Two Weeks Later…

So I never exacted my revenge on the momma's boy. But my friends were chomping at the bit to give that dumbass his just desserts. What can I say; alcohol does stupid things to people.

Lacey stumbled into class with eyes too bright for a Wednesday morning. Five minutes into class and she hadn't stopped giggling. I shared a glance with Lynn and my suspicions were confirmed by the stench of alcohol wafting from the petite cheerleader. We can only imagine what she was doing drinking this early.

Am I right to be bothered by the actions of a dear friend and devout Catholic? Before this question could tumble around in my head for long, I heard Lacey call my name.

"Erika, we're going to key Ms. Johnson's car!"

From experience I've found that it is never wise to show outright disapproval of a drunken person's ideas. It only gets them angry and steels their determination. With that in mind, I calmly asked, "Oh? How come?"

Lacey giggled and pointed to the other side of the classroom. I craned my neck around the great fat boy who sat beside me to see if she was pointing at anyone in particular and was not surprised to see her index finger aimed at Colby, everyone's favorite sissy.

"What'd the oaf do now?" I asked, expecting to hear about his latest disagreement with Lacey's thug of a boyfriend.

"He went and tattled to Ms. Johnson about the whole newspaper thing and she made you cry! So I'm like ready to show her who she can mess with..."

Not bad drunken logic, at all. And I'm only being a little sarcastic.

But of course, the mention of me crying had the whole class hanging on Lacey's every word. As if they cared about my well-being. Half of those jackasses were just aching to bring me down a notch and apparently this moment of weakness was an encouraging sign that the almighty Erika Jung was not as cool and unaffected as previously thought. In the back of my head, thoughts of what this revelation might inspire my classmates to do to my poor personage consumed me; Lynn tried to catch my eye but not before Mr. Albert rounded the corner, carrying a stack of books. He dumped the textbooks on his desk and reached into a filing cabinet. After rummaging through the top drawer, he brought out a ream of paper. The delinquents in the front row groaned and I knew this did not bode well for the class.

Lacey, however, was not so concerned with the business of the class. In her attempt to garner my attention, she attracted that of Mr. Albert. Our normally very cool and easy going teacher had his mouth set in determination and woe was she who crossed him.

"Lacey! Shut your trap and get to work! The rest of you need to pick up a book and get started on chapter twelve vocabulary."

Wait a minute, this was Journalism; we don't do book work in Journalism…unless…

"Erika, quit gawking at me and get some work done! You don't want to fail your senior year!"

If I was gawking before, I was sitting in my chair with my jaw down in my lap. This has to be a parallel universe—teachers don't threaten to fail valedictorians! Mr. Albert must have gotten the message because he grimaced and said, "Ms. Johnson wasn't impressed the last paper, she wanted to see actual work from the entire class—not just you, Erika. So we're doing book work for the rest of the semester."

And thus was death keen of my last busy-work-free class of the semester. So from there I hauled myself over to his desk where I retrieved a book and a worksheet packet. Two months of the sheer monotony before the sweet freedom of college.

After ten minutes of productive silence, Mr. Albert went to get a cup of coffee from the workroom, leaving us to our own devices. Lynn and Lacey had their books and papers out but they were too busy jacking around with their shiny new cell phones to be bothered with such trivial things as school work. Across the room Colby discussed politics with one of my other journalism peons. Apparently Chuck Norris supported Mike Huckabee and that was all Colby needed to know about the presidential election. If that dumb fuck should ever reproduce the world as we know it is doomed.

I stood corrected. Lacey's boyfriend, Bill, shouted something at Colby and the fool tried to stand up for himself. Not long into the verbal exchange, my eyes glazed over, thinking I knew where this was going. Then Colby got out of his chair and walked over to Lacey's thug. They were practically nose to nose when Colby called Bill a "Smurf".

Of course, I can't claim to understand what goes through a boy's head when he calls another boy a little blue man but that wasn't going to stop me from drinking in the action. Bill told Colby to "get the fuck away from him" and that's where things got really interesting.

Colby pushed Bill. Turns out I underestimated Dallas Academy's village idiot—he was a dumbass with a death wish. I had only one question: how's his momma going to rescue him this time?

Mr. Albert walked back in the room just in time to see Bill shove Colby back. The teacher's eyes widened and he started speaking in what I call, "Surfer Vernacular" before jumping in between the boys.

"Hey hey, you knuckleheads, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"He was being a jackass." Colby explained as if that made everything so much better.

"So you started this? Dude, this is uncool, I don't know what your mom's going to say when Ms. Johnson calls."

"I didn't start this—"

Finally Lacey's boyfriend spoke, "That's bullshit! He pushed me, Mr. A!"

Mr. Albert sighed and looked around the classroom. Twenty pairs of eyes met his expectantly and he turned to me. I put down my pencil and propped my head on my hands in what I deem to be one of my more thoughtful poses. Of course he was going to ask me what really happened—I'm the valedictorian, I bleed honor and plain truth!

"Colby pushed Bill."

Lacey heaved a sigh of relief—why I don't know but that was all Albert needed to hear before he took the boys Ms. Johnson's office.

The rest of class passed uneventfully, with Albert going back and forth from Johnson's office to check on us. We weren't doing much of anything; Lacey was starting to complain of a hangover and Lynn was still messing around with her phone and the rest of the class was graffiti-ing their textbooks. All in all, it was a very nice way to end the day.

Once home, I threw my bag on the table and went to my computer. I wrote down what happened that day and took it upon myself to come up with the concept for a teen magazine quiz, "Are You a Smurf?"

Hey it has potential!

A couple hours later, Mother came home and we sat on the couch with the news playing on the television set. During commercial breaks we groaned about our dreadful day at school (elementary art jobs apparently aren't a walk in the park) while discussing our plans to move out the wilds of West Texas where we could sit out of the front porch with shotguns and take pops at anyone who had the nerve to disturb our serenity.

She can keep dreaming. I'm off at first light tomorrow to Australia to chase feral camels. Just try and stop me…

So with a term paper due...tomorrow, I could think of no better way to spend my time than to update a story I thought was finished. I hope you enjoyed it. Even if I don't own Smurfs...the filthy commies.

I kid, the Smurfs kick ass. As for chasing feral camels, yes that is a dream of mine. I would totally quit college and chase camels if the opportunity arose.

Feed my ego/fuel the procrastination: REVIEW!