thinner. The school now held weekly seminars in the auditorium ever since one jerky sophomore had suffered some brain damage. Everyone plodded into the auditorium, weary and dead-eyed. Janet waved to Robin and pointed to the seat she’d saved her.
This week’s seminar featured a dramatization of several kids gathered in a bathroom while Britney Spears’ “Oops!…I Did It Again” played in the background. One of the actors played a reluctant kid, who sat on the lid of the toilet bowl while several other actors tried to pressure him into putting a plastic bag over his head and sniffing some Aquanet hairspray.
Janet scribbled on a piece of notebook paper and handed it to Robin. “I think U R too dependent on me,” it read.
The lights dimmed, the actors froze and a voice from outer space said, “Rule number one: Think of your future. Remember your hopes and dreams.Brain damage is not cool!”
“Exasperating!” Janet whispered. “If you’re a big enough moron to sniff hairspray, then you should get brain damage.”
The actors unfroze and the reluctant one said, “Hey, listen, sniffing household substances isn’t cool. They can mess up your head. I have algebra homework, and in a couple of years I’m going to college.”
Robin underlined the words “too dependent” and scribbled, “How?” She stared at Janet’s profile, waiting.
“Not any 1 thing,” Janet wrote. “HOW can a ♀ go thru h.s. w/ only 1 friend?”
The actor who wouldn’t sniff the Aquanet leapt off the toilet seat lid, and a spotlight zeroed in on him. The outer space voice said, “Cool Kid.” Cool Kid smiled broadly and donned a graduation cap and then galloped offstage. The outer space voice then said, “Jackasses.” The spotlight zoomed in on the hairspray sniffers, who were wearing donkey ears and braying as they wielded the Aquanet and pulled plastic bags over their heads and banged into the toilet and the tub. There were snickers and yawns.
Lame
, a boy behind them called out.
“What do I do?” Robin wrote, feeling herself go clammy.
“I don’t have all the answers,” Janet whispered. “I definitely don’t.” She gave Robin a small, weary smile, revealing her bottom row of even white teeth.
Every week during the seminars they got a new pamphlet and this week’s said, “Everybody Wants to Be Cool and That’s Okay.” Robin read a list of ways to be cool. Help a disadvantaged child; be a good neighbor. Doing something for a kid or neighbor was certainly nice but it wasn’t cool, she thought. Who were these people to talk about cool when they didn’t know what it was either? The room was filled with the whish of pamphlets hitting the auditorium floor. Janet flicked hers, and it ricocheted off the seat in front of her before landing next to their feet.
Robin was saving the pamphlets. They were a mystery, not really helpful but occasionally very interesting. Last week’s—“Reach Out for Friends Not Drugs”—said only a small percentage of the people you meet will actually become friends and that it’s important to have realistic expectations. This was a revelation. There were hundreds of kids in the auditorium; there were so many bodies and voices, so similar to each other in their boredom—each of them wiggly and uncomfortable in the stiff seats. Most of us will never really know each other, Robin thought as she looked at the rows and rows of heads in front of her. When Janet wasn’t looking Robin slid the pamphlet into her notebook.
Robin sat in the library after school, trying to do geometry homework. She sometimes imagined herselfmarching over to Janet’s house and ending their friendship. She knew Janet would stare deeply into her eyes. Janet would say insulting things—or worse, she might say nothing at all. She might just say “okay” and go back to her little turquoise room at the top of the stairs and apply another coat of Intrigue #39 to her fingernails. It was possible.
Robin soon gave up
This week’s seminar featured a dramatization of several kids gathered in a bathroom while Britney Spears’ “Oops!…I Did It Again” played in the background. One of the actors played a reluctant kid, who sat on the lid of the toilet bowl while several other actors tried to pressure him into putting a plastic bag over his head and sniffing some Aquanet hairspray.
Janet scribbled on a piece of notebook paper and handed it to Robin. “I think U R too dependent on me,” it read.
The lights dimmed, the actors froze and a voice from outer space said, “Rule number one: Think of your future. Remember your hopes and dreams.Brain damage is not cool!”
“Exasperating!” Janet whispered. “If you’re a big enough moron to sniff hairspray, then you should get brain damage.”
The actors unfroze and the reluctant one said, “Hey, listen, sniffing household substances isn’t cool. They can mess up your head. I have algebra homework, and in a couple of years I’m going to college.”
Robin underlined the words “too dependent” and scribbled, “How?” She stared at Janet’s profile, waiting.
“Not any 1 thing,” Janet wrote. “HOW can a ♀ go thru h.s. w/ only 1 friend?”
The actor who wouldn’t sniff the Aquanet leapt off the toilet seat lid, and a spotlight zeroed in on him. The outer space voice said, “Cool Kid.” Cool Kid smiled broadly and donned a graduation cap and then galloped offstage. The outer space voice then said, “Jackasses.” The spotlight zoomed in on the hairspray sniffers, who were wearing donkey ears and braying as they wielded the Aquanet and pulled plastic bags over their heads and banged into the toilet and the tub. There were snickers and yawns.
Lame
, a boy behind them called out.
“What do I do?” Robin wrote, feeling herself go clammy.
“I don’t have all the answers,” Janet whispered. “I definitely don’t.” She gave Robin a small, weary smile, revealing her bottom row of even white teeth.
Every week during the seminars they got a new pamphlet and this week’s said, “Everybody Wants to Be Cool and That’s Okay.” Robin read a list of ways to be cool. Help a disadvantaged child; be a good neighbor. Doing something for a kid or neighbor was certainly nice but it wasn’t cool, she thought. Who were these people to talk about cool when they didn’t know what it was either? The room was filled with the whish of pamphlets hitting the auditorium floor. Janet flicked hers, and it ricocheted off the seat in front of her before landing next to their feet.
Robin was saving the pamphlets. They were a mystery, not really helpful but occasionally very interesting. Last week’s—“Reach Out for Friends Not Drugs”—said only a small percentage of the people you meet will actually become friends and that it’s important to have realistic expectations. This was a revelation. There were hundreds of kids in the auditorium; there were so many bodies and voices, so similar to each other in their boredom—each of them wiggly and uncomfortable in the stiff seats. Most of us will never really know each other, Robin thought as she looked at the rows and rows of heads in front of her. When Janet wasn’t looking Robin slid the pamphlet into her notebook.
Robin sat in the library after school, trying to do geometry homework. She sometimes imagined herselfmarching over to Janet’s house and ending their friendship. She knew Janet would stare deeply into her eyes. Janet would say insulting things—or worse, she might say nothing at all. She might just say “okay” and go back to her little turquoise room at the top of the stairs and apply another coat of Intrigue #39 to her fingernails. It was possible.
Robin soon gave up
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