The Cow Ate My Homework

7. Things Get Worse for Me, Believe It or Not

If I'm running toward the girls' restroom for a refuge, I guess it should be pretty obvious that things are getting worse for me and aren't showing signs of turning around. Diving into the restroom reserved for the opposite gender is pretty much the epitome of desperation.

As I fall inside through the door to this female place of restroom-ery, I try to take relief in the thought that it totally can't get worse from here for me.

But it most certainly can get worse for me. I realize this immediately, as I lean forward to catch my breath and then suddenly realize (duh) that there are two random girls staring at me from the mirror/sink area, their makeup touchups forgotten at the shock of seeing me in here where I don't belong.

They both scream dramatically at me, as if I were trying to attack them instead of just standing there almost wheezing. "Ahhh!" they cry together. And then one of them shouts, "Boy in the girls' bathroom!"

I try to shush them. "Shh, sorry! I just—"

"Creeper!" one of them yells. "Hashtag me too!"

Alarmed at their alarm, I retreat towards the stalls. "I'll just go in here."

I shut a stall door behind me, hoping they calm the heck down, and pull out my phone. I text Sarah, "I'm stuck in the girls' bathroom by the chem lab," to the sound of the makeup-retouchers complaining, "What a sicko!" and "Loser weirdo!"

But their voices sound as if they're traveling toward the door. I lean down to check and see that they're leaving. I sigh in relief.

Until it occurs to me that I still might not be alone. There are other stalls in here. I didn't notice if any of the other doors were shut all the way. Shoot. And there's only one way to find out.

Dare I? It seems like a much bigger invasion of girl-privacy, but I have to know whether I'm still on the verge of being busted or am in the clear. I find myself squinting, one eye half-shut, as if that might actually help the awkwardness of the situation, as I lean down to check for other feet in stalls down the way...

Shit, there is another set of them. I am not alone at all.

The outer door of the bathroom bangs open, and before I can worry any further about who else is in here, my phone buzzes with a text from Sarah: "Here."

I crack the door and peak out, relieved to see her unhostile face. I whisper, "I've already been hashtag me too-ed, and..." I motion with my head toward the closed stall door.

Sarah doesn't hesitate, she just marches on over to the closed stall door and bangs on it. I cringe at her brashness (I mean I guess at least she's the proper gender to be in here, so maybe it's easier for her) as she says, "Hey! Push it out, we need the room."

And then, because obviously my plight should continue getting worse here, a certain voice that I totally recognize answers, "Excuse me?"

I can feel my eyes going wide in disbelief at my utterly terrible luck. Because I am certain that this voice belongs to someone who I really don't want to finally speak to after catching her take a crap.

I glance back hall-ward, almost willing to take my chances out there over what's about to happen here.

But too late. The stall door bangs open and Missy Thayer emerges.

Missy Thayer could be described, briefly, as a cheerleader/goddess. I could describe her further, except that I can't.

As I accidentally stare at her here in the girls' bathroom, I can practically hear her every move narrated by the soundtrack of all the country songs featuring blond hair and long tan legs (so basically all of Luke Bryan's music).