Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts

Thursday, January 3, 2013

a school story pt 2


“Well, that’s good. But, we still haven’t done anything!”
         “Okay, um, so, I’m not sure we have enough wood.” I said, looking over at Hana, who was slouched in her chair.
         “Wood? What do we need wood for?” Alia was confused.
         “Well, you know, structural supports.”
         “What?”
         I sighed.
         “A mud house isn’t going to stay up very well without some sort of structure, at least for a basic shape,” Hana said, her smartness kicking in.
         “Oh,” said Alia. “Well that’s boring.”
         “I’m pretty sure a hollow mud pile is more exciting than a filled one,” I said dryly. “I mean, you can go inside a hollow mud pile much more easily.”
         “She’s got a point there, Alia. You need more wood.”
         “Fine,” Alia said stubbornly, “but I’m not getting it.”
         “Awesome!” I said before Hana could get a word in edgewise. “I’ll take care of that. Oh, and blue is a good color. It symbolizes freedom.”
         And I hung up the phone.
         “Yare, that was mean.”
         “So? She was getting on my nerves.”
         Hana rolled her eyes and got out of her chair.
         “Yo, Hana, where you going?”
         “To the kitchen actually. Want to come? I hear they’re quite interesting places, kitchens.”
         I rolled my eyes and followed her out of the room.
         When we got to the kitchen, Hana’s mom was already in there, along with Britta, Hana’s five-year-old sister.
         Mrs. Merisse looked up from her chopping when we came in. She nodded over at Britta. I smiled at her, and then picked up her little daughter.
         “How are you today, Lil’ Miss? World spinning right? Wanna make a mud house?”
         Britta clapped and Mrs. Merisse glared at me.
         “Sorry, Mrs. Merisse.”
         Hana’s mom sighed.
         “Call me Lucy, Yariana.”
         “Call me Yare, and maybe I’ll think about it.”
         Hana’s mom sighed again.
         I grinned and walked out of the room.
         Hana came up behind me.
         “You are so mean!”
         “No I’m not, I’m insanely polite.”
         “I’m po-ite. Mommy says so,” Britta interjected.
         “That’s right, Lil’ Miss,” I confirmed. “You’re so polite, I bet no cannibal would eat you because you’re so nice.”
         “Yare!”
         “What?” I turned to Hana, acting innocent.
         “That’s exactly what I mean. You say and do stupid things without thinking, and you get in trouble. But apparently you haven’t gotten in enough trouble yet, because you’re still being stupid!”
         “I don’t understand, Hana, because I’m pretty sure that I’ve never gotten in trouble, and I must be pretty brilliant to be able to build houses out of mud, jump from roof to roof without getting harmed, and ride a wild donkey.”
         “No, Yare, you don’t understand. The fact that you would even try to ride a wild donkey just proves that you’re stupid. No one in their right mind would.”
         “Well, maybe I’m not in my right mind. Maybe I switched my right mind five years ago for a better one.”
         “Oh, I know you’re not in your right mind. Want to know how I know? Because I’ve been your best friend for years and I’ve had to put up with all this, and about five years or so ago you all of a sudden turned stupid. You’re not in your right mind, that’s for sure. You’re in your wrong mind, and there seems to be nothing I can do about it. Good luck out there, Yare, with Alia and your mud house, because I’m not helping. I’m not even gonna come. So put down my sister before she starts worshipping you, and go. I don’t want to see you around here until you show me some of those brains I know you have in there. Go.”
         I stood, my mouth hanging open, dumbfounded. I heard a small “ow!” as I, presumably, dropped Britta on the floor of the Merisses’ living room. I couldn’t believe it. Hana, my best friend was kicking me out of her house, a place I practically lived, because I wasn’t acting the way she wanted me to. I didn’t know what to do.

Sunday, December 9, 2012

a school story pt 1


Alia McCarr was never my favorite person, but neither was Hana Merisse, and I never left her side. Maybe I should have at some point, but I grew to rely on her for making sure I didn’t die or do something so stupid it was worse than death. Stupid things included going rock climbing without ropes when I had never so much as climbed a playground rock wall, skipping class to ask the principal if we could fire my math teacher, and stacking trampolines on top of each other to create an amusement park across the street from Town Hall. If it weren’t for Hana, I wouldn’t be telling this story, so I guess something good came out of being her most faithful comrade.
         Anyway, on that fateful day in late June, I was developing yet another stupid idea. Alia was on the phone, screaming about rope ladders and blocks of cement, and Hana’s brother, Mickey, was complaining from the other room about how we wouldn’t take Alia off speakerphone.
         “Yare, you can’t do this. It’s even stupider than when you made bombs in the basement,” Hana whispered into my ear. “You’re just going to make a mess, and it won’t solve anything.”
         “But that’s where you’re wrong, Hana,” I whispered back as Alia screeched something about Native American bungalows, “it won’t make a mess.”
         “How, Yare? How?”
         “Listen, I got this under control. I promise we won’t use rope ladders.”
         “Actually, I think the rope ladders are the only good part of the plan.”
         I shot a wicked smile in Hana’s direction. She rolled her eyes.
         “Are you even listening to me?” Alia’s voice boomed through the room.
         “Yeah, yeah, I am. But, listen, can we not use the rope ladders?”
         “WHAT!?”
         “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I was just thinking it’s a little over excessive, but, hey. We can keep ‘em if you like.”
         “Good,” She sounded satisfied. “Now, we need to decide what color to paint the wall once it’s dried.”
         “What? You’re painting the wall? Why didn’t I know about this?” Hana demanded.
         “Um, I don’t know, maybe because you weren’t listening?” Alia’s voice crackled through the speakers.
         “Oh, yeah, Hana, seriously?” I sounded angry, but Hana had spent enough time with me to know that my eyes were glinting with a joking amusement.
         Hana gave me a grin.
         “Sorry, Yare. I’ll listen more closely next time.”
         “Umm, hello? What about me?” Alia said, because, being on the phone, couldn’t see our joke.
         “I’m sorry to you, too, Alia,” Hana said, not breaking eye contact with me.
         I was beaming from ear to ear. “Yeah, she’s sorry, Alia.”

~to be continued~


I wrote this for school the other day when we had a "personal prompt" for our online journals. We were allowed to write at least seven sentences of whatever we wanted, and I chose to write this.