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32. Not quite as funny as the smell coming from Nate´s room


Valentine´s Day. Big fucking deal.

On my way to school I was mentally preparing myself to face a day filled with pink hearts, kitshy red cards and crying children that have hurt themselves when trying to cut out little pink hearts in order to glue them onto kitshy red cards.

One hour later I found myself on top of a ladder, trying to attach a mobile with golden and silver hearts and chunky little cupids (for some reason I had to think of Patrick) dangling from its strings.

"Ms. Scully, Aaron´s about to taste some of the glue."

I looked down and saw Cindy standing next to the ladder. Could that Aaron kid just quit behaving like Ralf Wiggum for one single second? Children watched too much TV. TV is bad. You never know what you´ll see on the screen.* I remember when Nate and I were younger we watched "Jaws" and for the rest of the summer my brother wouldn´t take a bath because he was afraid of a shark showing up in the tub. (Thinking back, I probably shouldn´t have thrown in the plastic shark when he finally did. Ah well, the therapist said he´s on the rebound.)

I sighed to myself and struggled to reach the pin I wanted to hang the mobile on. "I´ll be down in a flash, Cindy. Tell him to leave some space in his tummy for the toxic glue remover..."

"What did you say, Ms. Scully? You´re so high up I couldn´t understand that last bit," Cindy frowned at me.

I smiled back down and started climbing down the ladder, "I´m coming down. Just go back to your desk."

Well, down in a flash I was. Suddenly the door opened, hit the ladder and I toppled down to the ground with it.

My students shrieked, I yelped and Mrs. Johnson, one of our secretaries, who had opened the door said, "This is like the only goddamn school where the doors open up to the inside of the classrooms."

This was also the only goddamn school where the doors didn´t have glass windows. Not even frosted glass** ones. That was probably the closest comment to an apology or "Oh my God! Are you alright?" I would get from her. She wasn´t quite a friendly human being. I´m not even sure about the human being part.

The secretary looked at me lying on the floor, the ladder a few inches away from me, then she turned to the class, "Aaron McPhony*, your mother dropped off your lunch that you forgot in the morning."

Great. That kid was full with glue, ergo certainly did not need lunch today and yet, I found myself swept off a ladder.

I cleared my throat and struggled to get up without using my left arm, "Mrs. Johnson, would you mind fetching a substitute teacher? I think I just broke my arm."

_ _ _ _ _


In the afternoon I walked down an ailse of the school, looking at the cast on my left arm. The good news was that I was still able to correct homework and write on the blackboard as I was right-handed. Also, driving was not a problem.** The bad news was playing my bass was out of the question. For the next six to eight weeks.

I had almost reached the swinging door that opened up to the parking lot when I spied some scrawling on a locker door: If u read this your an asswhole

I stopped and shook my head as I fished for what I was looking for in my purse.

One minute later I heard steps behind me, followed by a "What exactly are you doing there, Ms. Scully?"

I turned around to find Principal Mjoozikesards*** (that guy had a heavy Dutch accent) looking at me in expectation of an answer.

"Um, I was just..." I glanced at the red pen in my hand and the writing on the locker: If u read this you´re an asshole

"Why are you putting graffiti on the locker, Ms. Scully?"

"I wasn´t. I just... corrected it."

After all that´s what I get paid for, right? Correcting students´ spelling and grammar mistakes.

Principal Mjoozikesards shook his head firmly, "And why would you encourage such behavior?"

Well, at least they weren´t wasting their time on fanfiction. Let´s look at the glass and say it´s half full, shall we?

"Nevermind," the man said as I quickly threw the red pen into my purse and tried my best to look very repentful.** "I heard what happened to you this morning and I just wanted to check in on you. How is your arm?"

I smiled forcedly and said that it wasn´t a complicated fracture and that, of course, I´d still be able to correct students´ assignments. I guess that´s what he really cared about.

_ _ _ _ _


Later that day I called Andy to tell him that there was not much use for me to show up to band practice that night because I couldn´t play anyways. He wanted to know why so I told him my story. I got an ass full of sympathy. Fine. But it was still Valentine´s Day and I was alone.

"Nah, well, band practice´s is cancelled anyways. Joe´s going out on a date."

"Oh, alright then," I replied. That squishy-haired dude even mocked me unintentionally. I guess I could learn a lot from him.

"So... I was wondering if you wanna spend the rest of the day with me?"

I almost choked on my water, "Excuse me?"

Did Andy just invite me over on Valentine´s Day?

"´Cause Joyce and Pete are hanging out here and you could watch a movie with us or something."

Oh, I see. Just friends hanging out.

"I, ah, actually I´ve made plans with Patrick."

That was a lie.

"Okay, then. I´ll hear from ya. Bye."

"Later, Andy."

I decided to call Patrick and ask him if he wanted to hang out before Andy found out that I had not been honest to him. I told my favorite human hat rack*** about my horrible day and asked if he wanted to go out to grab something to eat.

"Actually, Sheena, I´m going out on a date in a bit."

They were all mocking me. I found myself wondering if even Mrs. Johnson had a date today.

"Well, have fun then. I just thought I´d ask. Have fun."

Did I just say "have fun" two times?

"Yeah, that´s ok. Thanks. See ya," Patrick replied.

"Have fun. See ya."

D´oh!


_____________________

* I plonking love this story. I can even get away with a shameless hint at Channel Hopping without harming the plot. Even though I´m not sure this really says a lot about its literary quality...

** I deserve this.

* Quick student recap: Who wrote Holden Caulfield again?

** My boyfriend said that Americans can´t drive because they have automatic cars. Five seconds later he bumped into another car. (Maybe Bush is right and you DO have God on your side.)

*** Should your name be Rose and your story be called "Cursed" you might want to say his name out loud. That´s how we do it in Sheena-Land, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh.

** In case I just made that word up: I really deserve footnote **.

*** Patrick. Hat rack. Patrick. Hat rack. That´s awesome.