Hello, I Dislike You Intensely. Have a Nice Day.

Dear So-called Diary,

I'm getting really sick of calling you Diary all the time, so I have decided to give you a different name every time I make an entry.

Dear Magnificent Millicent the Stripper,
You weren't expecting that, were you?

Well, moving on. Today was really, really weird.

Like, so I was walking to first period, right? Lalala, walky walky, right? Well, all of a sudden, I hear this sort of yell rising up off to the side, and I look, and holy Christ. An entire wall of people linking arms and skipping was heading straight toward me. Straight toward me, I swear. Thinking back on it now, it probably wasn't a wall so much as around four or five people that seemed intimidating as a wall only because of the fact that they were skipping and making that weird noise. But at the time, it was simply terrifying. I thought to myself, What a way to go - killer tsunami of skipping people. There wasn't time for me to turn back and run, nor could I make it if I ran forward. So I chose the only remaining option - I ran with them. It was sort of like running with the bulls, actually. Not that I've ever done that. Just saying.

So down we went, down the hill, me running frantically with the pernicious skippers on my heels, in the opposite direction of my class. Perfect. Well, I just ran and ran, weaving through clumps of people until I smacked right into this gargantuan...creature. He (it?) was tall enough to block out the sun and wide enough to completely lodge in some of the narrower hallways at school. This terrible bulk was topped by a pointed, hairless head-like protrusion with tiny slits presumably functioning as visual sensors. Quite a menacing finial. An earth-shaking rumbling arose from the depths of him/it and I realized that he/it was trying to communicate with me. Excuse you!!! he/it seemed to say.

I sqeaked, and dove headlong into the crowd. I could no longer see the skippers, who'd probably headed off in some other direction a long time ago. Unfortunately, the crowds were thinning considerably, and unless the hand of God himself lifted me up and deposited me in English, there was no way I'd make it to class in time. The late bell rang mockingly at me as I began the long trek to class.

Walking through the door as unobstrusively as possible, I made my way to my seat. Ms. Tischler looked up from her desk and walked toward me grimly. As she informed me how this was my fifth tardy in two weeks and how it would get taken off my grade this time, I debated over whether or not to tell her about the skippers and the he-thing.

I decided not to, for rather obvious reasons.

"Damn it," I muttered as she walked away. Alex Hatfield, who sat in front of me, turned to face me, a mildly interested expression on his face.

"That just got taken off my grade," I explained.

"Don't you already have an A?" he asked.

"Yeah, but. I just hate being late to class."

"I see."

Later, as we were doing our vocab exercises, Alex turned around again and asked me, "What does it matter?"

"What?"

"Being late. In ten years, no one's going to care that you, the minute hand on a clock, and a bell schedule were at odds a few times."

"Doesn't it go on your permanent record?"

"So? A permanent record doesn't even tell you that much. It sucks out your soul. It never forgives you for anything you've done wrong."

I considered him critically. "You're quite the philosopher there, Mr. Hatfield. The Aristotle of our time."

He smiled. Everything about that smile seemed to exude the message, I'm not going to get pissed off at you because I'm the bigger person here.

Oh, how so very transparent. He was trying to dominate the argument by playing up the solidarity of his character. Well, there was one argument I wasn't gonna win. So I did the opposite - letting the bitch in me reign supreme in an attempt to topple his stand.

"Seriously, Alex. You should put that quote on an icon. Soon, every emo delinquent in North America will have it on their MySpace."

His smile faltered. I could almost hear his mind going through the options of how to respond to what I'd just said. Smile some more? Ignore her? Go right out and call her a bitch?

But instead of any of these, he scooted his chair backward until his elbows could've rested on the middle of my desk. He studied the papers on my desk and said, "Dani...Faetherit?"

"As you can see," I said stiffly. I hadn't anticipated something like this.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Dani Faetherit," he proclaimed.

I detected the subtle emphasis on meet you that conveyed exactly what he thought of my ugly spirit, but decided to ignore it. I'd expended enough energy on him for the day.

"Thank you kindly," I told him, a palpable, though artificial, warmth in my voice.

The bell rang. Packing up my stuff, I heard Alex ask me, "Why is it that you talk funny to me, like all refined and collegiate, but normally to everyone else?"

"You're special," I said, and headed for my next class.