I am a Genius of Unspeakable Evil and I Want to be Your Class by Josh Lieb Page B
Book: I am a Genius of Unspeakable Evil and I Want to be Your Class by Josh Lieb
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Authors: Josh Lieb
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advanced understanding of the art of rumor spreading.
I dart a worried glance at Sokolov, who sits at the front of the room with her nose buried in a book. 77 Tati follows my gaze. “You think that thing over there cares what we talk about?”
I’m impressed by her ability to dehumanize La Sokolova .
“She’s probably your favorite teacher.”
“What? ’Cause she’s so nasty? Nah.” Tati wrinkles her nose. “She’s nothing. Just a broken sofa spring that sticks through the cushion. It makes you bleed when you sit on it, but not ’cause it wants to. It’s just what it is . She ain’t mean. She’s just broken.”
Tatiana has raised her voice significantly for this summation. Maybe “that thing over there” doesn’t care about what we’re saying, but I notice its eyes are glowing behind the book.
Tatiana blows confetti off her thumbnail. “Just know—I’m watching you.”
I manage to stammer out a “Wh-why?”
This time she blows the confetti in my face. “Because nobody’s as dumb as you act.”
Two things occur to me as I rush to geometry, five minutes late:
• Tatiana is very perceptive.
• I owe her a pair of sunglasses.
I squeeze into my seat in geometry as Miss Broadway glares at me. Time to set my latest Great Evil Plan in motion. Step One: Set up a Chump to Run Against Me for President .
I glance over to see what Randy’s doing, but it looks like he’s skipping class today. I guess he’s waiting for the humiliation to wear off.
There’s a folder waiting for me, taped to the underside of my desk. I pull it out and start reading. It’s a hastily gathered Probe on Scott Sparks, the Most Pathetic Accountant in Omaha ( see plate 13 ).
Barely graduated from a bad college. Barely hired by a bad accounting firm. Barely tolerated by his co-workers. No chance for promotion. No social life. Wife left him five years ago. One son.
Sparks and son live in a small rented house on Dundee Boulevard. The lawn is dying, and the interior photos taken by my Research Minion (who was posing as an exterminator) depict the very depths of lower middle-class hell. Dust everywhere. Abandoned pop bottles and pizza crusts on every flat surface. Towers of file folders and remnants of the just-passed tax season fill half the floor space, and the Sparks men must walk through the narrow caverns created by them just to get to the bathroom ( see plate 14 ).
One bright spot: the shiny, top-of-the-line dirt bike Scott bought his son for Christmas. Randy rides it for hours after school. Scott always tells him to bring the bike inside when he’s done for the night, but more often than not, Randy just leans it against the front of the house. People are frequently careless with the things they love most.
PLATE 13: Scott Sparks,
the Most Pathetic Accountant in Omaha.
PLATE 14: Interior photos taken by my Research Minion
depict the very depths of lower middle-class hell.
The dad and the dirt bike. Those are my points of entry.
I’m studying these photos, formulating a plan, when a massive shadow envelops me. “What are you looking at, Oliver?” demands Miss Broadway, glowering.
I’m getting very tired of teachers sneaking up on me.
“Nothing,” I say, and start to close the file, but she is not to be put off so easily. “Let me see that.” She thrusts her hamlike hands at me.
“Fire drill,” I murmur. Instantly, the alarm goes off, and Broadway has much more important things on her mind.
And, quite frankly, so do I.
Chapter 19:
NEWS FLASHES
Excerpted from “Famed Political Operative Retires to Omaha,” 78 Omaha World-Herald, April 22:
[S]he is probably best known for the “Why Does His Wife Look Scared?” commercial she created for the 2004 Democratic presidential primary. Leaders from both sides of the aisle roundly condemned the ad when it appeared, but her services were once again in high demand, by
I dart a worried glance at Sokolov, who sits at the front of the room with her nose buried in a book. 77 Tati follows my gaze. “You think that thing over there cares what we talk about?”
I’m impressed by her ability to dehumanize La Sokolova .
“She’s probably your favorite teacher.”
“What? ’Cause she’s so nasty? Nah.” Tati wrinkles her nose. “She’s nothing. Just a broken sofa spring that sticks through the cushion. It makes you bleed when you sit on it, but not ’cause it wants to. It’s just what it is . She ain’t mean. She’s just broken.”
Tatiana has raised her voice significantly for this summation. Maybe “that thing over there” doesn’t care about what we’re saying, but I notice its eyes are glowing behind the book.
Tatiana blows confetti off her thumbnail. “Just know—I’m watching you.”
I manage to stammer out a “Wh-why?”
This time she blows the confetti in my face. “Because nobody’s as dumb as you act.”
Two things occur to me as I rush to geometry, five minutes late:
• Tatiana is very perceptive.
• I owe her a pair of sunglasses.
I squeeze into my seat in geometry as Miss Broadway glares at me. Time to set my latest Great Evil Plan in motion. Step One: Set up a Chump to Run Against Me for President .
I glance over to see what Randy’s doing, but it looks like he’s skipping class today. I guess he’s waiting for the humiliation to wear off.
There’s a folder waiting for me, taped to the underside of my desk. I pull it out and start reading. It’s a hastily gathered Probe on Scott Sparks, the Most Pathetic Accountant in Omaha ( see plate 13 ).
Barely graduated from a bad college. Barely hired by a bad accounting firm. Barely tolerated by his co-workers. No chance for promotion. No social life. Wife left him five years ago. One son.
Sparks and son live in a small rented house on Dundee Boulevard. The lawn is dying, and the interior photos taken by my Research Minion (who was posing as an exterminator) depict the very depths of lower middle-class hell. Dust everywhere. Abandoned pop bottles and pizza crusts on every flat surface. Towers of file folders and remnants of the just-passed tax season fill half the floor space, and the Sparks men must walk through the narrow caverns created by them just to get to the bathroom ( see plate 14 ).
One bright spot: the shiny, top-of-the-line dirt bike Scott bought his son for Christmas. Randy rides it for hours after school. Scott always tells him to bring the bike inside when he’s done for the night, but more often than not, Randy just leans it against the front of the house. People are frequently careless with the things they love most.
PLATE 13: Scott Sparks,
the Most Pathetic Accountant in Omaha.
PLATE 14: Interior photos taken by my Research Minion
depict the very depths of lower middle-class hell.
The dad and the dirt bike. Those are my points of entry.
I’m studying these photos, formulating a plan, when a massive shadow envelops me. “What are you looking at, Oliver?” demands Miss Broadway, glowering.
I’m getting very tired of teachers sneaking up on me.
“Nothing,” I say, and start to close the file, but she is not to be put off so easily. “Let me see that.” She thrusts her hamlike hands at me.
“Fire drill,” I murmur. Instantly, the alarm goes off, and Broadway has much more important things on her mind.
And, quite frankly, so do I.
Chapter 19:
NEWS FLASHES
Excerpted from “Famed Political Operative Retires to Omaha,” 78 Omaha World-Herald, April 22:
[S]he is probably best known for the “Why Does His Wife Look Scared?” commercial she created for the 2004 Democratic presidential primary. Leaders from both sides of the aisle roundly condemned the ad when it appeared, but her services were once again in high demand, by
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