If you thought my last blog post was tragic, HA! That was rumpunch compared to the latest disaster of my sophomore year. I was gradually awaking to the peace of my room this morning, minus my comforter, which my cat had peed on one too many times. I was beneath a fluffy pink blanket, smiling into my drool-bedewed pillow until Mom whispered, “Jolly, I’m sick of massaging your back. Wake up and do mine. I’m going to try to be a teenager today.”
“That’s nice,” I mumbled amidst the comfort of my warm drool. Then my drool was suddenly chilled and I sat up in bed. “What did you say?” I shrieked. “I thought you were just kidding about that! You can’t go back to school with me, Mom. You’ll embarrass me!”
“But I can be a cool babe,” Mom smirked a la Juice. “How many moms do you know that have bathed in a kiddie pool full of banana pudding?”
“I told you, that was a combination of commercial pus and bird poop,” I called after her as she waltzed away reciting the latest quotable punchlines from my favorite show, Comedy Something. I dressed hastily, thinking that if I was ready to leave before Mom was, Dad would just leave her behind. No such luck. The two were in cahoots against me.
Mom ran ahead of me once we reached school grounds. I had hoped she would hang around Dad, but since he was a teacher Mom insisted that would threaten her potential popularity. She ran around outside before school like that bratty puppy I tried to save from my caninivorous neighbor, except that Mom was introducing herself to everyone.
“Hi, Jolly’s mom,” Juice said with a wave. “Hi, Jolly.”
“Out of my way, Mom,” I said, shoving her to one side when she stopped to greet Juice, thus blocking my direct view of my best friend. Mom then ran off and caught her leg on the leg of some Asian girl exactly the same height as Juice and me. Mom’s leg seemed to be stuck. In fact, Mom’s leg, the Asian girl, the top half of Juice’s body, and my head all seemed to be frozen in time, just like in one of those coloring book versions of the cartoon movies where some cute little airplane with a heart of gold saves the world.
I forget how Mom freed herself. What matters is that she dropped out at the end of the day because student-teacher relationships were illegal and she would have cost Dad his prestigious, high-paying job. What matters even more is that Mom, of all people, led Juice and me into friendship with Roachel Sute, the aforementioned Asian girl.
“Mind if I stroke your sleeve?” Roachel asked Juice by way of introduction after being freed from Mom’s leg. “I love yellow polyester.”
“That’s just because she’s your mom.” said Juice. “No one else can stand her. She’s a tolerance teacher; what can you expect?”
I became entranced by Roachel’s long, delicate, carefully-manicured index finger as she stroked Juice’s sleeve. I hadn’t been so fascinated by anything since watching that documentary on the invention of concert tickets. “Wow!” I exclaimed. “Look at that finger. I must have it.”
“But this is the finger I pick my teeth with,” said Roachel, flipping her eyebrows as she gave us a free demonstration. “How can I bear to part with it?”
“You don’t have a choice,” I said. “Juice is in her tough girl phase.”
“That’s right, missies,” Juice grumbled in a low, Rockyesque voice. “If y’all don’t gimme no fingas, I’ll give you my fist.”
“Eek!” Roachel and I shrieked in harmony. “What would we do with an ugly fist like that?”
The bell rang for homeroom, so I grabbed the first opportunity for stalling that I could think of. I grabbed Juice’s ugly left fist with my right hand and we each put our remaining hand on one of Roachel’s shoulders.
“Let’s teach Roachel how to flip over frontwards so she can star in a martial arts movie,” I squealed.
“What’s martial arts?” Roachel asked with a smile.
“Don’t you ever stop asking questions?” I snapped.
She did stop asking questions, by the way, and I've learned so much from her already! namely the following:
Turtle power!
Go Joe!
Raise your hand if you’re sure
I’m half-human and half-pink-cow
Always keep Juice in a plastic container
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