I ain't superstitiousbut a black cat crossed my path

This morning I woke up and thought, Gee, I ought to wear a skirt today. A short one. And a white blouse. I took a shower and tried to check weather.com. The internet was taking too long, so I quit out, dressed myself as planned, and pulled on a pair of Converse high-tops with holes in the toes. I couldn't find socks anywhere, so I went without.

I know. I'm a genius, right?

I was drenched and virtually hyperventilating by the time I got to school. I ran up the stairs to Bio.

Mr. Sills spends twenty minutes telling us about how he graded our tests without handing them back. I start reading Seventh Son IV on my lap.

"Veronica, can you please put that away and not take it out again, ever?" I stuck it in my backpack without a word and resorted to drawing dying birds along the margins of the syllabus.
"What is that?" asked Maya.
"It's from an Oscar Wilde children's story," I said.
"It looks like a dead bird."

Mr. Sills scared me by giving me back my test with a 79 on the top. I check it and find out that I actually got an 89.

I spend my frees doing Spanish homework and forget to eat lunch.

Spanish comes. Oona's and my tape gets played. Quinones rewinds it to the beginning and everyone hears Renata's jam to "Let it Be" for a few minutes and cracks up. My ads were boring, but I got a good grade, so it didn't really matter.

Jazz vocal rolls around. Bob humiliates me by making me count up and down beats for twenty minutes in front of everyone. "Up, down, up, down, up, down... come on, Veronica!" I tried to protest-- "I'm tired! I couldn't sleep last night! I get it, I swear! I have a really bad sense of beat!" --but Bob just kept going "uh one uh two uh three uh four, sing with me now, uh three, uh four..." and making me say things to the beat, like "Because I love my baby, uh" and "wigg-le jigg-le wigg-le jigg-le" and "doo bee doo dum-ba dum." I couldn't get one word in edgewise, so I gave in and bowed my head, hoping it would end soon. I don't blush, but if I did, I would have been tomato-red. It went on until one freshman (Dylan Wilder) said "wow, that's interesting... I can really hear the Dylan in her voice."

"What'd'you mean, 'the Dylan in her voice?'" asked Bob, still tapping.
"She sounds like Bob Dylan when she talks. Not like him, exactly, but... well, you can hear it."
"Oh, that's what that off-beat thing is!" said Bob. And the entire chorus started saying, "I like Dylan, but I don't like his voice," and I pointed out that class was over and ran out.

Dylan Wilder gets it, though. I think I owe him one.

So I skipped Affinity Groups to work on layout and had to use dummy-text, because we haven't started copy-editing yet, and ended up staying late, and I went to the bathroom and this teacher was brushing her teeth. Without toothpaste. It was wierd.

I also wrote an essay about Thoreau and Cinderella for a test. It was stupid.

And I ended up on the subway with Clark. "Next time you record something for a class, use a blank tape," he said, but he was nice to me.

I remembered that I hadn't had lunch and bought sugar-stick things from the Mexican woman.

And now I'm sneezing and my feet have blisters and I haven't even started my homework.

It was actually even more dull than it sounds, if you can believe it.

PS I hate watching my tenses. I've decided to screw the whole thing.