Shifting Gears

This Was ALL Tobias' Fault

"Who are you? What are you-How did you get in here?", demanded the scary girl who was currently pointing some sort of gun that looked like it belonged in Star Trek at my head. Tobias, my best friend, cowered in fear behind me.

My hero, I thought sarcastically. Suddenly, he  popped his head out over my shoulder.

"I can explain", he said. "But it would sound so much better coming from Adriane here." I turned and glared at him.

"Yeah, throw me under the bus, why don't you."

"Technically, I'm not throwing you under a bus. You're way more likely to get shot by her than to get run over by a bus."

"You get my point!"

"There aren't any buses in here! You're point doesn't make sense!"

"I meant it metaphorically! It's an idiom! It's not supposed to make sense!"

"Why not? Everything's much better when things make sense!"

"Fine then! Push me into the line of fire, why don't you? Better?"

"Better, but you're already in the line of fire...." 

The girl cleared her throat. "You two done?" The guy standing next to her looked like he was trying not to laugh. I blinked.

"Yes?" She cocked her Star Trek gun.

"Good".

                                                                        ___________

You guys are probably wondering how managed to get myself into this mess. Before I tell you, let me just state now, on the record, in front of all you witnesses: It was all Tobias's fault. That's right, it's going to be on his conscience when we get eaten by inter-dimensional space lizards or shot by some time traveling super spies. His stupid curiosity got us into this. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Today started normally enough.

My alarm rang, scaring me so badly I fell out of bed.

"I'm awake!", I shouted at it, but the infernal thing kept ringing. I picked up the closest thing to me, a shoe, and threw it at the timekeeping device. Usually my aim is terrible, but for once in my life I was dead on. My Adidas hit the stupid thing, and it fell off my nightstand with a crash and the sound of breaking glass.

 "Great", I muttered, shoving all the bits and pieces under the nightstand and hoping my mom wouldn't notice them. "Just perfect."

School now.

First period: Social Studies. "Mrs. Camel, I'm so sorry I forgot my homework at home. I'll bring it tomorrow, I promise." AKA, I didn't do it (again) and I'll do it tonight.

Second period: Band.  Boo yah! Flutes are the best! (No offense. This is my calm, objective opinion here. BUT STILL!)

Third period: English Language Arts. Mrs. Ferigious, does it really take twenty minutes to tell us where to write our names on the paper? And explain what to do when the instructions are RIGHT THERE? I mean, come on we're freshmen, I'm pretty sure most of us can read. Pretty sure. Eighty percent. Maybe seventy if we're betting on it.

Fourth period: also ELA with Mrs. Ferigious. Kill me now and shoot the teacher in the mouth.

Fifth period: Math. Mr. Geronimo likes to yell at the top of his lungs to when it's dead silent to keep us awake. He also likes to tell us the school corn dogs are actually his pet guinea pigs who got radiation poisoning and lost all their hair. So he donated them to the school, who impaled, breaded, and fried them before giving them to us pupils for lunch.