Destined Fur More

Does Barbie Eat Comfort Food?

Believe it or not, school was actually a lot more fun than being at home. Because, at least here, I went unnoticed expect when there’s those heart-wrenching moments where I run into someone and apologize profusely. Oh, and let’s not forget when the teacher decides to make my day and call on me, despite the fact they know I don’t know the answer.

            I weaved skillfully through the crowd of adolescents, trying my best not to get cologne on me. Why guys thought that ten gallons of the stuff was better than just taking a shower, I honestly didn’t know.

            Watching each visible clock on the wall to make sure I wouldn’t be late to class, I did a side-step into the janitor’s closet. Eying the empty room with suspicion, I knocked on the far door three times. Bill the Janitor opened the rotting door, snorting.

            “Really, why do you need a secret knock? It’s not like anyone else is going to come in here and steal your books.” Handing me my English book, I passed him the brown paper bag that was meant to be my lunch.

            “You got a problem with it, I could always give me tuna-ketchup-beet sandwich to Gladys, you know how much she loves it…” I let him consider this.

            Bill wrinkled his nose, “Sure she does, but Gladys just inhales it. I take the time to individualize each flavor and appreciate the skillfulness of their make,”

            I laughed, giving him a wink. “I know you do, Bill. Thanks, I’ll cya tomorrow!”

            He returned a smile, mustache nearing the paper bag. “Of course, Fisher.”

            Just as I was about to leave, I turned around, pointing my finger at him. “Hey, don’t forget to leave-“

            “The gym door open. Never have, never will.”

            My shoulder slumped, happy. “Thank you!” I said, slipping out of the small, musty closet. Ever since my freshman year, I’d been making this exchange with Bill. I’d learned that after some point in time after a hated family member becomes a jock, there’s going to be some major pranks on your locker. Some even leading up to trout mysteriously appearing inside, despite the fact that all our locker combinations were ‘private’.

            I slipped through my English class’s door just as the bell rang out, loudly, as if purposely announcing my tardiness to Mrs. Helgrin. And sure, I was friends with the school staff, but this excludes teachers. For some reason, they just loathe me and my lack of genius-ness.

            “Fisher Keller, I do believe you are tardy to my class.” Said my near-demonic teacher, who had the terrible habit of spitting when she spoke. I one time say her plucking out the hairs on her chin with a tweezers at the stop sign on Monticello, no kidding. If talking on your cell phone while driving was bad, I couldn’t imagine what trying to pull out those deeply-rooted trees sprouting on her chin would be punished by.       

            Especially in public.

            “And Mrs. Helgrin,” I said, giving her a trying-not-to-be-sarcastic smile, “I do believe you’re looking quite stunning today. That shade of orange really does bring out the red in your hair,” I wasn’t lying; it did. But that didn’t necessarily make it a good thing.

            Her lip twitched, and she brushed imaginary lint off her traffic-cone-florescent dress. “I do not appreciate smart-alec teenagers, no grab a tardy card and sit down.”