this alive." He sighed.

"Or what, we can't save Private Ryan?" I thought about this.

"That's right."

Thatcher rolled his eyes at me and held up three fingers for a count. We each dove in our separate directions. Luckily for Thatcher, he made it to the next row of lockers completely undetected. Unluckily for me, I slammed right into Principal Botfoch. Yes, that is the man's name. It's pronounced 'buh-foe.' He grabbed my shoulders as I tried to backpedal away, and smirked.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Frantically, I glanced over my shoulder but Thatcher was nowhere in sight. "I'm hit!" I screamed, writhing in his clutches. Botfoch shook me a few times and I felt my head bounce back and forth.

"Were you with someone? Tell me the name of the miscreant who was helping you in this escape!" I shook my head, vowing silently that I'd never give my pooky-pie into the hands of this monster. "Fine then!" he cried, hiking me up into a potato sack hold. I kicked my legs unabashedly, wailing.

He walked me through a crowd of cheering hall pass ladies as though a gauntlet. Some of them took bobby pins out of their buns and poked me with them. It was terrible. Finally, we stopped at the library room, and without any ceremony, he threw me in and locked the door. From my place on the floor, I looked up and wondered why he wanted me in here. To read up on my mistakes?

There were several tables in the center of the room. At them were seated four other students. Cautiously, I dusted myself off and sat down next to a harmless looking Hindu kid. He pushed his glasses up his nose and nodded at me.

"Welcome to detention."

I looked at him. "Detention? In the middle of the day? In the library?" He nodded, looking apologetic.

"They would have made it on Saturday, but Principal Botfoch has a dentist's appointment that day.

"Lucky him," I muttered, looking around the room.

"What are you looking at?" Barked a beefy young man in a letterman jacket as I glanced at him.

"What are you looking at?" I shot back, swimming in an unexpected surge of testosterone.

"Nothing," he whimpered, looking away. "My daddy doesn't love me." A few seats away, a black haired girl in black clothes cackled wickedly. At first I though she was Louise-Marie, but then I noticed a certain cuteness that deterred from her freakish attire and manners. Nah, couldn't be Louise. As I stared at her, she 'eeped' and ducked under the hoodie of her big pimpin' fresh puffy black coat.

"Ugh. She is so weird," cried a perfectly accented voice from the side. I turned to see a voluptuous blonde in a Versaci dress and a diamond necklace. Woah. If I wasn't Thatcher's homo lifemate, I would be all over her like weasels on butter.

"So what are you in for?" asked the nerd. I forced my head to swivel back into his direction and blinked a few times.

"Um...I tried to sneak out. Me and my friend were going to a..." I couldn't tell them we were trying to go to a gay parade. Really, a gay parade in February. I should have known this was a bad idea from the start. "A...um...white supremacist...parade."

"Oh, okay," said the Hindu kid, and pushed his glasses up again. I noticed he had a slight lisp. "I'm in here because I let someone copy off of me for a test." I sympathized with him. I really did. Except when people copied off of me, they usually regretted it later.

"Ugh. I was putting on makeup during class. I don't see what, like, the prob with that is."

"I do," I objected. "You are perfectly scrumptious without makeup. Touching up that face is a crime."

There was an awkward silence.

"Ew, like, don't talk at me," the sexy diva said, and turned away. I frowned and sighed.

"I'm on steroids," said the jock. "My daddy doesn't love me, so to make him love me I poison myself with chemicals so I can score more runs and make him love me. Then he'll love me for sure. That's why I'm on steroids."

"I'm in for possession of pot. So let's smoke some pot and then dance on the banister up there," said the freaky pseudo-goth. I was in immediately.

Twenty minutes later, we were all laying on the floor where we had fallen off the banister, holding hands and giggling.

"I almost killed myself the other day," said the Hindu kid. We all had a little laugh at that. "Yeah, I had a gun in my locker and I was going to kill everyone and then myself."

"Well, you couldn't have killed everyone," pointed out Miss Versaci. "You would have, like, totally run out of bullets!"

"Did you do it because your daddy doesn't love you? My daddy doesn't love me. Maybe I should kill myself and then he'd love me, because he sure doesn't love me right now." You all can guessed who said this.

"Wouldn't it be funny if you shot everyone, but you ran out of bullets for yourself?" asked the other girl.

"Yeah," hiccuped Hindu.

"Oh yeah," I screamed, inexplicably overcome by the urge to be cool and hardcore and show off even though there was absolutely no point to do so except maybe to show off the fact that I'm a troubled and guilt ridden teenager who has no social skills and even less sense of timing. "I'll show you something!" I jumped up and ripped my shirt off. Everyone was treated to a giant scar across my chest and where part of my nipple was torn off. "You think you've got it bad? This," I pointed, "Is what happens in my house when you spill nail polish in your sister's bedroom!" I was breathing irregularly. "And I've got about fifteen of these scars, too."

"Your nails look nice though," spoke up the girl. I looked down at my perfectly manicured black nails.

"Yeah, yeah they do. You're right," I said as I lay down. "Well," I added, "I've got the munchies. Who brought lunch?"

"I'll share with you," said Hindu, taking out a sack lunch filled with pb&j, apples, juice boxes, and stuff like that. I made fun of him, just because my testosterone levels weren't down yet, but ate most of it and it was good. The jock had a gallon of Creatine, a live steer, three cartons of eggs (raw) and a small swimming pool filled Gatorade. The goth girl had three packets of microwave popcorn, which she poured, unpopped, onto a pita, mixed with soy sauce, black jello, and a quart of chicken blood, and finally covered with a light meringue. After she finished eating and we finished throwing up, no one would give her the time of day. Pot or no.

Miss Priss had some kind of weird raw fish wrapped in seaweed that she ate with sticks. I mean, I've seen them do that at my work, but I always thought that that was some sort of satanic ritual us white people couldn't participate in. When I asked her what the hell she was eating, she looked at me like I was crazy and told me it was sushi. Honestly, I don't see what's so weird about my question. I mean, who's ever heard of sushi?

I took a moment to contemplate our lunches and how they related to our personalities. I, as the destitute druggie who nobody loved, of course, had no lunch. I became more likeable and pitiable this way. Goth girl, as the resident weirdo, mixed together things that had no reason ever being less than a supermarket away from eachother. This made us hate and fear her. The geek, because he was wholesome and harmless, had a wholesome and harmless lunch. The jock...well, obviously, a growing boy had to eat. However, I can't comment on the rich hot girl because I still have no idea what the hell sushi is.

We soon noticed that it was almost three, and we had to go. We all reflected on how far we had come this day, from hating eachother to overcoming our differences and making the best of friends. The jock and the goth girl were making out in the corner, so I tried to make out with the rich girl, but she pushed me down the stairs. The geek was looking hopefully at me.

Morosely, I wondered where Thatcher was as Princi-pal Botfoch let us out.