how 24 words can turn a good mood bad

the inspector gadget theme song emerges from the 2nd chorus of the shins's "caring is creepy," growing more persistent as it remains unanswered. a flippy haired teen that had been typing in rhythm with the song, flicks the enter key off beat, disturbed by this intrusion. she has wrinkles surrounding her mouth now, outlining where her smile belongs, though it would be impossible for most to know this. she moves towards the unwanted sound. in a new space, she knows not where the wooden floor stealthily rises...

"fuck" she says. her sister hears. still recovering from injury, she snatches the phone from hibernation. "hi."
"hi" says the phone. (she wonders how anyone could mistake this voice for her own.)
"what's up?" she's moved on. she's done. and it shows.
the voice searches: "oh, well, how did that essay go?"
"he made comments. i'll rewrite."
"right."
silence.
struggling, "so i just called—"
"yeah?"
"i just called to say hello."
"hi."
silence.
she must have something in her eye. "is it fixed yet?" and apparently something in her throat.
"well no...but i plan..." the voice fades from her consciousness as she remembers the last five weeks.
"okay."

my history teacher calls me pinkie

"tracy is eugene v. debs re-incarnated"
—mr. meyer

college. oh man.

what to do at wash u:

-eat cake mix from the box
-see your first shooting star
-watch your special quaker friend turn into the biggest pimp on campus
-BRIGHT GREEN and "happy 18"
-rub a kid's shaved head
-watch people get "sexiled"
-see a pie eating contest
-make the chair of the latin department love you
-party in umrath-1
-take a shot at 4 in the afternoon
-watch a one of your favorite people ever (wink) take a shot
-dance in daylight
-fit 7 people on 2 extra-long twin beds
-see glow in the dark boxers
-scare people out of the hallway
-not eat fried ravioli

....psychiatrists say that patients often "project" their feelings for a person onto their surroundings mistakenly. well fuck that.

i've never had so much fun with vomit before

in keeping with a tradition not yet in place but one i am trying to institute, the summary of my affairs of the evening shall, once again, be expressed through the various quotes of the evening (the majority of which i authored):

"tracy!" —misha
"misha!" —me
"that's a cute outfit" —misha
(exit me)

"wow, pom really makes the taste go away" —me
...
"woah" (wavers) "i guess pom" (wavers and sits) "really made the taste go away" —me

"hiiiiya!" (rolling over the coutch and kicking...sort of) —sofia

"sofia you've got something on your shirt" —me
"where? (looking down) —sofia
"ha!" —me
"owww..." (rubbing nose)
...
"zeke you have something on your shirt" —will
"shut up, man" —zeke
(finally looking down) "damn it pucci! just because you don't drink it doesn't mean you gotta get it all over me!"

(laughs guiltily while leaving the room) —me
"don't go yet..." —will

(eyes directed towards a rather large pile of clothing) "um, is zeke alright?" —martha
(realizing that the clothing is really a passed out zeke) "i hope so" —me
"wanna go poke him?" —martha

"sooo danny...why aren't you hooking up with a hot senior tonight" —sofia
(points) —danny

(somewhere in a distant corner of the house) "blah!" —lucas
...
(walking into that distant corner of the house) "uh, sick dude" —will
(walking really slowly back) "um, jessie..."

"all right" (claps hands authoritatively) "sam, everyone else did something already...i need you to take the trash can and get it out of the house" —me
"all right fine" —sam
(smiles sheepishly and sits back down) —me
...
"zeke" (same clap) "i need you to take this sponge and clean the carpet" —me
"ugh, all right fine" —zeke
(mouth gapes in amazement) "how did you just...?" —will
(bites finger sheepishly) —me

"vomit hands!" (holding out rubber gloves) —sam
"aaaaah!" (runs away) —hayley

(dancing) "one way or another..." —jessie (doing dishes), hayley (wiping table), me (taking out trash)

"...and then i found 20 dollars" —me
"wait, bitch that's my money!" —jessie
(laughs uncontrollably) —me and hayley

"hayley is the whitest white girl i know" —me
"oh yeah?" (arm movement you'd have to see to believe) —hayley

definitely not (like) another senior class

this is not what my senior class looked like. i knew each one by name and place in the meeting house (i spent most weekends freshman year going over the phone book with sofia). i looked up at them from the ninth-grade spots every day.

they were glorified amazing.

i was about four rows higher than everybody else today. it felt good to be looking down (considering how my days are spent), but it made no sense to me. i don't feel like a senior. and i certainly don't look like one.

i think.

everyone says i've changed a lot since freshman year (thank god!), and i agree. i got taller (i swear), i got a chest (proportionally...), i got clothes not found in the kids section (though i may still be able to). i look generally older. i do.

my seniors were glorified grand.

who would worship one of us like evan worshiped katie? why would people memorize our names?

how man times can you say "we're not worthy" and bow 'till your head goes light?

in four years will some kid whose name i didn't bother to learn be wondering the same thing?