English Class

April 30, 2017

Jacob walked into the first class of the day and took the first seat he could find, in front of Lucy Fontaine and next to David Starger.

“Heh, fancy seeing you here,” David said.

“Yeah, fancy that,” Jacob said, turning around to talk to Lucy.  “Hey, person who isn’t David.  How was your summer?”

“It was alright, I guess.  I don’t know.  You were there for a lot of it.”

“Oh, yeah.  That’s right.  We’re friends.”

“Right.  So why are you asking?”

Jacob shrugged.  “Seemed like a good segue.  So, who do we have for Mr. Garamna’s English class, which we’re currently in.”

“Mr. Garamna.  Which, again, you already knew.”

“Uh, no I didn’t.”

“His name is on the door, and it’s written again on the board.”

“I didn’t notice.”

“It’s also on your schedule, which you would have had to read to get to the right place.”

“Well, then, what do you know about him?”

“We had him last year.”

“I didn’t,” said Juan Conner, the large running back for the football team who had been sitting next to Lucy the whole time.  “What’s he like?”

Lucy shrugged.  “He’s alright, I guess.  He’s the moderator for the theater club, I think.”

Juan tapped David’s shoulder.  “Hey, David, you’re into fruity bullcrap, right?”

“We call it theater, and yes.”

“What’s this dude like?”

“Oh, he’s the best,” said David, turning around and joining the conversation.  “He’s the coolest, and he’s super funny.”

“Funny as in actually funny, or funny as in ‘when girls say their friends are funny’ funny?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Right, how can I explain this?” Juan said, trying to come up with a way to phrase his question without hurting David’s feeling.

“Would normal people think he’s funny, or is he some lamewad who’s only funny to people as lame and boring as he is?” asked Jacob, not giving a fuck about David’s feelings.

“Given that it’s David, I’m pretty sure lame,” Lucy said.

“He’s not lame.  He’s awesome.  You’ll see,” David said, defending his lamewad mentor.  “He plays guitar, and drives a Prius.”

“So what? Driving a Prius doesn’t make the guy Jesus,” Jacob said.  “First off, Jesus couldn’t drive, and secondly, he’s dead.  Well, kind of.  Maybe.  Actually, what is Jesus now?”

“What do you mean?” asked Lucy.  “Like is he alive or dead?  Um, dead, I guess.”

“I’d say alive,” Juan said.  “After the whole resurrection thing, anyway.”

“But is he really alive, or just walking as a dead man?”

“Look, it doesn’t matter,” Jacob said.  “The point I’m trying to make is that driving a hybrid car is like the least cool thing somebody can do.  Next to loving your neighbor.”

“Well, I disagree,” David said.  “Some of us think caring about the earth is pretty cool.”

“Well it isn’t.  Shit, I won’t even buy a notebook unless I have a guarantee that it was made by enslaved orphans of war, preferably to fund another war.  Fuck corporate responsibility.”

“Dude, why you got to be such a dick?” Juan asked.

“Same reason you play football, I guess,” Jacob said.  He shrugged.  “I’m good at it.”

Mr. Garamna walked in and the class began to quiet for some reason.  Out of respect, I guess, though that seems unlikely for high school students.  Jacob felt a tap on his shoulder.

“By the way, party at my place on Friday night,” Lucy said, ending the story.


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