The Cow Ate My Homework

4. Must I Really Follow Directions?

Yes. The answer is yes. Following directions is apparently one of those important life skills that are extremely necessary to learn. So necessary, in fact, that failing at it might just derail a big portion of my life. Or at least it might if it teams up with a hungry steer.

After my bus ride to school, I carry my model with me to the FFA barn so I can feed my pig. And I can't hold the model while I do it, even though it almost feels wrong to set it down on the dirty barn floor after putting so many hours into it. So I'll be smart and set it on this hay bale here. No problem with that. Oh I am so clever to have found a great spot to set this precious model down.

And then, the steer reaches through the feeder and easily pulls the result of my hours of work into his mouth.

Here we are again at the horror story that we opened on. I have nothing more to add.

Moments later, I'm weaving through the crowd in the school hallway. I hold the remnants of the model, and it looks as frownie as I feel inside.

Sarah keeps pace beside me. And she has to point out, "The irony. Your project was eaten by the steer of the dude who was supposed to have done half of it."

I cringe. Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't that steer belong to Rodney? That goes right along with how diametrically opposed he and I are in life.

No matter. I have to stick to the practicals right now. "What can I do with it in six minutes?"

As if in answer, a mangled chunk of the destroyed model falls off at my feet. I stop walking and stare at it. Contemplate staying put here to stare at it and do nothing more for the entire rest of my day. That sounds about as useful as any other course of action right now.

But there's a problem with even remaining here in the middle of the hall, where I could be easily found: "He's gonna kill me for ruining his grade."

"No-no, it's his fault." It's all so simple to Sarah, with her unflappable Sarah-confidence. "You should go confront him and be like, 'Your freaking steer ate our project. Since I did it all myself, you should probably pay me for my work and my mental anguish, bitch."

Sure, totally. I can just see it now. I'd stand in front of him right here in this hallway in the glare of the florescent lighting, my hands shaking in fear almost in time to the flickers of the ancient bulbs above me. Anyone looking at me (and of course there would be several people looking at me) would wonder if I'm super cold or maybe have Parkinson's or something, with all that shaking. And just about the time I'd mumble, "You should probably, uh, pay me bitch?" Rodney would handle the whole issue Rodney-style by winding up and punching me in the face.

How appealing that sounds.

I shake my head no to Sarah. "Maybe I could get out of all this for today if I pull the fire alarm or something..." I glance around casually, looking for the fire pull thingy, not quite sure how seriously I'm considering this option. It does sound awfully appealing to postpone the entire headache over this, take the many spare hours of fire alarm pull chaos to think through how to handle it all, and start fresh afterwards. Maybe the chaos would even last the whole day, and I could take the night to fix the model.

But as my eyes land on one of those powerful red alarm pulls, I realize that this option's no good either. Because I'd pull the thing, and somehow I would be found out, I just know it. Minutes after setting it off, there'd be a police officer on the scene, probably putting me in handcuffs and telling me, "Pulling the fire alarm when there's no fire is a serious offense, son. It's almost as bad as that one time your white trash birth dad got busted for making meth." And the crowd of onlookers (who naturally would have gathered to watch all this and to video it on their phones) would gasp out loud at this juicy reveal. He'd continue, in a voice easily loud enough for all to hear, "You keep going on this path of delinquency and I'm sure you'll be joining your old man in the slammer before long."