How to Make a Human

Tuesday morning, Tuesday morning, Tuesday morning. Oh, how I loathed Tuesday mornings. The Shane fiasco had ended with Shane's mom picking him up and Demetri leaving immediately after. Ben spent the whole night poking me in the ribs and saying things along the lines of, "Oooh, Bobbie. A druggie-friend? I didn't know you were that hardcore! And to think it's only a Monday! I can't wait to see the shit we get into on Friday!"

So after the most hellish Monday I have ever experienced, Tuesday came just to remind me that the week wasn't over. I left the house with Mae Beth and Ben, taking note of the pond that I still had yet to put in the ground. What else did I forget? Oh, that's right. Just about all of my homework. Damn.

I bid farewell to Mae Beth when we arrived at her school and skulked the half mile to my homeroom class. When I entered my literature class, Mrs. Goilleur was gliding around the room watering strange plants that should only exist in Fern Gully and humming what sounded like the Harry Potter theme song. I can't even begin to understand that woman. Demetri was tilting his chair back, reading Paradise Lost, and Shane had his face squashed against the desk.

I took my usual seat next to Shane and patted his head. "Are you okay? I honestly didn't expect you to come today. Thought you would have had a hangover equal to death."

"I do have a hangover equal to death!" Shane groaned, rolling his face to meet mine. "I didn't plan on going to school today, but my mom made me, the fat whale-whore! She said it was karma!"

"A natural punishment, I guess," I shrugged. Demetri rolled his eyes and flipped to the next page.

"Has anyone seen my pen?" Mrs. Goilleur interrupted our conversation, searching her desk frantically for her writing utensil. "It's purple and it has a pom-pom."

"You can borrow my pen," Sam offered, holding up her own.

"No, no, no. This pen has sentimental value. Tell me if you see it. I'll check the halls!" And with that Mrs. Goilleur glided out the room and into the hallways. Was she graceful and exotic or crazy and absentminded? I wish I knew.

"God she's hot," Shane mumbled, lifting his head slightly.

"Mrs. Goilleur?" I asked.

"No, Sam. She's funny too."

"Why don't you ask her out?" I suggested.

"Are you crazy?" Shane snorted. "Like hell I would. I have no interest in her! That girl is a bitch!"

"Oh…kay?"

"Plus, you know I only have eyes for my Demetri-poo!" Shane gurgled, pinching Demetri's cheeks.

"Dude, fuck off," Demetri grunted, pushing his hand away and flipping another page. Shane dropped his head onto the table again.

"I am so fucking tired."

"I'll bet."

"No you wouldn't. You're not the gambling type," Shane mumbled against the table, his eyes fluttering closed.

Demetri's eyes flickered towards mine.

"What?" I snapped defensively.

"Nothing."

"Fine."

"Indeed."

"Um. Yeah." Lame response. Not much lamer then "indeed" but dumb enough to make me feel stupid.

-

In art class I sat with Bear, as per usual, and attempted to paint trees as we talked about things that didn't matter (like me making candles, her favorite deodorant, and musicals), things that sort of mattered (her love for cross country, my love for eating, our unified love for Bruce Lee), things that mattered (Shane being wasted and yeah…. Shane being wasted), and things that mattered a lot, like Luke, Bear's ex-boyfriend. After we ran out of icebreakers and chitchat, the only thing I could think of was Shane being high, which linked back to Ben moving in, which linked back to Bear and Ben flirting, which linked back to Shane being protective, which linked back to Shane bitching about Luke. It was a giant series of links and it was the only thing I could think of that would keep the conversation going. Was it any of my business? Well, no, but I was talking about it anyway.

"So, let me get this strait, the boy cheated on you thrice--"

"Did you just say thrice?" Bear interrupted, looking up from her dilapidated tree. Her brown hair bounced and shined in the light and I wanted to rip it off and glue it on my head.

"Yes. So he cheated on you thrice and you only recently broke up with him?"

"Well--"

"And even then you only broke up with him because Shane made you?"

"Well, yeah, but--"

"But what? I'm socially retarded and even I know he's a jerk."

"Well, one of the times I'm not even positive if he cheated on me--"

"Thrice!"

Bear's shoulders slumped. "I know, it's dumb."

"It's moronic," I agreed.

Bear snorted, "It was. It is. I just-- don't know, I guess. I don't know."

"What are you confused about?" I asked.

"Whether or not I was supposed to be with Luke."

"Do you like him?"

"Well, I don't know."

"If you're uncertain than it's a no. If it's not right than it's absolutely wrong." I only said that because that's what my crazy teacher had said earlier that day in history/government. I figure if it could apply to historical facts, it could apply to teenage relationships.

Bear nodded.

"Sounds like you wanted a relationship more then Luke himself," I said sagely.

Bear painted green spots onto her tree. "I guess… Bobbie, you're not entirely bad at giving advice. You should do it more often."

"I generally mess it up. I'm not very good with words."

"That is true."

There was a silence.

"So what do you think of cats?" I asked.

"The musical?" Bear asked, splashing some paint on her skirt.

"No. The animal."

"Oh. They're little shits." Bear nodded.

"That's what Ben said," I mused to myself. Can you say soul mates? Bear smiled and looked at her painting.

"You have about five minutes left in class, so start cleaning up!" the art teacher called before vanishing back into his office to paint more. I went to the sink with Bear and began cleaning up the paint trays.

"What class do you have next?" I asked.

"Constitutional Law," Bear grunted. "It's friggin' hell. You?"

"I have health. It's easy." I smiled. Health was easy as pie therefore I loved it.

"How about we switch. We're practically twins so no one will notice," Bear shrugged. I stared at her like she had three heads before I realized she was joking.

"Oh, yeah. That's funny because we look nothing alike," I explained because I'm a damn fool. Bear laughed because she mistook my stupidity for sarcasm. The bell rang and I put my barely rinsed paint trays on the drying rack. The talented artists in the class glowered at me and cleaned my neglected tray thoroughly. If they wanted to teach me a lesson they went about it the wrong way.

Outside of the art room Shane was leaning against a locker with his fuzzy hat pulled over his eyes to block out the light. Either he was oblivious to or he was ignoring the freshman who was trying to tell him that he was "leaning on his locker and could he please move."

"Hi, Shane," I greeted, pulling my bag on my shoulder. Shane pushed his hat away from his eyes and used his shoulder blades to push himself off of the lockers, much to the freshman's relief.

His eyes were dull and half-lidded. "Hey, Olive," he looked at Bear, "Hi, Bear."

"How are you feeling?" she asked. Even Bear couldn't bring herself to fight with Shane at a time like this.

"Pretty much like shit." He gave a bitter smile.

"I can imagine. Well, feel better," Bear gave a curt nod. "See you later, Bobbie."

It's surprising what a hangover can do for a relationship.

Shane and I began strolling down the hallway to my health class. Well, I was strolling, he was dragging his feet.

"You going to health now?" he asked.

"Didn't you steal my schedule a while back?" I asked in response.

"I did."

"So you already know that I have health next."

"Well, yeah. But this creates small talk."

"Oh. Okay."

We were both quiet. Small talk, indeed. I stopped at my classroom and patted Shane's arm out of lack something better to do. "Get well soon."

"I don't have a cold, Bobbie. I'm hungover. I'll be fine." He smiled lazily and turned around to drift down the hallway. He almost looked cool until he ran into an open locker and stumbled backwards. He turned around and gave me a lazy salute, saying, "I'm fine, I'm fine. Really."

I watched Shane swagger around the corner before I entered my health class. Mrs. Bronzen was writing on the whiteboard when she saw me enter. As it was early in the passing period, no one had arrived at class yet. Not that it mattered to me. I didn't have any friends in this class. Hell, I didn't even know anyone in this class. Except for Derek Banderton, who I only knew because I hit his brother on the rollercoaster. So as you can imagine, I tried my best to avoid eye contact with him.

"Hello, Bobbie," Mrs. Bronzen smiled, capping her marker and setting it down.

"Hi, Mrs. Bronzen," I responded, pulling a banana out of my bag and snacking on it, simply because I like being seen eating healthy food by the health teacher. When the bell finally rang and the students settled down and attendance was taken and whatever other shenanigans happen at the beginning of a class period happened, Mrs. Bronzen announced that we would be starting partner projects.

Partner projects? Oh boy. That's a socially handicapped accident waiting to happen.

She began calling out pairs of people that she had partnered up by alphabetical order.

"Bobbie Heising with…." She looked at her list. "Derek Banderton."

How cliché. How cliché, indeed. I was lucky, I suppose. Though I barely knew him, I had technically been introduced to him which took out the awkward greeting but left the awkward icebreakers.

He didn't look happy to be my partner. Okay, maybe he just didn't care, but he wasn't happy. Maybe I was looking into this too much. I don't think I was. I wasn't. He didn't like me. Oh, well, who cares? I do. I care. Why doesn't he want to be my partner? Derek was shifting his eyes between me and his desk. Oh damn. I was staring. I quickly averted my eyes to my desk in an attempt to make him feel slightly more comfortable. I don't think it did the trick, but I tried.

I'll just pretend that I'm comfortable with him and that I don't care what he thinks. He'll think I won't care and we can be friends and hardy-har-ho. Will he buy it? I'm not so sure.

This should be one hell of a project.