Status: Active. (Based on the novel by Laurie Halse Anderson.)
Twisted
Twenty-Three
Sean was AWOL from homeroom. Kelsey wasn't, but no way was I going to ask her where her brother was. She was deep into her physics textbook, flipping back and forth between it and a handful of notecards. The rumor was that Mr. Caine never let her bring home any grade lower than an A. If that were true, it would explain a lot.
I took the longest way I could between my morning classes but didn't see Sean anywhere. He probably heard about the girls' "clothing optional" vote and decided to stay home. He was classy like that.
Damn.
Calc was incomprehensible. I could understand irrational girls and irrational parents. But irrational numbers? Numbers usually made sense, even the imaginary ones. I kept reading the page in my math book over and over again. The only thing that felt irrational was my brain.
In Gym, we learned that stretching was important. And that again, for the record, that the school was not responsible for any items stolen from lockers.
Mr. Salvatore handed back my compare/contrast essay written about God and Satan. It had a zero on it, and "See Me" written in red pen and underlined. It turned out he was serious about the summer-reading stuff. I had forty-eight hours to read Paradise Lost and write an essay that proved I read it.
"Don't waste your money buying a piece of garbage from an online essay factory," Salvatore warned me. "I can smell that junk a mile away. And do not waste my time with a first draft. There is power in revision. It's about time you learned that. Oh, and have you heard about this little thing called 'spell check'? You should try it."
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I took the longest way I could between my morning classes but didn't see Sean anywhere. He probably heard about the girls' "clothing optional" vote and decided to stay home. He was classy like that.
Damn.
Calc was incomprehensible. I could understand irrational girls and irrational parents. But irrational numbers? Numbers usually made sense, even the imaginary ones. I kept reading the page in my math book over and over again. The only thing that felt irrational was my brain.
In Gym, we learned that stretching was important. And that again, for the record, that the school was not responsible for any items stolen from lockers.
Mr. Salvatore handed back my compare/contrast essay written about God and Satan. It had a zero on it, and "See Me" written in red pen and underlined. It turned out he was serious about the summer-reading stuff. I had forty-eight hours to read Paradise Lost and write an essay that proved I read it.
"Don't waste your money buying a piece of garbage from an online essay factory," Salvatore warned me. "I can smell that junk a mile away. And do not waste my time with a first draft. There is power in revision. It's about time you learned that. Oh, and have you heard about this little thing called 'spell check'? You should try it."
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