14
My second try at school, post-mortem.
“What’s going on?” Toomy asked me this morning. I had tried to sneak past everyone on my way to class, but no go. It’s hard when you’re so slow. “Why’re you acting so stoned?”
“I don’t know,” I lied. “Guess I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Yeah? Does that include how you blew us all off yesterday?” she asked angrily. “Your boy is wondering what the hell—”
“Listen,” I interrupted, “I don’t have time right now. It takes me a long time to get to class.”
Lies, lies, lies. Telling the truth is great in theory, but hardly ever practical in real life.
But then later, as I was heading in for lunch, she grabbed my arm and I just didn’t have the guts to shake her off. She escorted me to the table—“our” table—and I sat there and took it and I HATE that a
