TOAST-Math Team Style, take OWEN

I've done this before, but here's the next installment. Sorry for the horrible delay.


NOTE: People represented in here do not closely resemble what they are like in real life. Just saying.

OTHER NOTE: Not edited. Yet. If you find any mistakes, report them to me, and I'll fix them.

Step UN: Choose your character—>

1.) Tea
2.) Owen (which is here)
3.) Argon
4.) Summer
5.) Tybalt

Step DEUX: Read the RULES—>

I. Find the number where your chosen character starts.
II. Read the first part.
III. When prompted, make a choice between either 1 or 2.
IV. After choosing, use ctrl-F to find where the next part goes. (this part may not work as well as thought to be because there are way too many repeating tags. so, uh, just go ctrl-F until something matches. sorry, it's the best I can do in one post.)
V. Have fun!

Step TROIS: Choose your fate—>


2.) Owen

It's Tuesday, and you're making your way to math team, along with Irving. Seriously. You spend so much time with Irving, you wonder what you'll do when you go off to college.

Well, that's still far, far away. And there's still plenty of months to enjoy your almost-extreme case of senioritis.

Down the hall, you see Mario looking distracted, but he has not noticed you or Irving yet.

1. Grab Mario's attention. (AAA.)
2. Ignore him. He'll captivate Irving's attention anyway, and you'll be left out. (AAB.)


AAA.

"Hey," you call out. "Mario!"

Mario looks over at you with a glazed look, as if he had just consumed a dozen sugar-glazed donuts. Actually, from the Starbucks bag he's carrying in one hand, you think your guess may not be that far off from the truth. Of course, you highly doubt Mario eats donuts.

But he's remotely better than Bryant in terms of width, so perhaps he indulges himself at times.

(And you think to yourself that Bryant should be glad intelligence and width are not directly related, but the authoress digress.)

"Hey Owen," Mario replies, still dazed. "Irving."

1. Ask Mario what's wrong. (AAC.)
2. Wait for Irving to ask Mario what's wrong. (AAD.)

AAB.

You ignore Mario. Irving will say something. He always does. If you didn't know any better (and if you hadn't known about the secret relationship Irving has with—wait, why are you even thinking this?), you would have sworn the two of them were infatuated with each other.

Instead, you watch in awe as Mario disintegrates.

Huh?

Then, you watch in more awe as Bryant comes from out of nowhere and says, "I knew this would happen! I told him so, and did he listen? No! Serves him right."

You stare at the thing in Bryant's hand that looks suspiciously like a ray-gun, and you can feel your feet inching backwards. Suddenly, you brush against something furry.

A purple bunny? What?

This is officially weird. (Because the authoress is officially tired of writing this.)

1. Whoop-de-doo! You've arrived at an end (i.e. the authoress got bored of this plotline). Try again? (THEEND).
2. Even though you're at the end, you decide you want to quit anyway. ("What?") (QQUIT.)

AAC.

"What's wrong, Mario?"

You manage to choke out a sentence before Irving does, and you pride yourself for this achievement. After all, he's an expert at saying things really, really fast.

"Oh," Mario says. "It's nothing."

"What do you mean it's nothing?" Irving asks. "It's always something. Come on, tell us."

"Well... but you promise you won't tell anyone?"

You stare at Mario, who looks rather uneasy. That's strange. You debate whether it's worth it to commit yourself to a lifelong sentence of sworn secrecy, just to indulge your curio--concern.

1. Promise Mario you won't tell anymore. Really. (AAE.)
2. Tell Mario you have to meet with Dino, so you'll be going now. (AAF.)

AAD.

You wait for Irving to ask Mario what's wrong, because you're sure that's what Irving would ask in this situation, but instead Irving smacks Mario on the head and asks, "How many?"

How many what? You want to ask. Of course, Mario knows what, because he replies, "Twenty."

"I told you to cut back, didn't I?" Irving shouts. "Look at you. Look at you!"

"Hey, don't look at me. Bryant had forty, and he's passed out in my car."

"Are you guys, uh," you try to say, "talking about—alcohol?"

It's the only logical solution you can think of, if Bryant has passed out. Or maybe it's drugs. Either way, it's not good.

Irving and Mario stare at you, then both start laughing. Probably at you. Ouch.

1. Ask them what they're laughing at, and hope it's not you. (AAM.)
2. Ignore them. They're not worth your time, anyway. (AAN.)

AAE.

Your curiosity wins. Big surprise. You look Mario in the eye, hold up your hand, and say, "I solemnly swear that whatever happens between us stays between us, and us only."

"Me too," Irving says. Although that's sort of cheating, because he hasn't technically sworn himself to anything.

Mario breaks a weak smile, looks behind his shoulder to make sure no one can overhear him, and then turn to the two of you with a very serious face.

"I'm experimenting on my purple bunnies along with Bryant, but lately, Bryant seems to be too fondly attached towards the smallest one, and I'm afraid he won't let me carry out my experiments anymore."

Uh, what?

1. Try to say something intelligent. Even if you have no idea what Mario just said. (AAG.)
2. Just keep on staring. When in doubt, stare. (AAH.)

AAF.

"I'm sorry, Mario," you say, "but I have to go. Dino's waiting for me."

Mario doesn't even look at you, but Irving drags you back and says, "Come on. This is probably good. You don't want to miss it. Dino can wait a while."

You try to protest. "I really don't think—"

"I love you, Irving," Mario suddenly says. Irving drops your arm. You drop your jaw (hey, you can't drop your own arm). What? Did you just hear that right?

"I was going to give you this bag of donuts," Mario continues, "as a present, you know. But I ate it on my way here."

"I—uh—you—" Irving sputters.

1. Ask Mario, "Are you serious?" (AAK.)
2. Tell Mario, "So are you going to get Irving any other gift now that you've eaten his?" (AAL.)

AAG.

You decide anything is better than plain silence, so you begin to form some words in your throat. Or, more like, you begin to gurgle and babble.

"Uh—well, what—I mean—that—"

Luckily for you, Irving is much more level-headed. "What kind of experiments are you carrying out on these bunnies?"

You think there are much more pressing questions, such as why are you experimenting on bunnies? or why are these bunnies purple? or even why and how is Bryant involved in this craziness? But since Irving is the one with the words, you keep quiet. Perhaps you should reconsider the friends you make, but it doesn't matter now, since you're going off to college soon anyway.

Weren't you just thinking that you're glad college is so far away? You think you might have had a change of heart, because you can't imagine anything more wonderful than college "happening" right now, taking you away from Mario and his purple bunnies.

No offense to him, or Bryant, in any way.

1. Whoop-de-doo! You've arrived at an end (i.e. the authoress got bored of this plotline). Try again? (THEEND).
2. Even though you're at the end, you decide you want to quit anyway. ("What?") (QQUIT.)

AAH.

You can't vocalize your thoughts, so you just stare at Mario. As does Irving. Both of you stare at him, then at each other, then at anywhere but each other.

"Ahem," Mario says. "Anyway, I thought I should bribe Bryant with some donuts (you were right about the contents of the bag) so he'll forget about the bunny, but I accidentally ate all twenty donuts."

Well, twelve, twenty. Big difference. Besides, it's not as if anyone can win their way with Bryant through his stomach.

"What are you going to do now?" Irving asks.

"I don't know," Mario says. "I've been stressed out over it, but I think I'm going to get #4 to steal it while I talk to Bryant so he thinks I'm innocent."

That doesn't work, you want to tell Mario, because you're 95% confident (plus or minus 3%) that Bryant can read minds. But you're more concerned about who this #4 is, and you don't think you really want to know.

1. Ask Mario who #4 is. It can't be that bad, can it? (AAI.)
2. Whatever. It's not like you want to know, anyway. Right? (AAJ.)

(AAI.)

Once again, curiosity gets the better of you, and you decide to ask.

"Mario, who's #4?"

Mario stares at you as if you had just suddenly morphed into Dino. Ew. Bad thoughts. Really bad.

After a long, long silence, in which Irving just stares at the two of you as if you two were really fascinating, which, you would like to take a moment to say, you really are fascinating, Mario suddenly says, "Oh."

Huh?

"You should know #4. He occasionally goes to stat, if #1 can't go for some reason."

You're really confused right now. "Who's #1? Who are these people?"
"Wait, you mean you don't know #1? Oh no, what have I done?!"

Mario runs down the hall, wailing, and leaving both you and Irving possibly forever traumatized. And you still don't know who #4 is. Actually, you're not sure if you really even know Mario by now, and everything seems this huge mix of thoughts and memories.

1. Give up. This is just way too weird. (QQUIT.)
2. I don't have any other options, so if you don't want to quit, then, uh, the end? (THEEND.)

(AAJ.)

Before you can do anything, Irving speaks up. Nervously.

"Oh, hi, Bryant—"

You look over Mario's head. Bryant is there, glaring at the three of you. Or maybe he's just glaring at the back of Mario's head. Mario spins around, stares at Bryant's evil eyes, and stammers, "Uh, hi, Bryant, funny seeing you here."

"You were thinking about killing Cuddles!" Bryant screams.

"Cuddles?" Irving asks. "You named your bunny 'Cuddles'?"

Bryant turns to glare at Irving instead. Which is rather fortunate, because now he is not glaring at you. You slip behind Mario and co. just as Dino pokes his head out of the math team room and asks, "What are you screaming about, Bryant?"

You know you're Dino's brother and all, and you should save him from his fate (or what's left of it, anyway), but your life is at stake as well. You pray that Dino is good enough friends with Bryant, or Tybalt will come out and calm Bryant down, or—

Really. Why think? Just get out of here while you still can. Now.

1. Whoop-de-doo! You've arrived at an end (i.e. the authoress got bored of this plotline). Try again? (THEEND).
2. Even though you're at the end, you decide you want to quit anyway. ("What?") (QQUIT.)

(AAK.)

"Are you serious?" You ask, afraid to hear the answer. It does stop you from looking like a gaping idiot, though, so at least something is good.

"Of course not," Mario says. "I was just going to say that to Bryant, so I can distract him from more important things."

"Like what?" Irving asks, having caught his breath.

"Like how I'm going to be having #4 steal his baby purple bunny away for my experiments."

That is very, very strange. Too strange. You have lots of questions to ask, but perhaps this would also be a good time to get away and find Dino and tell him of this craziness.

1. Whoop-de-doo! You've arrived at an end (i.e. the authoress got bored of this plotline). Try again? (THEEND).
2. Stay for a bit longer. Maybe Mario will spout more nonsense? (AAJ.)

(AAL.)

"Hey, uh, Mario," you say. "Are you going to get Irving any other gifts then? I mean, since you've already—"

Mario looks at you suspiciously. "Maybe," he says. "What's it to you?"

"Nothing. It's just, well—oh, nevermind."

"Are you jealous of me?" Mario asks.

You can still hear Irving sputtering. Maybe he's choking. You hope it's not serious, but you don't dare look at him what with the (deathly) looks Mario is giving you right now.

"No, I'm not!" You defend yourself, silently promising never, ever to get in Mario's way, ever. "I don't even like Irving. I like, uh—I like Melissa!"

Which is a lie, but she was the first person to pop into your head. Probably because she's standing a hundred feet away, looking at you.

Life just doesn't get any better, does it?
1. Whoop-de-doo! You've arrived at an end (i.e. the authoress got bored of this plotline). Try again? (THEEND).
2. Even though you're at the end, you decide you want to quit anyway. ("What?") (QQUIT.)


(AAM.)
You decide to get to the bottom of this. "What are you guys laughing at?"

"Ha, alcohol—" Mario laughs, tears forming in his beady eyes (maybe it just looks beady because of the tears). "You thought we were drinking!"

Irving howls. "Come on, Owen! You can do better than that. Think about it. It's Mario. And Bryant. What could they be doing?"

This isn't really funny, and you don't see why they're laughing like this, when—

You can't seem to stop laughing yourself. Everything's hazy, and you're not sure what you're saying anymore, but it makes Mario laugh, which makes Irving laugh, which makes you laugh, which makes Mario laugh even harder, which—

As you start to fall unconscious from lack of oxygen, you think you see Bryant's outline, along with... a purple bunny? You must be dreaming, you think, as everything turns dark.

1. Whoop-de-doo! You've arrived at an end (i.e. you can't breathe). Try again? (THEEND).
2. Even though you're at the end, you decide you want to quit anyway. ("What?") (QQUIT.)


(AAN.)

You ignore the two of them and go into the math team room, where Dino, Tybalt, Argon, Tea, Gretchen, Ginny, and Micro are doing math problems. Not surprisingly, Bryant isn't there.

"What's going on outside?" Dino asks you.

"Nothing," you say. "Just Irving and Mario being—"

You want to say "jerks," but suddenly the laughter stops, and then someone screams. You rush outside, with everyone following you, and you see something purple and a skinny backside that sort of resembles—who was it again?—you can't remember. Mario and Irving are gone, and the skinny back disappears before you can call it to stop.

"Hey, Owen," Tybalt suddenly says, "have you seen Bryant anywhere? He went out with Mario, but he hasn't come back yet."

Bryant—skinny back—yeah right. They can't be related.

1. Whoop-de-doo! You've arrived at an end (i.e. the authoress got bored of this plotline). Try again? (THEEND).
2. Even though you're at the end, you decide you want to quit anyway. ("What?") (QQUIT.)





THEEND.

Yay! You've reached the end of the story, or whatever is left of this story. If you wish, you can: a) leave a comment below; b) go back to the beginning and try again; or c) leave a comment below.


QQUIT.

Oh dear, what happened? Did you fall into a wormhole and lose consciousness while aliens invaded the planet and ate your favorite Hershey's bar? Whatever the reason, it's too late now. Go back to the top and try again, and maybe you'll have better luck this time.

Hey, you! Yes, you.

A while ago (back in April) I wrote a post promoting equality amongst my equivalent of Gretchie's "imaginary friends." I had twenty people, because that was the most number of labels I could include, and since it's pointless if I mention someone but doesn't include their label, I just chose twenty people.

Today's lucky people are:

• Amanda
• Camel
• Dora
• Gretchen
• Irving
• Joss
• Mario
• Matt
• Melissa
• Micro
• Mogley
• Nyx
• Owen
• Reese
• Sonny
• Stella
• Tamir
• Tybalt
• Vincent
• Yuma

(*Zephy: Sorry! I was also going to include you, but you were the 21st, and therefore did not fit. I will dedicate a new post entirely to you later.)

But before all of this, I would like to say that I have started reading the DMV booklet for my permit test, and it's so far going well. I don't know what kind of test they have though, so we'll have to see. And besides, I suck at memorization.

Also... why, why do they use clock hands for steering wheel positions, instead of diagrams? I like my digital clock just as much as the next person, and the only time I use analog clocks are when I'm trying to figure out how much time I have left in a class, and it's become second-nature to me that I don't even know the hours, just the minutes.

Anyway. Let's commence!

Amanda-Amanda's sent out a FB message to me (along with various other people) asking me if I wanted to join her on a NYC trip sometime in the summer. I do, but I have to okay it first with my parents, so I'm holding on responding just for now.

Camel-I don't think I'll ever have another class with Camel. He's being boring and taking Physics B and Calc AB, and somehow I don't think he's going to take AP Lit or any of my other classes. Doesn't sound like him. We don't really talk outside of communicating with Nyx, so I guess we won't really talk ever again.

Dora-Right! Movies, possibly. I still have to get back to her on that as well. So many things happening this summer! I'm glad that summer's finally here. There's definitely less stress right now, which is good, but I think I'm going to be looking forward for school to start, surprisingly.

Gretchen-Can you believe she's behind Irving, of all people, in my tag-list? I can't. Well, I suppose it's because of all the math team things where I mention Irving because he's usually doing something outrageous (but usually less so to some extent) with Mario. Anyway, Gretchen and I need to land in Japan soon. I'm getting a little air-sick right now.

Irving-Mentioned above, and that I probably won't ever see him again, unless I get into Hahvahd (unlikely) or get into MIT (also unlikely) and he happens to bike by because I can't bike by him since I don't know how to bike.

Joss-He still has spiky hair, even though he cut it shorter earlier. I don't know what else to say of him. Not very exciting right now.

Mario-Oh, Mario. What to say of him? I think he's going to have superiority issues next year in math team. To think that he said of Irving's behavior during Moody's, "I think he had trouble realizing who was the real boss. Next year there won't be a question as to who's in charge." No doubt. It's not him.

Matt-Super skinniness aside, he's leaving as well! I somehow cannot process that, even though I could process Irving and Owen and Melissa leaving. I guess it's because he wasn't away on the senior internships, so I haven't really felt him leave. I'm really going to miss him, even if he doesn't talk much.

Melissa-Ambivalent on her leaving. I think things are going to be a lot quieter without her, which is both good and bad. We won't have her cookies anymore as well, so that could be bad.

Micro-I'm trying to communicate to him in sign language, but neither he nor Sonny understands it, so Yuma and I are having a particularly difficult time.

Mogley-Didn't know he was taking Econ next year. Maybe we'll be in the same class again. He had English scheduling problems earlier, and I told him, "Just get AP English," to which he said, "No way, me?" Our English teacher agreed with his sentiment, and not just because of his horrible grammar (I still can't forgive him for writing lists without commas).

Nyx-Has a super early arena time but has no need for it because of her singletons. I'm slightly envious, but then I remember that no matter who I have they're either not bad or they're unavoidable, so I don't care that much either. And I'll probably have physics with Tea (unless it runs out) so it doesn't concern me very, very much.

Owen-Writing about Owen here reminds me of his alpaca. Also my "choose your own adventure" story. Otherwise he doesn't remind me of anything except that I don't know who's going to keep Dino well-oiled in the next year. We might see an increase in system crashes then.

Reese-I'm talking to Reese on Gchat a lot now. He's using Digsby, which is apparently similar to the device that Tea uses except for PCs. I shall have to try that out soon.

Sonny-He's hilarious, even if he doesn't mean it. He also can't understand sign language or exaggerated waving. Also, I found out how freaky he looked while sunbathing with Scott and the like. A row of guys lying down on the ground in the courtyard just looks weird.

Stella-I don't talk to her nearly as much now. I should. In fact, I will talk to her today as soon as I get this Digsby thing working.

Tamir-Why did I even first mention him? Why do I keep on mentioning him? I don't know. Whatever.

Tybalt-From what I've heard from Kathrya lately, he's exceedingly sweet. This disproves my best friend from back before's theory that all guys are jerks. But then again, I knew that a long time ago. Besides, it doesn't disprove the theory that some guys (ambiguity on how many) are jerks.

Vincent-I need to go over to his house more often if it means more Clue time. I'm addicted to the game. It's unhealthy, I think, both physically and emotionally.

Yuma-I never knew he was so good at go, but then again, Yuma is amazing at a lot of things. We definitely need him on our Moody's team next year. Also, Mrs. MacDonald said that she was looking forward to seeing me (and presumably everyone on our team) next year for Moody's. I think that basically guarantees that, if we don't do something stupid and smoke pot in front of the principal or something like that, we're going to be on a team (if not on a team together) next year.

Whew. Now let's see if anything on my "Noteworthy" list looks better now.

Top Ten Reasons Why You Should Never Walk Long Distances In Flip-flops*

(*Also known as: the longest title Nephria has and will ever see. Ever.)

Anyway. I have miraculously (and most unfortunately) discovered almost all of these reasons today. Needless to say, I will not be walking in flip-flops (or high heels, but that's another story) for an extended period of time anymore (until the next time I forget, or whatever). But here is the list:

1. When you walk for more than 45 minutes (or over 4000 steps) your feet will hurt. A lot.
2. Since you will not be anywhere near your intended destination (or home) after 45 minutes or 4000 steps (because if you were, you would not have this problem), you will have to walk even more. And it will hurt. A lot.
3. Because you have been walking despite your feet complaining that perhaps you should not be walking, your feet will retaliate with the suicidal approach of—gasp—growing blisters.
4. Blisters hurt. A lot.
5. After your feet complain/protest/make your life miserable, your flip-flops will decide to be even more harsh on you (or maybe that's just the placebo effect).
6. Since you are wearing flip-flops, you are most likely (although maybe not always) not wearing socks, and so there is nothing to cushion your feet against the hard soles.
7. You will be in a lot of agony. So much that, while others complain of their legs hurting because they have walked over 4000 steps, you will not feel anything in your legs because all of the attention/pain has been hogged by your feet.
8. When you (finally) get home, you will discover that the shoes your mom makes you wear (because the floor is dirty) resembles flip-flops. (This step/reason is not necessary, but may occur.)
9. You will sit down in front of your computer and your feet will still hurt. A lot.
10. Lastly, you will become inspired to write a list of top ten reasons why you should never, ever walk long distances while wearing flip-flops, except you only chose the number "ten" because it forms an alliteration with "top," not because you actually had ten reasons, so you basically made up the other seven.

In other, lighter news, I went to CVS today with Zephy to buy nail polish. I figured it would be too much to ask Melissa to paint my eraser again, so I decided to make it a DIY project. Besides, it's not like I'll be doing anything productive in calc otherwise. (Actually, I lied. I read books for English and US in calc all the time now.)

Elaine had, a very, very long time ago, lent me two bottles of blue nail polish (which I still need to return her), so I went and bought a bottle of pink nail polish and a bottle of silvery one. There were so many I couldn't really decide which ones I wanted, and I didn't find any glitter (to make the shiny effect), but the silvery nail polish had mini-glitter inside, so I suppose that will work (or I can go ask the art department if they have any spare glitter). I plan to paint them (my erasers, that is) on Friday, when Mrs. James is not here. Not that I think she will mind, but I probably will be reading for US on Thursday, and she so happens to not be in school on Friday.

Also, here, I would like to wish all my friends who are taking AP English (and there are quite a few of them) good luck on the test tomorrow. I personally could never write an essay in pen. I would just hate it so much. But you (all of you) will do wonderful and ace the test but will do much, much better than it because I do not have a high opinion of anything that claims to judge your ability with a three hour long test.

I suppose there lies a certain level of ability to the test, however, as Bryant finished his multiple choice section of the AP chem test 45 minutes earlier. Camel (who sat behind Bryant) looked up at the clock with 45 minutes left to go, and saw Bryant sitting upright, with nothing in his hands, just staring ahead. Granted, the test was not hard (and some of the questions were downright ridiculous, but I can't spill them "ever," according to CB), but 45 minutes is a bit absurd when the entire section is 90 minutes long (okay, fine, I had 30 minutes to spare, and I spent them coloring in every one of my bubbles again, but still).

But I have no more excuses to skip class anymore. I must do my homework now (or do them during chem). English vocab/10 chapters of Huck Finn/SAT-type prompt here I come (yay...).

The Long-Awaited Math Team Runoffs

Gretchen and I were the first ones in the classroom yesterday. I was really surprised that Dino did not make it here earlier than Gretchen, but then I remembered that he had health now, instead of gym, so he would not be able to get out of class earlier and climb up three flights of stairs before the last bell rang, as he must have done prior.

Melissa came here as well, and said, "I was thinking about not coming, but I had been mean to Owen lately, so he made me come here instead of him."

This Owen-goading was apparently something she and Irving shared with great interest.

Micro also came, although he said that he would be on the team regardless. He did say that he did the practice problems, because he didn't want to get all zeros.

We then heard Kathrya and Genie outside, so Gretchie and I went outside as well. Somewhere here (along the line of time), Tea also shouted out from some random place (I didn't hear her, but Gretchie did), and Dino walked past us as well.

So that was basically the attendance for the last runoff of the year. Irving also came sometime later, as well as Mario and his Princeton sweater.

We started soon afterwards, with Gretchie, Tea, and I (and Dino and Micro, I presume) each taking our 1-2-3/4 rounds. Round one was a miserable existence. There were plenty of mental addition/subtraction math, which I am most horrible at, and, judging by the scores, everyone is also rather horrible at. Round two was okay, but not that much better. Round three (for those who took it) was fair, but I tended to make weird mistakes, and yesterday was one of those days. Round four was surprisingly easy for some reason, although I suppose having known calculus was the only reason why I even knew how to solve the last question (although the concept was mentioned in precalc, and Argon told me today that he also got it right with deductive reasoning).

Dino chose not to do a fourth round, and Irving and Mario only did two rounds each (Mario had taken another round earlier). Melissa disappeared some very long time ago. So by the end of the fourth round, only Gretchie, Micro, Tea and I were left. I went over to the table with the scored rounds to see what I got, and saw that Argon (who had taken the rounds earlier during his semi-free) had gotten the same number of points in rounds one to three, except his round one and two points were the reverse of mine. Dino also had gotten the same score in rounds one and two as us. Micro nearly got a perfect in round three, so he had the highest round three score out of all of us, but he rather miserably failed the first two rounds, thus prompting Gretchie and I to later speculate what would happen if Irving and Bryant (he, along with Tybalt, was also not at the runoffs due to track practice) did the "easiest" rounds one and two instead of their five and six, which right now only they and Mario and Tybalt can do.

Anyway, later yesterday night, while I was writing my English essay, Tea told me on Google chat to "go on Facebook and tell Dino that I do not carry messages" (along with her numerous lines of "Ginny? GINNY? Fine, be that way" that somehow made itself into a separate chat log). I asked her why, and she said something about the runoffs.

Before I had even finished typing "Dino, Tea asked me to tell you that—" Dino asked, "How did you do on the runoffs?"

Strange. He had never cared how I did before, but since we had already established that he was a strange boy, I indulged him and told him my scores. He responded with a single-word response of "nice."

The next day (which is really just today), Tea said that Dino told her that he had gotten a total score of fourteen. Which was absolutely ridiculous, because even though I did not remember how well he did on round four, he had gotten the same as me on the first two rounds, and my total (round four replacing round three) score did not even reach fourteen, despite having gotten a perfect in round four.

(The fact that his supposed score is one point higher than mine is also very suspicious.)

Oh, Dino and his lies.

So, Tea asked me why I like Dino. This piece below was written yesterday, but the theme fits, and I hope it will serve as a sort of explanation.


If I could have one dream and never wake up, please make this a dream, because then it would be all too real and I would not lose a thing, not the happy memories not the tragic moments not the laughter not the pain not one bit not anything.


I am reconsidering what Ritchell means to me. I cannot help it, I am a writer, and I look for the metaphor everywhere I go, and everything I do. I had once thought that if I made everything into an allegory of something else, I would be able to figure out why the good things come and go, and why the bad things always linger in the background.

Likewise, Ritchell became part of my goal to create the ultimate symbol, the epic that would have a real-life meaning that I could comprehend and then pass on. I made a mental list of all of his qualities, some from my memories, some from my imagination, but most from this world that was out of my control. This was the world Fate created and Allison Saint-Cross tried to destroy, and so Ritchell was just as contradicted, just as hard to understand, just as lost.

Ritchell was a combination of the real and the unreal, but to call him anything less than real would be unfair, just as it would be to call him anything less than surreal. I could tell anyone on the street the tangible traits Ritchell possessed, and receive some blank stares along with some hints of recognition. Just as well, I could say, there exists such a person, and describe Ritchell until he could not be any more clear in my head, and no one would have ever heard of him, even if I never bring up his name.

I see traces of Ritchell everywhere, everywhere I go, but he is never quite there.

I thought I had seen Ritchell just the other day, that chilly November. He was standing by the tallest oak tree in the park, and he had those eyes that I instantly knew belonged to Ritchell. I walked over to him, introduced myself, and asked for his name.

"Matt," he said, and that was the end of that. He had Ritchell's voice, and his composure. He was Matt Ritchell, then, I concluded. Names meant nothing anyway, unless you were Allison Saint-Cross, but even then, names meant much less than the ones bearing the names.

We stood in the park, sharing memories as if we had experienced them together and were merely trying to help the other recall the little details, like the fresh basil sprinkled onto the bowls of tomato soup served at the county fair, or the slightly purple-blue flower hanging onto its stem in the middle of December, amidst a blanket of snow. He was my Ritchell, if Ritchell were ever mine to begin with, and I grew confident with every song we sang those wintry months.

But Nephria had a legend as ancient as the walls of its buildings and as enduring as the air and roads and the blood spilt on those roads. It was known as Prescott's curse, and it came every winter with the snow and left every spring when the snow disappeared. If there had to be one reason why Allison Saint-Cross could try to destroy this world and still be honored as a hero, it would be because of Prescott's curse, and it would be because although Fate had no sympathy, Allison was only imperfect.

So April came, with its rainy solemnity and childish stubbornness, and April went, and summer came and summer went, and I thought I saw Ritchell again, many times, but when I looked again he was gone, and I had many times wondered if he had struck a deal with Chronos and could transport himself through time and space as easily as the apathetic redhead could.

Come November again, I met Avery Kanswell, who said he knew Ritchell, knew him by heart, knew everything there was to know about him. I asked him, were we talking about the same Ritchell? And Kanswell replied, "There may be many people called Ritchell, but there is only one Ritchell. You and I both know that."

I nodded, not because I thought he was right, but because I knew this would be the best explanation I would ever have as to why Ritchell could transcend the laws of Fate that even Allison could only envy to achieve. I asked Kanswell if he knew where Ritchell was, and Kanswell said I should know, if only I tried hard enough. I told him I saw Ritchell everywhere, but that did not help me very much, because just as he was everywhere, at the same time, he was nowhere.

And then I saw Ritchell. He had Ritchell's eyes, he had Ritchell's composure, he had Ritchell's air of presence. I wanted to say something to him, but just as I could see him everywhere and know that he was there and not there at the same time, I could see him here and not be able to make him hear a single word I said.

I stood from afar, observing my masterpiece evolve, sure to encompass the symbolism I knew was in his very state of being. I had groaned when I read other writers' papers, with their confusing microcosms and stories within stories that I could not understand, but now I pursued my metaphor with the same vigor, because this would be the one. This would be the classic, the one that would hold true throughout time, the one constant that could transgress every rule and limitation that made all of us keep faith in Fate but still yearn to believe in Allison.

Then one day, I woke up from my reveries and really saw Ritchell, and I realized that I had always been comparing Ritchell to that spectrum between Fate and Allison, and trying my hardest to ensure that Ritchell was perfect, because he was the closest I had to someone as intangible as Fate. But Ritchell was imperfect, just like Allison, just like Prescott, just like Chronos, just like everyone else. It was because Ritchell was imperfect that he could transcend time and space, because he could be everywhere at once, because everywhere was just like him, because everywhere had his essence and state of being. He was, in part, the perfect metaphor I had been searching for, but in part, he was not, because everyone else could just as well be that metaphor and play the role just as well, just as wholeheartedly, just as outstandingly, breathtakingly, tragic.

Ritchell was not the metaphor; he was only a part of this world that was so alike and so different that everything could be a metaphor for everything and describe the situation so fittingly yet be nonconforming enough to not resemble the original.

Ritchell was a metaphor for the dreams and broken memories and feathered hopes and everything else that resided in this world that Fate had created and that Allison had not yet destroyed, and those things were metaphors for Ritchell and everything he said and did and believed.

And somewhere amidst this revelation, I realized that Ritchell was both the fleeting good and the lingering bad, the very mystery I had been trying to unravel. He was not an explanation. He was simply another example of what I had observed a long time ago, and he presented the truth in such a obscured, juxtaposed way that I had no choice but to face it and ignore that cowardice that had accompanied me ever since I had first begun on this journey.

I'm not perfect, but I keep on trying, 'cause that's what I said I would do from the start.

Shortness Is Sometimes A Virtue

It is extremely late today. I have a lot of work. I should be doing said work, but I really, really don't feel like it (and it's really long, and really tedious), so instead I will update about my life. Because it is oh-so-interesting, and if I don't, I'll forget all about it and then think that I have nothing to blog about for quite some time.

Not likely, because tomorrow is—gasp!—the states math meet! There will be so much to talk about, and I can't wait to see what the bus trip will be like. Last year, I was with Tybalt and Bryant and Melissa and Jun most of the time, and it was fun (I played connect-five and Monkey with Jun on the way there, or was that New England's?), but I have a feeling it's going to be even better this year.

So yes, I shall blog about that tomorrow or Wednesday, whenever I get around to it. Meanwhile, today.

Second last gym class today, and I can't believe it! We had a new Tae Bo video today, and it was hard (I've noticed that even Billy Blanks doesn't do all of the movements), but it was also fun. Tomorrow, if the guy our gym teacher's been trying to invite comes, we'll probably be going out to the courtyard to do this mix of martial arts and workout. If not, we'll still be outside, and what better way to celebrate our last day of "physical" gym but to go outside in the nice weather?

I still can't believe it's going to end after tomorrow. Wow. Time really flies, even if you're not having fun.

I'm also making a flowchart adventure map, and once I finish it, I'll find a way to scan it (and my notes for my EOQR for US) and I'll put it up here. It's heavily influenced by xkcd. Just to give you a hint of several of the fates that have befallen my friends as they attempted the adventure:

• Nyx ended up in the ever-looping Rainbow-Land
• Camel chose a path that did not exist (yet), then after re-routing, got eaten by a raptor
• Zephy was hailed king (or queen?) by a group of robots

Very, very exciting. So I'll have that done (probably on the bus tomorrow, along with discussing AIME questions with Argon, who took one for practice and thus knows my pain in question #9, the hexagon one) and I'll get it up as soon as possible. I promise.

And yes, Easter Island trip is still coming up (I've been saying this for quite some while now). I will have that done by the end of my finals (calc next Monday and Tuesday, then stat Wednesday and Thursday). As for today, it's late, and I'm tired, and I have to wake up early tomorrow, so I'll go to sleep now.

(Was this one shorter than usual? I started it out thinking it will be, but it's turned out rather substantial again. Darn.)

Because We Believe In Equality

This was started yesterday. Anything that mentions "this morning" or "today" means April 1st.

First of all, this post is entirely dedicated to evening out the huge discrepancy in the assignment of labels (or "libellés," as my Blogger page now displays, because I just recently converted it into French as part of an ongoing project to have everything I use be explained in French). Therefore, this page is dedicated to talking about those people who I have mentioned more than once or twice (since those that I only mention once or so I probably won't really talk about anyway, although I might) but have definitely mentioned less than ten times (effectively weeding out those two whom I shall not mention).

So, after scanning my alphabetized label list, these are the people I will blog about today (if this is necessary again, there will be a repeat of this post to some extent) in alphabetical order:

• Camel
• Dora
• Gretchen
• Irving
• Joss
• Mario
• Melissa
• Mogley
• Mrs. James
• Mrs. MacDonald
• Nyx
• Owen
• Reese
• Stella
• Tamir
• Tea
• Tybalt
• Vincent
• Zephy

That's it, really. Any more, and Blogger won't let me label them due to the "maximum 20 labels at a time" rule. Anyway. The tidbits about these people that happened since the last time I talked about them, or whenever, really.

Camel: I think he has a jacket complex as well (first thing that popped into my mind, since nothing really interesting happened in chem today—except Mr. Coffee's friend jumping from the roof into a pool thirty feet below or crawling into a crypt and scaring people for fun). In fact, now that I think of it, a lot of the guys I know seem to have a favorite jacket that they will wear all day week long. Camel has this dark blue jacket, which is not particularly ugly (although I may not be the best judge for fashion), but after seeing it for several months in a row (maybe with the occasional AC/DC shirt in between), I may have permanently associated him with his jacket.

(He is also on my bus, and I have seen him wearing that jacket ever since before I even really knew him, so this may be another reason why.)

(Dino, whom I shall not tag because there is no space anymore, and Jack, not tagged for similar reasons, both also have a jacket they almost always wears. Argon has his sleeping-bag-like thing he carries around with him, although with the warmer weather he has now acquired a new, navy colored jacket which is a tad bit too big for him, but he'll probably grow into it. This morning, at gym, we were standing together and he commented on how he might finally be taller than me, as he always had a notion that he was shorter. We later decided it may have been because of the shoes—his heels were significantly taller, as I had been wearing really, really flat shoes.)

(And I thought this was supposed to be about Camel? Anyway. Next.)

Dora: This is also rather unrelated to Dora, but she was sitting at the table and so this story will be filed under her name. This morning, before class started, Dora and Tierra were already seated at a table in the library. I joined them, and Gretchen (who is below, I know, but there will be another story for her) and Kathrya and Tybalt (wow, this story has a lot of people in it) came as well. Kathrya commented on how her friends were more mature, because "they didn't start singing wedding songs."

Later on, Dino walked in to the library (why does everything have to always include him?), and someone said, "He walks strangely." This was met with a chorus of agreements, and Kathrya's remark, "Now where is Ginny?" before realizing that I was standing right next to her.

(I need to stop making Dino appear in this. The whole point of this was so he wouldn't be mentioned as often compared to the others.)

(I also saw Dora in English today, but we watched a movie—"Death of a Salesman"—so we didn't get to talk to each other.)

Gretchen: I don't know why Gretchen's never broken ten labels. This will probably change with the Chile trips (I'm still working on Easter Island—I really am!), but in the meantime, I will insert a link here to her blog. I'm not certain that my blog sees more traffic than hers, but in the minute event it does, we can pool them just like pooling standard deviations in a difference of means test. Except in this case, Gretch's sample size may be larger than mine, so pooled variances may not be the best bet.

Irving: I must say, I haven't seen Irving around today. Strange. Usually, I see him sauntering down the hallway (well, he doesn't really do that, but he does walk differently in a way), going to a class that's in the opposite direction of mine. Perhaps our constant existence on the third floor is a reason why I see him so much. So instead of a personal recount, I will broadcast the (probably by now commonly known) news that he got into Harvard. Wow. Well, I mean, he deserves it and everything, but that's still very, very amazing.

(Yeah. That's about it. No wonder he isn't tagged so much.)

Joss: Let's see. Joss believes that the secret to teleporting is to throw a smoke bomb and then run really, really fast. He also still needs to pay Reese (or do something else, but I'm not sure what) so Reese can teach me grammar, so I can teach him how to draw clothes. Although, if you ask me, I doubt my pictures of clothes are correct all of the time. I just add folds randomly (or in obvious places). I also don't know how well this whole exchange thing will go. Too many unknown variables, I suppose.

Mario: I don't see Mario that much lately, or maybe I still do but I no longer respond to his appearance. Well, anyway, I saw him during lunch today, along with Tea and Bryant and Boris. He seemed rather preoccupied with his SAT vocab book. Which reminds me, I should probably also study my vocab, if I wish to avoid the same fate as Bryant's. Or just cram Latin roots. Those always help.

Melissa: I didn't see Melissa today—away at a college thing or something, I believe. I still need to get a cupcake recipe from her as well. This may also be the shortest one yet, because I have not talked to Melissa in such a long time. She doesn't really go to math team anymore. Maybe that's why.

Mogley: He is weird. One of the weird guys I know (and by far not the weirdest) but definitely weird. He was attempting yet another 6x6 sudoku in English today. I asked him if he ever tried the 9x9 one (because honestly, 6x6 isn't really sudoku; it's like diluted HCl—isn't quite the same as the original), and he said that he had tried one today, but messed up. Compared to Mogley, Matt is a sudoku whiz. (The extraordinary amount of time Matt devotes to sudoku every day may be the reason though. If this keeps up, I'll begin to fail stat.)

(Also, as compensation for his horrible sudoku skills, Mogley said that he was getting better at the Jumble questions. I guess you can't have everything.)

Mrs. James: I walked into calc today just as Mrs. James said, "I really want a Snapple!" I have no idea how this whole Snapple thing started (which also reminds me of the xkcd strip on the tin apple—I'm reading too much xkcd, it's definitely not good for me).

Jay then said, "I have a Snapple in my bag."

"Really?" Mrs. James asked, all excited.

"Nope, April Fools!"

(This went on for several minutes, in which many people in the class took turns saying they had a Snapple in their bag—Scott said he had over 100 of them at home—and then saying, "April Fools!" Mrs. James retaliated by telling Jay, "Oh, I'm going to give you an A+ for the quarter—wait, April Fools!")

Mrs. MacDonald: Is conducting an experiment on the number of texts people send and receive in an average class period. It's due to begin next week, and will last an entire week. Statistically speaking (although I knew before I ever took stat), if texting in class is so prevalent, I (and Matt) will definitely be outliers. My phone doesn't allow text messages. Matt's too preoccupied by his crosswords and sudokus and Jumbles and word finds to care about texting (he also has an iPhone, which may deter texting as he can't physically touch the keys on his phone to know which letters he's typing if he placed the phone in his pocket or something).

Nyx: Said that her phone's autotexting dictionary does not have the word "zombie." This prompted Camel to say, "What if there was a zombie invasion, and only you knew about it? You have to text people, but then you'd have to type 'zombie' out, and by that time the zombie might have already attacked you!" Also, her phone doesn't have "haha" as a word either. (Tybalt should be glad he doesn't have this phone. He would be seriously crippled in his texting abilities.)

(This also reminds me, Scott is now called "Texty-Pants" in our calc class, because he tried to text under the table, and, when caught by Mrs. James, attempted to deny it.)

Owen: Will be receiving his alpaca soon. Alpacas, according to my research yesterday, likes being in groups of two or more, and around six to eight alpacas can live on one acre of land. I hope Owen's backyard is large enough, because he needs to keep at least two alpacas to ensure that his alpaca doesn't die of loneliness, and so he needs at least 1/4 of an acre of land set aside for this special, special friend (and its girlfriend, but the girlfriend would be much more expensive).

Reese: I have yet to see his shiny new laptop. Among other things, but this is the first that pops up. (Camel supposedly made Reese's old laptop crash via remote accessing, so that's why Reese needed a new one.) I've been promised that this new one is every bit as shiny as the last, except perhaps not red anymore and not the one that underwent SSSC's brutal conditions.

Stella: Is probably on another bout of "I-hate-school-ism." I haven't asked yet, but the past few times I've talked with her, she has complained about the, to quote her words, "the stupid people." She is really the opposite of many people I know. I mean, most people, regardless of what they say, at least care a little about their grades and their futures. Stella just doesn't care anymore.

We talked about our futures for some brief moment before, mostly with me asking her what she would do after high school. She didn't want to talk about it, and I agree with that sentiment. I don't know what I want to with my life after high school. I mean, I obviously want to go to a good college, but why? And which one? Whatever college I go to—that's my future path there. If I go to McGill (which is probably very likely at this point), that means I'll most likely be focusing on pre-med. If I go to UBC or, although very unlikely, Penn, I would be going down the path of economics. If I go to Waterloo (yeah right, I'll be crushed by all the crazy Canadian math geeks, since that's the school for math and science oriented people in Canada) or Cornell (again, unlikely, especially with their financial aid situation), it's probably engineering. And then there are the schools we consider mostly for their prestige—Harvard, Yale, and the rest of the Ivies along with a few other schools. Are they really that much better? We (not including me, because the probability of me getting in those places is very, very, extremely, very slim—statistically speaking), as some of the brightest among our peers, do everything we can in order to get into one of these schools, conforming to their ideals of what is a "perfect" student, just so we can bear the honor of having gone to such a school and gain the privilege of acquiring a good-paying job and the respect of others.

(God, maybe I should just go get a job to paint the Golden Gate Bridge like I've always said I should.)

(Well, there are also the good points, like learning new things with teachers who really know what they're talking about—granted I understand them.)

Tamir: I don't know why I have mentioned him so often. Really. We barely talk. Let's see. I saw Tamir in physics today, and he complained about the magnetism unit. Or maybe that was Alec. Then I saw him in English, but he didn't talk because we were watching a movie.

Yeah, boring. Next.

Tea: I also can't believe I have not talked about Tea very often in my blog. I think it's mostly because everything I know about Tea, she pretty much blog about it anyway. Well, I will insert a link here to promote her blog instead, although I'll bet she doesn't need any promotion from me because her faithful followers are much more numerous than mine. Just in case I have a lurker though.

(Also, as a note to Tea: your "about" page doesn't link to an actual about page. Mine doesn't either—all I've managed to set up was the "contact" part. I think I half started an "about me" page and then forgot about it.)

Tybalt: Just a general question out there (to those who know about it)—does Tybalt know of my, uh, hopefully-will-be-affiliation with Dino? (Once again, Dino is EVERYWHERE. I think I'm getting obsessed.) Otherwise, I have not seen him since this morning with Kathrya, and since Kathrya's story has already been told in Dora's place, I won't repeat it again.

(In his place, I will talk about Bryant, who was barely eliminated because he has exactly ten labels. Today, as I handed in my chem test corrections, I saw Bryant's "test corrections," namely his name, the title, and nothing else on it. Later on, he said that receiving a 3/3 on those test corrections actually brought his grade down. Ugh. He kind of makes me jealous sometimes.)

Vincent: I think I've pretty much covered everything about him before. I don't remember if I've seen him today. Maybe I have.

UPDATE: (from Facebook, my constant source of information) Apparently Vincent's family is moving out of state? He's currently asking if he can board at someone's house for nine months. I seriously doubt this will happen (although you never know), but I do hope he can stay. Who else will I be able to discuss plans for travelling to alternate universes via thousands of giant lasers with?

(There is always Dino—ugh, him again!—but I think he would probably even prefer owning his own alpaca over talking about lasers.)

Zephy: We went Easter egg-hunting today! Zephy's a natural at these things, as she found four or five eggs in the library alone, in under ten minutes. I have no idea why there were eggs everywhere (someone in my calc class said she knew who put them there, but wouldn't tell us). Also, this reminds me, I still need to give her back her chocolate egg, because I was carrying it in my plastic egg container since she had too much candy to fit inside hers. I was supposed to give it back, but I completely forgot about it until after we said goodbye when we got off the bus. Huh. I suppose chocolate won't go stale anytime soon.

(Hmm...)

Actually, considering how long this thing is, I probably will not ever do this again. At least not with so many people. I'll just talk about Dino and Argon less. Maybe.

I Really Should Be...

...blogging about Moody's. Really. I mean, that's been the most exciting thing that's happened so far. But there were so many things that happened, and I really don't know if I can start writing now without getting the order all jumbled and generally just adding things randomly.


That would not be good.


So, instead, I'm going to answer random questions and generally not do my homework.


(Side note: Gretchie and I now firmly believe that Bryant can read minds. I asked him earlier, "Do you have a copy of your Moody's paper?" and he immediately replied, "Yes, what's your email?" How else would he have known that I wanted to see his paper? Aside from the fact that it may be obvious, because such a minor detail doesn't really matter in this amazing revelation that Bryant is a mind-reader.)


Choose 6 friends and number them 1-6 randomly (you being number 3)
(*chosen by simply going down the list of top tagged and pulling out three guys and two girls for gender equality)

1 Dino
2 Argon
3 Ginny (since the rules say I have to be 3)
4 Bryant
5 Tea
6 Melissa

All 6 people move into the same house…

Who calls a bedroom first?
- I guess me. I'd be oohing and ahhing over the rooms, so it's only logical.

Who goes straight to the bathroom to check their make-up?
- Well, I hope the guys don't put on make-up, and since I really can't see Tea or myself doing that, I'll have to say Melissa.

Which person goes to the kitchen first?
- Food! Well, depends on where the kitchen is.

You find out that friend’s number 4 and 6 are in the shower together. Do you care? And what do you do?
- Bryant and... Melissa? I think the rest of us would be very intrigued. And do whatever intrigued, normal, non-stalkery-creepy people ("I swear, I'm completely normal!") do.

Which person has to sleep in the attic?
- Not me. I called a bedroom, remember? I'd also share with Tea if she needed a room. Well, attic. I think Argon would volunteer, actually, if it really came down to it.

One room is a pink baby room, wants that room?
- Ha! Dino, obviously.

Who puts up so many posters that you can’t see the wall?
- Replace "poster" with "art", and I'd say Tea. Replace "poster" with "math diagrams" and I'd say Bryant. If I really had to pick someone.

House Party…

Who decided to throw a party?
- Well, probably either Tea or Melissa.

Who hides in their room while it’s going on?
- Me? Well, probably not. Argon?

Who ends up making/buying all the food?
- Melissa, if math meets have been any indicator.

Who starts a giant game of truth or dare?
- Oh, oh! Not me. Actually, this also sounds like a Melissa-kind of thing.

You find friend number 2 making out with the person you like, what do you do?
- Well, 2 is Argon, and I really, really cannot picture him making out with anyone right now. Not unless he was really, really in love and serious about it.

The Police show up, and friend number 5 called them… are you mad?
- Of course not.

You go to your room to sleep thinking everyone was kicked out, but you find some people you don’t know in your bed, now what?
- I would:
1. Stare at them lazily and plod them to ask them to move.
2. If they don't move, see if there's anywhere else I can sleep.
3. If there really isn't any space, I guess the attic's always an option.

Parents… (The day after your crazy party the parents of you and your friends pay a visit)

Who is grounded first?
- Duh, me. Wait, I don't get grounded. I'll just get kicked out.

Who’s parents congratulate them?
- Oh, well, uh, I don't think this applies to anyone.

Who is forced to move out for a bit?
- Me and everyone else who has parents like mine.

Who’s parents don’t care?
- Maybe Bryant's. Not really sure.

Who blames it on everyone else?
- Oh, this is another obvious one. Dino. Who else?

Back at the house…

Friend number 1 borrowed your Pj’s without asking, is that ok?
- I would be highly alarmed and will probably never see them back again because I doubt he's borrowing them to wear them.

Friend number 4 is blasting music, do you join him/her or shut it off?
- I'd do neither. Not too bothered by background music.

You have an exam tomorrow and friends number 2, 4, and 6 are being very loud, what do you do?
- Argon would never be very loud. Bryant I also highly doubt. And how can Melissa be loud by herself?

Friend number 1 is hogging the bathroom all morning…
- I don't want to know.

Its April fools and someone took all your clothes and hid them, you have school in an hour, what do you do?
- Call in sick and get notes from someone?

Friend number 5 lost her cell phone… again!
- You can borrow mine if you want.

You bought a really cute shirt!! What do you do with it?
- Wear it? What, am I supposed to preserve it with salt and frame it?

Friend number 2 bought a dog for the house without telling anyone…
- I'd squeal. I hope no one's allergic to fur.

If there was someone singing in the morning who would it most likely be?
- Ooh, Tea? I think she would sing, but I'm not sure.

If someone was considered the dad and the mom of the house, who would it be?
- Well, Melissa might be considered the mom, and as for dad, I would say, on maturity level alone, Argon.

If you wanted candy really badly and all of the 5 in the house had some, who would you take it from?
- Probably Tea or Argon. Or, if I really wanted to, I'd take it from Dino just to annoy him.

If two people were caught making out in a closet who would it be?
- Oh, oh, would any of us really be making out in a closet? I mean, even if we did make out, at least we'd do it in a room.

If someone had to watch you brush your teeth (every) morning, who would it be?
- Why would anyone do this? Such a waste of time.

There was two bags of chips bought at the store, but 20 minutes later they are gone. Who ate them?
- Dino. (Logic: Argon would ask if anyone else wanted them first, I don't have the stomach for two bags, Bryant--does he even eat? Tea would probably also share, and Melissa would probably not be interested in chips.)

Who would hate being in the house the most ?
- I honestly don't know.

Someone took (brand spanking new) pair of socks that were never worn, who is the thief?
- So is that why I can't find my socks in the mornings??

Someone swept all the dirt under the rug, who was it?
- Probably me in a lazy bout, since I hate cleaning.

If there was arguments in the house, who would be the ones arguing?
- Oh, Tea and Dino?

Who would be the one missing their boyfriend/girlfriend that wasn’t in the house with them?
- Who here would even have a boyfriend/girlfriend to begin with?

You walked down stairs in the middle of the night for a glass of water, someone is dancing on the table in their Leopard Thong, who is the crazy one?
- I hope by "leopard thong" the boys are eliminated. And as I don't have such a garment, and I doubt Tea has one, I guess it'd be Melissa. But really. I don't think she has one, or even if she did, I don't think she'd be dancing while only wearing that.

A pillow fight broke through, who started it?
- Ooh, probably me, or Tea, or Dino.

Theres a marathon of your favorite tv show, what is it? and who would be watching it with you?
- My favorite tv show is not on tv. I can only see it on the computer. So I don't think anyone's going to be watching it with me.

Someone made a fort in the laundry room, who was the kid?
- Forts! That would totally be me. I love forts. They're perfect for defending against robots.

There’s a prankster in the house that put plastic on the two toilets in the house, who are the pranksters?
- Dino, probably. Although that's kinda gross.

The musics too loud, who turned it up?
- According to this questionnaire thing, Bryant.

Theres a mouse crawling on the floor all over the house,
a)who is the first one to scream?
b)and who is the one to jump is someones arms?
c)Who would be the one to kill it?
a) Depends on who sees it first.
b) I would jump. Would you jump, Tea?
c) Oh, Argon or Bryant, I suppose.

Someones crying, who is it and what happened?
- Tea and I are crying because of a really sad movie?

Who made pancakes in the morning and almost caught the house on fire?
- If there's fire, it's probably me. I don't think straight in the mornings, and I can hardly cook anyway.

Who gets sick of each other the fastest in the house?
- Oh, I think Melissa would get sick of Dino pretty quickly. Or at least I can hope.

Someones tanning on the roof who is it?
- How do you even get ON the roof? What kind of house are we living in?

Who is the tallest in the house?
- Dino.

Who is the shortest in the house?
- Melissa, probably.

Who is the loudest?
- Oh, oh! Tea?

Who is the clown?
- Depends on your definition of clown.

Who is the most respectful?
- Argon, obviously.

Who is the one you go to talk to the most?
 - Tea, maybe Argon. Actually, I talk to both of them pretty often.

Who is the one that always comes up with stupid ideas?
- That would most likely be Dino.

Whos in bed first?
- Tea. You sleep so early.

If someone woke everyone up with pots and pans who would it be?
- I think this person would be maimed before any of us figures out who it is.

Who is always dancing?
- If anyone's dancing, I guess it would be Melissa.

Someone has the same sweater as you, so you get mad at them and who is it?
- Well, I don't get mad at people for wearing the same things as me, so this would never happen.

You split ice all over the kitchen floor, who would be the one to slip on it first?
- Probably Tea. Sorry about the ice, I don't even know why I'm holding it.

Math Team Sagas

In which we talked about Moody's instead, for perhaps 75% of the time. Maybe that was a minor reason as to why our school did not replace Treeburg as number one in the county. When every single person on A team, barring Argon, who was a sophomore, was on a Moody's team, I don't think there was too much packet-dissecting.

Bryant's excuse? "I do worse when I do the packets."

But our school still did really well. We were second, which is remarkable, and we did even better than last year. Melissa baked cookies and cupcakes to celebrate our last meet, and I attempted to... well, cook. Not really. I mixed instant pudding mix in the morning for funsies, since I had promised I would bring something but I really didn't find the time to earlier.

Owen's reaction to my pudding was rather... off-putting. Well, everyone reacted badly, and I blame the butterscotch, but Owen was really, really petrified. We proposed to leave a plate full of butterscotch pudding on Treeburg's table, and Melissa and Tybalt bravely walked over to make the "sacrifice."

We were over-reacting though. Treeburg accepted the plate of pudding without any words. I'm not exactly sure why, but as we were rid of really awful butterscotch pudding, and I was left with chocolate pudding, we were all happy.

Our team as a whole performed consistently. As in, everyone on A team either got a 12 or a 13. No exceptions. I must say, that was the closest we had ever scored, in perhaps the lifetime of Paperclip math team. The huge exception was Dino's 16. Too bad he wasn't on A team. (I still think it's the pressure thing. He can't stand the pressure, which is why his performance isn't so stellar when he is actually on A team.)

On the bus, Melissa prepared to hand out the monthly prize for the highest scorer. We all looked at Dino expectantly, when, all of a sudden, Melissa held up a plushie and said,

"I would like to, as a team captain, give this prize to the person who, along with me, also brought food."

"Wait," Dino said. "No, no, no. That prize should be mine."

"Well, maybe you guys can share," someone said. I think it was Tybalt.

"No, no. I had a speech all prepared."

"Here," Melissa said. "As the highest scorer this month, you get... a cookie."

"No, come on. I was ready to--"

"Why don't you go make some friends? Go talk to the girls up there." This was directed at the sophomores, who normally sat at the front of the bus.

"Well, I was going to," Dino said, "and give them the toy as a gift."

Which launched the entire back of the bus into a heated discussion about prom, as always. This time, the discussion was centered around who Owen should ask out to senior prom, and although we all know pretty much anyone he asked (barring someone like Cheryl, who already has a boyfriend) would probably accept. Irving tried to give sound (or maybe not so sound) advice, but then the conversation would turn to him, and who he should ask out ("Mario, of course"), and he shrunk away in his little corner at the back of the bus. Mario added inappropriate comments every now and then, much to the dismay of Bryant, who sat next to him and made a face every time Mario said something he shouldn't have said.

Dino piped that Owen should ask Umber, since they had known each other "since forever, and it would be like a fairy tale come true."

Besides being in awe that Dino actually read fairy tales and believed in them, I was rather saddened by this statement. I've never known anyone "since forever." I've never known anyone and stayed with them for longer than three years, save for my parents. I kind of feel left out in this whole fairy tale thing.

Well, I guess focusing on the present is always better.


And, as promised, the other part of my story.

On Saturday you did not show up. I waited for half an hour in the study hall, then decided you were not going to come. I had another hour and a half to waste, since I had told my parents my plans, and I did not want to go home early to their prying natures. I took the bus on Red Street and sat down in the last seat, simply waiting for it to take me somewhere. Anywhere. I had been so tired for the past few months, I just wanted to escape.

On some random stop, I thanked the bus driver and got off. It was barely three, and there were plenty of people. I wandered along the sidewalk, counting my steps in an off-beat pattern. After a while, I felt someone tugging at my bag.

I spun around, alarmed, only to look into your blue eyes.

"Hey," you said. "You're here."

"Am I supposed to be?"

"You're... you're not here because of my note?"

I was about to ask, but you were distracted again. Someone I vaguely remembered from school had arrived, sneering at the two of us.

"So, Blondie, you decided to bring your girlfriend along to watch you get your ass kicked?"

"Whatever," you said. "I'm leaving."

And you left me there, pondering over your words. What had you really meant? What did you want to tell me that day? I never got to know, and it eats away at my heart every day.

I am not a regretter. I do not regret. No matter what happens, I had always prided myself in being okay with what fate doled out to me. I was, after all, only a small player in this world of mastermind games.

But I do regret that evening. I cannot lie to myself anymore. I had been trying to do that for the past few years, and it had gotten me nowhere. A little more brazen, perhaps, but much less brave. I walked down a path that led to nowhere but pain and suffering.

That evening, I went home. I kicked off my shoes and dropped my bag onto the couch. I sat into my chair and started writing my homework.

That was it.

I did nothing else.

It was what people expected me to do, anyway. I was supposed to be the good student who did her homework on time, despite any side arrangements. I was supposed to be home. I was in high school, with little time left to go on to do anything else.

But I could have. I could have stopped. I could have turned around, ran after you, held your hand, and stopped you. I could have.

Ever since that first day.

I always missed my opportunities. I saw them in my peripheral vision, but ignored them because they were not directly in my line of sight. When I realized them for what they were, it was always too late.

I missed you just as I missed everything else that mattered.

"I really like your art."

We were in the study hall on Wednesday, and the remark threw me off slightly. But the reaction was short-lived. I was too vain for anything more than a fleeting impression.

"I didn't know you cared."

"I'm sorry. I thought maybe we could know each other better."

I scoffed. "What else is there to know? You're failing every single subject except English. I am your temporary tutor. There is nothing else to know."

"I had been thinking... maybe--"

"You, thinking? I highly doubt it."

"I laugh, I love, I hope, I try, I hurt, I need, I fear, I cry. And I know you do the same things too, So we're really not that different, me and you."

I stared into your eyes. They were the same, ever so blue, but something was off. I could not place it at the time, but I can now. You were trying to prove something, to me, to everyone else. You were trying to prove your humanity. Trying to prove that you were capable of caring.

I knew that, you know. I knew that you were human, capable of love, but also capable of hurt. And those days, I saw more pain in your eyes than anything else. I knew that and so much more, and I should have known enough to say something, but at the time I did not realize that what you wanted, perhaps, was merely a confirmation.

Maybe fate, just like Heaven, hates me as well. Maybe it's this thing they call karma. Maybe I just have bad luck. Maybe we were never meant to be.

I go through such questions late at night, when I forget what it meant to be young and naive. I wanted so desperately to have something to blame. The city. The people. Anything. Everything. That night.

I had just finished my physics homework when the phone rang. I heard my mother's footsteps as she made her way over to the phone, a few muffled sounds, and then a holler.

"You've got a phone call!"

I picked up the receiver in my room, and, after making sure my mother hung up, said, "Hello?"

I could hear the faint bustling of the streets in the background, but no one spoke.

"Hello?"

I was about to hang up when I heard a croaking cough.

"Hello?"

"Hey, I... can you come out right now?"

"Who is this?" I asked. I thought the voice was familiar, but I could not quite place it.

"Please, at the train station, right now..."

"Get over here, you wimp!" "Yeah! Get your ass over here!"

"Who is this?"

"Please, just, I can't, just come, please."

The line went dead.

I told my parents that I was going over to a friend's for the night, as we had a last-minute project to finish. My mother said nothing, but my father asked me why I had not finished my work earlier.

"I had other things to do."

He gave me a look that showed that he clearly did not believe me, but let me go anyway. I had never done anything wrong before. I would know the limits.

I had some spare pocket change, and I hailed a caddy a few blocks away from my apartment.

"Train station, please."

We rode in silence. He did not ask me why I was going out so late, and I did not ask about his life. We both knew how valuable ignorance was by this point. I had a fleeting moment of sadness, of losing my obliviousness so early in life that I would not have any happy memories left to share in the rest of my life that was pure.

When we reached the train station, I paid for my fare and searched around for any signs of recognition. There were some shady characters, but they did not glance my way. I was yet another girl, not pretty enough to be noticed, yet not ugly enough to be picked on. Average was a mean thing to be.

And then I saw your eyes, blue, so clear, looking my way.

I walked over, and when I was within speaking range you smiled.

"You came. You're here."

I had a sense of déjà vu. "Were you the one who called me?"

"Hn. Yeah. It was me."

"What did you want?"

"I wanted to talk."

I should have known better than to trust something so apparently simple. I should have been alert, more wary of your intentions. But what would that have amounted to? What would have happened? Perhaps I would have cherished the time more, but I would have found it harder to let go as well.

We talked about some trivial things. You mentioned how you hated our school's dirt courtyard. How you loved to stare at the stars. How some nights, the wind seemed to sing a melody that called out only to you. I smiled. I nodded. I pretended I understood, but really, how could I?

You talked about a world that I was not privy to, and the more I heard about it, the more I realized how far away our worlds were.

You were like an angel that fell from Heaven, but that could not be so, because Heaven hated me. Or perhaps that was precisely why you were here, on the ground.

We walked over to the local park, and you whistled a tune I did not recognize.

"Do you ever wish things were different?"

You stopped to look at me, and I was once again entranced by your eyes. Deep blue, taunting. You opened your mouth, to speak, when something white drifted between us. I looked up.

Snow.

The first snow of the year.

We fell in silence after that. It was as if there was some sort of unspoken vow, a pledge to keep our secrets among us and our mysteries hidden. The whole time, I felt as if I should cry, as if something significant was occurring and there should be some action made to appreciate that fact.

You were gone by the next day. Did you know that no one ever asked where you went? We just accepted your disappearance. Whether you were here or not did not matter to our lives.

I wanted to scream, can't you see someone's missing? Why are you not concerned?

But eventually, that voice quieted down. I went back to my drawings, mere sketches of a hollow world. I saw, but I did not see. I heard, but I did not hear. I was what I used to be, before I ever saw your eyes. You came and went, just like a ghost.

Perhaps you knew already.

Winter came and went, and came again with the first snow of the season. I sat on the windowsill in our classroom and looked outside. One of the boys who used to tease you came over as well.

"When it's really white," he said, "the snow looks blue."

"It's so familiar," I said. "This blue. I feel like I've seen it somewhere before."

He nodded. We basked in the silence for a while, enjoying what could have been, had we only tried to reach out for it.

Five years later, I received a letter.

Hey,

I know this is sudden, and I don't even know if this will reach you anymore, but I never had a chance to explain. I think I'm ready now.

Can you meet me by the train station tonight?

It was unsigned, but I fingered the silver chain that came along with the letter. I looked up at my walls, plastered with artwork. Pictures of blond hair and blue eyes and vacant expressions. I always threw out all the ones with expressions. None of them ever seemed right.

I put on a casual dress and tied my hair in such a way to conceal my efforts. And as I did all of this, a small part of me was singing, coward, coward, over and over again.

I left my cellphone by the dresser and took a piece of charcoal with me as I left the room.

Even now, I sometimes wonder, had you tried to reach me that night? I had no doubt you would be able to find my number if you really wanted. After all, you had already found my address. I sometimes ask myself that, right before I make myself drowsy by crying.

Your eyes were still the bluest I had ever seen, but her eyes were blue as well. Blue and soft, large and sweet. She had an air you and I did not have. She trusted you with an overwhelming emotion that transcended the rivers of prejudice placed between us. Or perhaps she never had to face them.

"Hey," you said, your voice filled with a new edge I did not recognize. "This is Mireille. Mireille, this is--"

"There is no need," I replied, more curtly than I had intended. "You said you wanted to explain. Do it within fifteen minutes, or I'm leaving. I don't have the time."

"You're still the same as before."

"Thank you for noticing. I am most honored."

"Look," you said. "That day... well, you were the first person to ever smile at me, here, in this place. And I thought that maybe..."

"You thought. How original. If you don't have something interesting to say, then I really do have to leave--"

"I," you grabbed my hand. "I loved you." And you kissed me, softly, on the lips, just as I had envisioned you would all those years. But this was not the fairy-tale ending I had been hoping for.

I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath. I opened my eyes again.

"But not anymore," I whispered, more to myself than to you. And I ran, just like the coward I knew I was. I ran away as far as I could, as fast as I could, until I could not hear myself anymore, and I did not know where I was going, and everything was this soothing blur.

The bar was full, and it was clichéd, but I had no other choice. I walked in with a swagger I had not known I would possess, and sat down at the first stool I could find. Someone was sitting in the stool next to me, and when I settled down, he turned to greet me.

"Hey," I said.

"You're pretty," he said, more as a cursory statement than as a truth, but I accepted it nonetheless. "What're you here for?"

"To lose myself."

He laughed, a cracking laugh that had seen happier days. "Aren't we all? We're all here to lose ourselves, but if no one finds us, how do we know we've lost us?"

I nodded, half in confusion.

"Look here, pretty. What's your favorite color?"

I thought about it for a moment. "Blue."

"Alrighty," he said. "Bartender? Get the lady a tropical berry daiquiri. I'm paying."

"Oh, you don't have to," I said, but he cut me off.

"I'm tryin'a prove a point." We waited for the bartender to come back with a drink in the prettiest pastel blue color I had ever seen. The man took the drink and placed it in front of me, but stopped me when I tried to reach out for it.

"Look carefully now," he said. "What do you see in this drink?"

I squinted hard. "I don't see anything."

"Then you're not looking hard enough."

I rubbed at my eyes and tried again. "I see... my reflection? And it's blue, and I see... I see... I see his eyes. Oh, I'm sorry, it's the blue, it's making me nostalgic."

"No, don't be," he said. "What you see is yourself. You're seeing yourself in that drink. It's blue because you wanted it to be blue, because your heart is filled with blue. And if someone doesn't take that away, then how do you lose it? You're stuck with it forever, pretty, until someone takes it away."

Mireille came over later, after you were gone. I was going to slam the door in her face, but she stopped me with her eyes. They reminded me so much of yours that I felt obligated to give her at least one chance. A chance that the world did not spare you.

"I'm his sister," she said, even before she fully stepped into my apartment.

I opened my mouth to speak, but she stopped me. It was just as well. I would not have known what to say. I was in a state of mindless shock.

"He wanted me to give you this." She handed me an envelope. "He really loved you. But he knew he couldn't. He wasn't--"

"No more," I whispered. "No more excuses. I don't need to hear them."

She nodded, and left, leaving me alone with your last memories.

I had seen the obituary in the newspaper earlier. A foreigner, in his mid-twenties, with an unknown cause. A private affair. No flowers, please. The unspoken, unwritten words were: there would be no flowers sent anyway, so might as well leave some lingering hope.

I opened the envelope carefully, afraid I would tear some important word that would completely change my perspective. I pulled out the thin sheet of paper, with only one line on it, in a bold print.

If you live to be one hundred, I want to live to be one hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you.

I stand here today, wishing you can hear my voice. I have a lot to apologize for, but so do you, and apologizing will get us nowhere. I had thought about following you, just as Juliet followed Romeo, but I could not bring myself to do it.

We each had our vices, didn't we? We were both cowards and missed our chances when we still had them. But we were both outcasts. We both belonged to a world that rejected our souls.

But here, at the summit of our journey together, I would like to thank you for everything you had given me. I would like to apologize for everyone who had mistreated you. I would like to ask for an explanation as to why you left, every time I thought I was about to have an answer.

Most of all, I would like to tell you:

I love you.