this is ridiculous. Sheila is the one person who’s totally put-together every day and super cheerful even early in the morning and always has her projects done like two days before they’re due, and now she just walked in looking like a truck ran her over.
Mr. Farrell is going in for the kill. He’s all types of heated when you’re late like that. It’s pretty much the only thing I don’t like about him.
He’s all, “Ah, if it isn’t Mr. and Mrs. Punctuality.”
Sheila totally looks like she’s about to burst into tears, and I know it’s because she’s never been late in her life and she’s mortified and she knows that Mr. Farrell isn’t going to leave it alone until he’s sure they’re both embarrassed to the max.
Sometimes I don’t get him. It’s like he’s two different people. Like right now he’s talking about Sheila as if she’s not even here, saying things about her to Brad like how she’s his questionable companion of impeccable taste, which is just a nasty way of completely dissing both of them simultaneously. And the whole time Sheila is just sitting there, dying. But what else can she do?
So after class I grab Sheila and drag her into the bathroom and I’m like, “What’s going on with you?”
And she just starts crying and saying how she never thought it would get this bad and she had no idea and how did her life get this messed up? And even though mascara’s running down her face and she’s obviously been sleeping over at Brad’s because she’s wearing one of his ratty old Cult T-shirts that’s all wrinkled, she still looks pretty.
So I say, “Why are you letting him ruin your life like this?”
And she says, “He’s not.”
And I’m like, “Um, not to be rude? But I think he sort of is.”
So Sheila goes, “No, I mean . . . it’s all my fault.”
I go, “Are you serious?” Because Brad is a pothead and a burnout and he’s totally failing everything and he’ll probably be a super senior, one of those lowlife kids who never gets it and is still sitting in a desk that’s way too small for him when he’s like twenty-five, and why is she wasting her time with such a loser?
Sheila looks at herself in the mirror and rinses her face off and there aren’t any paper towels. So she stands there with her face dripping all over the ratty Cult T-shirt and tells me how Brad is totally not her type but she loves him anyway.
She says, “But a few weeks ago he started smoking more pot. I don’t even know why. It’s like . . . I knew he smoked, but before it was just to spark up at a party or whatever, nothing heavy. And now he’s wasted all the time. Like he can’t even get through a day without smoking.” She wipes her cheek. “And plus he’s drinking hard-core and . . . his temper keeps getting worse. One minute he’s fine, and the next he’s furious over the most minor thing. I don’t even know who he is anymore.”
So I’m about to ask if there’s anything I can do, but Sheila keeps talking and she says how her mother doesn’t approve of Brad and how she’s neglecting her family and that they never see her anymore. And they got into a horrible fight two days ago and Sheila just packed her stuff and left, and she’s been staying with Brad ever since. Which is a disaster, because he never lets her have time to do homework, and she’s so depressed it’s like she doesn’t even care anymore. She’s too tired to fight it. And he stays up way late, so just getting to first period is like this major challenge.
“And then there’s this thing with my pills,” she says.
So now I’m thinking she’s about to tell me that she’s on Zoloft or something, but she goes, “I’m on the pill now.” Which is news to me. I wonder how else she’s changed since we were close.
Sheila’s like, “I forgot to pack them when I left home, and I just remembered about them today. So I snuck home to get them, but by the time I took one I’d already missed taking the
Mr. Farrell is going in for the kill. He’s all types of heated when you’re late like that. It’s pretty much the only thing I don’t like about him.
He’s all, “Ah, if it isn’t Mr. and Mrs. Punctuality.”
Sheila totally looks like she’s about to burst into tears, and I know it’s because she’s never been late in her life and she’s mortified and she knows that Mr. Farrell isn’t going to leave it alone until he’s sure they’re both embarrassed to the max.
Sometimes I don’t get him. It’s like he’s two different people. Like right now he’s talking about Sheila as if she’s not even here, saying things about her to Brad like how she’s his questionable companion of impeccable taste, which is just a nasty way of completely dissing both of them simultaneously. And the whole time Sheila is just sitting there, dying. But what else can she do?
So after class I grab Sheila and drag her into the bathroom and I’m like, “What’s going on with you?”
And she just starts crying and saying how she never thought it would get this bad and she had no idea and how did her life get this messed up? And even though mascara’s running down her face and she’s obviously been sleeping over at Brad’s because she’s wearing one of his ratty old Cult T-shirts that’s all wrinkled, she still looks pretty.
So I say, “Why are you letting him ruin your life like this?”
And she says, “He’s not.”
And I’m like, “Um, not to be rude? But I think he sort of is.”
So Sheila goes, “No, I mean . . . it’s all my fault.”
I go, “Are you serious?” Because Brad is a pothead and a burnout and he’s totally failing everything and he’ll probably be a super senior, one of those lowlife kids who never gets it and is still sitting in a desk that’s way too small for him when he’s like twenty-five, and why is she wasting her time with such a loser?
Sheila looks at herself in the mirror and rinses her face off and there aren’t any paper towels. So she stands there with her face dripping all over the ratty Cult T-shirt and tells me how Brad is totally not her type but she loves him anyway.
She says, “But a few weeks ago he started smoking more pot. I don’t even know why. It’s like . . . I knew he smoked, but before it was just to spark up at a party or whatever, nothing heavy. And now he’s wasted all the time. Like he can’t even get through a day without smoking.” She wipes her cheek. “And plus he’s drinking hard-core and . . . his temper keeps getting worse. One minute he’s fine, and the next he’s furious over the most minor thing. I don’t even know who he is anymore.”
So I’m about to ask if there’s anything I can do, but Sheila keeps talking and she says how her mother doesn’t approve of Brad and how she’s neglecting her family and that they never see her anymore. And they got into a horrible fight two days ago and Sheila just packed her stuff and left, and she’s been staying with Brad ever since. Which is a disaster, because he never lets her have time to do homework, and she’s so depressed it’s like she doesn’t even care anymore. She’s too tired to fight it. And he stays up way late, so just getting to first period is like this major challenge.
“And then there’s this thing with my pills,” she says.
So now I’m thinking she’s about to tell me that she’s on Zoloft or something, but she goes, “I’m on the pill now.” Which is news to me. I wonder how else she’s changed since we were close.
Sheila’s like, “I forgot to pack them when I left home, and I just remembered about them today. So I snuck home to get them, but by the time I took one I’d already missed taking the
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