Wednesday, October 1, 2008
It lesson happeningsThe class was abuzz with excitement. Averyn walks just behind my chair, menacingly placing a hand on the computer table.
Alethea looks over, peering at the document.
Mumbling, she turns away, then glances back again.
She chuckles, looks again, and turns back,
They tell me that I type fast. Averyn makes weird noises behind me with queer hand motions.
They tell me I can be a receptionist. Averyn laughs.
To my left belle chuckles and talks with Bernadette. She tells me crapu.
Averyn is nowhere to be seen. I look around.
Everything is as per normal.
Suddenly averyn comes back again. Peering over the screen, she laughs again.
She lunges desperately for a paper,.
A bottle of immortality lies on the screen of the computer. “You look like you’re playing the piano,” she tells me. “What the hell,”
She grins and chuckles.
Then reaches for the wallet on my left.
She notes that I monitor her every move. “Are you a detective?” she asks me.
“I need my seat back.” She whines.
Alethea peers over to see what I’m writing.
“She’s more like a CCTV camera, “ Alethea observes.
Averyn walks around alethea, talking nonsense.
“I don’t talk nonsense.” She says, looking at me.”Well, maybe I do.”
The teacher walks in, and Averyn taps my elbow.
I continue typing miscellaneous poppycock and utterly ruin the document.
Belle reads it and turns back.
“I’ve found it,” Alethea suddenly announces.
Averyn recites a website from memory.
“ I want to go back to Indi,” AVeryn says. “It's Indo, not Indi,” she protests.
I correct it.
“Am I like very crappy or smth? why must you talk about me??” she looks quizzically at me.
She places two palms on the right side of the keyboard. I continue typing. She withdraws one and then places the other to her stomach. Her arm goes on and off the table. She encourages me to type lots about her. “ EWw no! I dun have a big ego and im not that proud.” She says. But you can tell from her voice that she's lying.
I burst inot howls of laughter. I clap my hands. Averyn plays with her fingers. She glances at both alethea and my computer screens. “Claire, please stop typing,” she pleads.
Unfortunately it is not within my nature to practice self-control.
I clap my hands. She looks around again.
::9:04 PM
