As I left the classroom and pulled out my timetable, I noticed that my next class, Russian, was going to be in room 909. The school was only six floors, so of course this confused me. I put my thumb and index finger on my nose and closed my eyes very tightly, because I always thought that helped me think harder.
Just then, an effimante voice rang out in front of me, enough that I panicked.
"Help!", I shrieked, "Help!" and I dropped my schedule and the stylish purse I was holding. I had to ask Charlie for a cell phone or a gun. This town was a haven for emergencies.
"Stella? Stella Chastity?", the small effeminate boy shouted at me. He flung himself toward me, swooped down to pick up the things I had dropped, and placed them gently back into my hands. He stood upright and proudly dusted himself off. He had a pocket full of pencils and his glasses were taped in the middle. He was asian and had a big camera. My first thought was that maybe he was a tourist.
"Are you part of the chess club?", I asked.
"No, but I am part of the school paper! I'm Eric and I'm the only one who doesn't know I'm gay!"
"It just seemed obvious", I smirked, "How did you know my name?"
"Everyone knows you! You're Colonel Chastity's daughter! Are you finding your way around OK?"
I despised him right off the get go. Way too overly helpful. But he prattled on as we walked, and I looked for a rest room to escape to. There was no way I was going to ask this guy for directions.
Get this lame conversation we had. He was like, "You're from Provo, right?" And I was like, "uh huh". And then he said, "Well, that's quite a ways away!" So, of course I said, "No, it's really, really close." And the guy just looked at me. I dunno, but I thought that was funny. "It's really, really close. Duh"
Sarcasm. Like if let's say I was from Phoenix and he wondered why I wasn't tanned, and I said something like, "because my mom's albino"in a snotty tone, I'm sure he wouldn't have laughed either. He just looked at me like I was being rude and unapproachable. I couldn't understand why no one got me. But he still had the gall to wave goodbye, smile and say he hoped he'd see me again.
I had no idea how I was going to survive the semester. "Really, really close" , I chuckled to myself as I taped a sign that said "Kick Me" to his back because that seemed the only thing left to complete this picture.
But how was I going to get to Russian class? Where could room 909 be? Again, I stood in the hall with my finger and thumb squeezing my nose and my eyes clinched shut, and then it hit me! I'd have to talk to someone, and they had to be in my Russian class.
In fit of near genius, I went up to the closest person near me, a fashionably dressed, non descript white guy, "I' m холодная сука. тип русского направления?" The guy just gave me a blank stare! He, therefore, could not be in my Russian class! My deductive reasoning was paying off. I bit the top of a pencil because that made me look more investigative.
There was a student at the end of the hall wearing a full parka and holding a bottle of vodka. "Извините меня!", I shouted furiously waving my timetable. He looked sternly at me, and his thick white moustache smooshed beneath his red, bulbuous nose. He peered at me with narrowing eyes, but I was adamant. "Где комната 909?", I demanded pushing my timetable against his chest. He pressed up against me, his eyes growing wild with ferocity and tore the timetable out of my hand.
"909!", I insisted. He wasn't getting away.
"Вы идиот! It' s вверх ногами. 606!" His furious outburst left trails of spit down the hall as he turned my timetable right side up and pointed at the numbers. 606? 606. Whatever. I cursed him and made my way to Russian class.
I was late again, but luckily there was a seat at the back where I could filter in relatively unnoticed. The teacher, Mr. Gorbachovsky, was asking people to tell jokes and the room was busy laughing at the one told by that fat, bubbly texting girl that was in my English class. So, trying to fit in, I raised my hand and Mr. Gorbachovsky motioned to me, and asked my name.
Oh God. I didn't expect that. How could he not know my name? I was mad, but I smiled sweetly.
"Stella Chastity, you know, the Colonel's daughter, moved here from Provo. I'm really quite sad because my Mom and Dad are separated..."
"Just tell joke in Russian now.", he said. His tone had all the warmth of an iceberg.
I told this joke I read on a Russian website. "Еврейская мать идет вне к балкону и плачет к ее сынку который играет в ярде: - Дэвид! Пойдите домой! Сынок поднимает его головку и плачет: - Замерли я, котор? - No. Вы хотите съесть!" HA! It means,
<i>"Jewish mother goes out to the balcony and cries to her son who is playing in the yard:
- David! Go home!
The son raises his head and cries:
- Am I frozen?
- No. You want to eat!" <i>
The room froze. No one dared to look at me. It was deathly quiet. How many Jewish people could there be in Spoons anyhow? Besides, it was hilarious anyhow. Crap! What was these freakin' people's problem?
The guy across from me felt bad, I think and leaned over and whispered, "Veronica just told that joke". Oh no. I felt sick to my stomach embarassed. That damned texting girl! "Проклятье вы все к аду!", I screamed and stormed out of the room, trying to stifle the emerging sobs.
I ran to the bathroom and stayed there for the next two classes, crying and trying to convince myself not to leave the school, or kill myself. Sometimes life was just so hard. "Everything is so hard," I whined.
When the bell rang for lunch time, I had cried all my tears and washed up my face, and was ready for a second chance. Plus I was like, so hungry. You just don't even know. So I slipped out of the bathroom and followed the students who were now pouring out of every door and stampeding in the same direction as if the food was going to run out before they got there. "Gah, these cheap little small-town schools are so stupid and poor," I thought.
I had to rebel. I knew enough not to wear earrings or makeup because that just invites the devil’s wiles. I had made up my mind. I’d be a vegetarian. That’d tick off Charlie and I’d stand out with my unique principles.