Man, school has been crazy busy here (all six-hundred years of it—yeah, I totally feel that way too). Lots of pop quizzes, too, which only goes to show that even nice teachers like Mr. Craig can be sadistic when they want to. Speaking of Mr. C, he's been out sick for a few days now. I hope he comes back soon. Our rat-faced principal, Mr. Snelgrove, has been subbing for him.
Public speaking?! What are they, sick?! That's just twisted. As if we'll ever really HAVE to stand up in front of people and talk. I mean, my aunt is a nurse and you don't see her blabbering on in front of people. My sympathies, Lex. But I'm sure you'll do great.
Wait a sec. You're telling me you have the hots for some guy who smells like socks? Seriously? As in the things we wear on our feet to soak up all of our sweat and foot funk? Man…I will never understand girls.
Hey, at least you're brave enough to call Dylan. I can barely breathe when Meredith is around, and there's no way I'm going anywhere near a phone.
What are your plans for Halloween? This guy, Matthew, in my grade is having another Halloween bash this year. He's been hosting them since we were like six. They're okay, I guess. Mostly I just hang out with Henry and pretend I actually belong there. If I do go this year, I was thinking of going as a vampire. *snort* How rock do I??? But…I probably won't go. There's supposed to be a great line up of horror movies on TV that night…maybe I'll luck out and they'll show Nosferatu.
Anyway, sorry I'm such a lame pen pal. But I've been stuck in a grave…and its name is Algebra.