Our suspicions are confirmed: Kylene knows no shame. Or Latin.
Bow down to me, for I am the trickiest trickster in the history of tricky people.
"Trix a foa kits!"
Yes, Wiggie. Great job on absorbing American culture.
"Vhoa, it is rily dark in hea..."
Wiggie. Get the hell outta my head. I am trying to tell a story.
"But I vanna hea it too."
You were there, silly. Ah, well, alright. But be quiet. And don't touch anything.
Where was I? Right... My latest materplan. The goal: Appease Ms. Mjoozikesards. The last thing I needed was having the teacher staff's attention drawn to me. Once that happened I could forget sneaking out of class and ditching crap subjects like literature and German. Can you believe they made me take German so I could "relate better" to Hedwig? BullscheiÃŸ.
"Wery goot, Kyle!"
Hey, Wiggie. Why don't you go downstairs and check if you can help my mom setting up the table for breakfast or something? She loves talking to you.
"Rily? I always sought she did nat andastand me vell. Bat ok..."
Back to more important topics. So, in order to achieve aforementioned goal I had decided to set up a special parent-teacher meeting.
With my sleak conversational skills I succeeded in convincing Dad that he had to meet my teacher somwhere else than at school because if people saw him there they would think we were using my teacher's crush on him to get me better grades. How ridiculous, ha ha.
"Are you?" Dad asked me.
Puppy dog eyes and coy little princess smile. "Never would, Daddy. It's just... I don't wanna upset, Mom, you know. She seems really stressed out lately. I think it's better if you talk to Ms. Mjoo. Let's do this for Mom."
That was the ticket. Dana stole a set of gadgets that Isaac and his buddies used to listen in on each other's dates, supposedly to find out if anyone got lucky. Yeah, right, when pigs stop flying.* So anyways, shortly before Dad left I turned the microphone of the thing on and stuck it on his jacket, hidden under the collar.
Unfortunately Dana refused to listen in on their conversation because she considered it sneaky, izzy** and rude. (Even though I don't quite get what dictionaries have to do with that.) She's the best friend a girl could ask for, but I have major concerns that her morals disable her to truly carpet diem. What a moronic phrase, by the way. 'Rug diem' would sound a lot more British. Britisher.
So while Dad and my teacher where babbling away about boring stuff, Wiggie and I sat in the safety of my room and listened in on their conversation. You will understand that I had to, since this whole thing was about my future life at school.
"Hello, I'm Patrick."
"Can I call you Patrick, really? This is so exciting. I'm Rose." the woman almost stuttered. It was really pathetic to listen to.
"It's exciting to meet Kylene's father?" Dad asked.
She giggled, "It is because I used to be a huge fan when Fall Out Boy was still touring and recording and all that."
"No kidding?" Smooth move, Dad. He wasn't blurting out that he already gained that information. "So, I guess I should ask you what's going on with Kyle at school."
"Oh, nat goot," Wiggie commented.
I shushed her.
"Yes, yes, Kyle... So Kyle tells me your working at home. What is it like to be a famous music producer?" my teacher asked.
That's right, don't talk about my lack in the homework department and butter him up. Ha, I knew this was gonna work.
Dad coughed, he sounded nervous. "It's alright but...I'm not that famous... anymore."
Aha, letting out his hurt ego. Would she pick up on that?
"No, don't say that! In my book you still are the most amazing singer who ever tap-danced to 'Girls just wanna have fun' during a Superbowl half-time show."*
"Oh boy, don't remind me of that. I can't believe we still sold records after that," Dad laughed self-consciously. If this were a date, it would suck.
I will spare you the rest of the yadda-yanking as these two sleeping pills didn't talk about anything else than Dad's long-gone music career and how much Ms. Mjoo had the hots for him back then. If you ask me she still had it bad for him.
And, if you ask me, that was really goot for me though. Good, I mean. God, Wiggie's rubbing off on me. Good for me because this seemed to open up a whole new door to my grade dilemma. After all, love makes blind and blind people are easier to trick.
Also, this is not actually such a selfish action. In fact, I am helping my father just as much. Or even more, if you could have heard the joy in his voice once he had relaxed a bit. My teacher took him back to his golden years. Nothing wrong with that.
"Kylene, breakfast! You'll be late for school!" Mom called from downstairs. Time to meet the family. Dad and I had agreed that he wasn't gonna tell Mom about the whole meeting. I hoped he would keep his promise. Mom might not understand, ya know?
In the kitchen my eyes fell on my parents and Wiggie, all three of them sitting around the table, engrossed in various activities. My mother was flicking through some of her snobbish teacher's magazines, sipping on her coffee. My father was just shoving another spoon full of cereals into his mouth, while reading some article about- actually, I have no idea. Some advanced recording technology. The device on the page looked a lot like an oversized electric razor. With antennae.
My Austrian... well, friend of sorts was doing the childish riddle on the back of the cereal box. I sat down and helped myself to some toast and orange juice.
"Kyle, I vish ve hat sis 'Pegacorns' cereal in Austria. They taste delishas ant se game on se back is so matsh fan!" Wiggie set up a new record for geekiness.
There was some grotesque picture of a cross between a unicorn and a pegasus on the box. Makes you wonder about the ingredients of the junk. I looked at Wiggie's teeth who were stained pink from the sugary cereal crap.
She smiled widely at me.
But who am I to complain? She does my Math homework for me. Because it's an American tradition to do your hostess's algebra homework for at least two months. At least that's what she believes.
Mom had given me a "What the hell is she talking about?" look when Wiggie had announced her love for 'Pegacorns'. For someone who taught English that woman had a horrible lack of imagination in that language. In the meantime she had noticed Dad's smug smirk.
"What are you so happy about this morning, dear?" she asked him.
Dad looked up from his reading, guilt written all over his face. Jesus! I just hoped he wouldn't spill anything about last night and Ms. Mjoo. Mom would so freak.
"You came home late last night, didn't you?" she continued.
"Dan dan dan," Wiggie provided dramatic ambiance.
Mom glared at her. I couldn't help but giggle.
"I learnt sat while I vas hanging out wis Kyle's frients! Cool, isn't it?" the Austrian grinned.
Mom concentrated on Dad again. Dad shot me a glance for help.
Amateurs. I am surrounded by amateurs, I tell you.
"Go ahead, Dad. Tell Mom about this new talented band that you went to see last night," I offered him a straw to clutch at.
Mom seemed to accept that explanation. Which meant she had to bitch at me.
"Kyle, could you at least take off that cap inside of the house?"
"Come on, Mom. Dad is allowed to wear his, too."
Dad's face contorted into a scared expression, his hands clutching his hat.
"That's different," my mother replied matter-of-factly.
Different translates to 'balding and self-conscious about it'.
Oh well, I couldn't take off my hat though because I was hiding my straight hair. The DNA shot had worked out just perfectly. WHOHOOO! But I couldn't show my mother, of course, so for the last three days I had pretended that my hair looked so bad that I didn't want anybody to see it. This was clearly no long-term solution but it was working for now.
* The DNA shots had to be tested on somebody...
izzy: something that is original and fresh but probably illegal outside of the UK; for instance, driving on the left side of the road or spelling humor with a "u".
[Canadian and Australian judges are somewhat lenient when it comes to punishments for izzy behaviour... Behavior.]
* In 2013. The year Patrick was absent-minded enough to accept a dare from Joe.