Rhombus [h.s]

3

3

The next day, I had three classes and a free period. Emily and I had Biology together, where I told her of my whereabouts the night before, leaving the whole boat-stealing, uh, borrowing with verve situation out of the conversation.

I spent my free period in my room trying to read about transcendentalism and Ralph Waldo Emerson. I learned that 1. transcendentalists are not "good members" of the society, and 2. every man should learn to focus his attention to his inner self for guidance rather than relying on external forces (*cough* Emily *cough*) and institutions. There was this Emerson quote in my Philosophy book that I recited on and on like a mantra. It goes like this: "Nothing can bring you peace but yourself," Cool, huh? (Not the creepy repetitive reciting. The quote.)

I also learned that after the late events of the previous night, and the boring ass lectures this morning, I was far too tired to care about inner peace or Philosophy or anything else, so I slept on my bed until my alarm clock went off, signaling me that it was lunch time and that I had to meet Woody and the gang outside Abbey Hall.

"Hey there, Rue!" Woody said. "Glad you made it."

"I'm glad too." I sat across Garfunkel, who looked absolutely drugged out.

"Why? Was something keeping you?" Woody asked, spearing the roast potatoes on her plate.

"My nerves went haywire and my limbs fell asleep. I woke up with a dead weight."

"Paresthesia, pins and needles." Garfunkel said in monotone. "It is a killer."

"Exactly."

Then Harry arrived carrying a can of Dr. Pepper. He was wearing a badass leather jacket and a strand of hair was loosely dangling over his forehead. I noticed a cigarette sticking out from behind his ear. He looked like a rock god, sort of like Alex Turner (with green eyes and a sharp jaw). Sitting beside Woody, he said, "Some bastard at the lunch line gave me the evil eye. So I stole his drink."

"You're unbelievable." I said.

"It's a dog-eat-dog world." He shrugged and opened the can with one hand. "So, Ms. Rebel, now that you're basically hanging out with us, I've thought of a nom de plume for you."

"And what's that?"

"Howler." It rolled slowly off his tongue.

"Huh?"

"Howler," he said. "because you seem like the reticent type. And the howler monkey is the loudest land animal in the New World. It's called ironic analogy, Howler. Simply the cleverest thing formulated by man."

First an individualist, now a reticent. Am I really that unforthcoming to people?

I looked up at him a little helplessly and then deadpanned, "Wow. Thanks, Harry."

"Don't call me Harry." He gave me a significant look. "I have a nom de plume of my own, now."

Woody arched her eyebrows. "Really."

"Yes, really. From this day forth I am Edward Murdock."

"Edward's your middle name." Garfunkel said, still speaking into his lap.

I stifled a laugh. "Edward Murdock?"

"Yes. Edward Murdock."

"You sound like a wizard."

"I am."

"No, wait. Who's that guy who had diprospus again?"

"Diprosopus." Garfunkel said slowly. "Edward Mordake."