“Let me tell you something. What happened last week is to never happen again. Never will I tell the class that gets in the classroom after yours on Tuesdays to clean feces off desk frames again.”
Great start of the day. Apparently this guy from our class, Francis, had scraped dog shit off his shoe onto this metal piece of his desk. This whole situation is very peculiar because, let me tell you this. Last week I was walking to Physics class when Francis who doesn’t speak unless asked or begged to came up to me and said “That old history bitch said I smeared dog shit all over her classroom yesterday. Can you believe it?” No. I couldn’t believe that he was talking to me. Well later today, according to Brandon, Francis admitted he had brought dog shit into the classroom last week. Why would he have told me that he hadn’t done it if he had? And more importantly, why hadn’t the classroom smelt just like the teacher said it had?

This girl told me, straight up, “You’re cute.”
I also got a compliment on my earrings from that girl that MIGHT have a crush on me. I’ve been thinking about her lately (the past two days to be precise). What if we do end up in the same room on our trip?
I absolutely fucking despise Gym Class. I cannot. I just cannot serve a ball in volleyball. It’s impossible. Sport is a mystery for me. Running is the only thing I’m good at. Other things just make me look like a retarded pig while trying to execute them. Volleyball is disgusting.

When I got home I made a – you guessed it – strudel. Then I went to read The Catcher in the Rye. Studied Physics (kind of, it’s always going to be just kind of), then French, prepared a bath for my sister, went through that French shit again.

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