Leslie's Journal - Allan Stratton [11]
I don’t do the book drop thing. Maybe I’m turning into a suck. It’s just that even if Ms. Graham is boring, she’s basically okay. At least she’s not mean, and if we aren’t careful she’ll get sick again and who knows who we’ll get for a supply.
It’s still two days till Saturday. I’m going crazy sitting here.
I wish I had a cell phone so Jason and I could text each other. It’s not like Ms. Graham would notice. But I don’t. I’m, like, the only person in the whole world without a cell. I had one before my parents split up, but Mom says we can’t afford it anymore. Dad offered to pay, but she said no. She gave some stupid reason, but the real reason is: If Dad pays, she won’t see the bill, or know how often I’m calling and texting him. And she thinks I’m selfish and immature.
At least she lets Dad pay for Internet. That’s because she wants it too. I’m only allowed on for half an hour a day, unless I’m doing something for school. “That’s not enough time to check Facebook and e-mails,” I say, which gets me her sermon about the difference between a real life and a virtual life. Like she’d know. I sneak extra time when she’s late getting home, but it’s hard getting around her. The computer’s in the living room so we can share it. I had to go with that or have her in my room all the time.
Hmm. Ms. Graham’s at her desk pretending to mark, but her pen isn’t moving. Neither are her eyes. She’s just staring. I don’t think she’s going to teach today.
Great. Back to Jason and me. The other girls are sooo impressed. Except, of course, for Ashley A-hole, who goes around pretending she’d never date a senior, that only sluts do that. Eat your heart out is all I can say.
I mean, how could anyone not go out with Jason? He’s terminally cool. When I see him in the hall he winks, points his finger at me like it’s a gun, grins and mouths “Saturday.” I wink, point my finger and mouth “Saturday” right back. Then we both walk away like we’re spies who’ve just passed a message in some secret code. Did I say walk? It’s more like I’m floating.
Weird, eh? I mean, I’ve never been romantic like this before—not even when I was little and playing with dolls. Back in grade four, Katie’s favorite thing was marrying Barbie and Ken and having them go on honeymoons to smoochie places like Niagara Falls or the Bahamas. Except she’d never let them have sex because she said they hadn’t been married long enough. Well, no smoochie getaways for me. When it was my turn to pick a honeymoon, I’d have Barbie and Ken go on adventures. They’d scuba in the bathtub. Or skydive off the balcony with napkins taped to their hands for parachutes.
The last time we played honeymoon, Mrs. Kincaid was out getting her hair done, and I had Barbie and Ken go on an African safari in the oven. Katie screamed when they started to melt. “You murdered them!” she cried, holding the dolls in her mother’s oven mitts.
It was kind of true. Barbie’s eyes were running down her face, and her hair was this goo mixed in with what used to be Ken’s feet. But I wasn’t about to let that spoil a good honeymoon. “If they’re dead, we better give them a funeral,” I said. “You can be the minister and say a prayer.” The idea of being a minister cheered Katie right up. She gave a long speech about Barbie’s good deeds and her tragic love for Ken and then we buried them in the garden. The next week, we dug them up and played Zombie Barbie, but that’s another story.
Anyway, with Jason, I finally get what all