Thursday, 10/17/02 - 4:52 pm.
Well, well...I did it. I convinced the three guys to give their pictures for the yearbook.
I have to start off by saying that last night I had no time to think of anything but math. I was having a difficult test today. But I said a little prayer for my begging to work out.
And as soon as I arrived to school this morning, I went up straight to Phil, who was sitting on the floor. He looks at me like saying: oh, no.... I go on my knees in front of him and ask him if he's got his pictures (one when he was a baby and the 'official' senior one). He says yes with his head. I ask him again and says no with his head. And that went on for about three minutes, until he finally gave in.
That look, that look...it's not you...it's not you when you have that look. I always thought I had a weak look. But it just so happens I don't (at least with him). He gave me his pics, I hugged him and said thank you. I quickly gave them to Cel, who was nearby. She was in awe.
Then I took the exam...and I got 8.3, HOLY FUCKIN' SHIT. As soon as I turned in my test, I had the feeling I had done much better than the usual.
After the exam, I went after Angelito. He said that maybe he was carrying them. Of course he was. And he gave them to me. I hugged him and said thank you. I gave them to Cel and she said: I don't know how you do it...you're a fucking son of a bitch!!!.
By the third class, english, I had only one target left: Denver. But for a while, I forgot about him. Last night I figured that if I could convice 2 out of 3 people, the other one would fall by its own weight.
But like I said, I forgot about him. We were taken to the green tables, near the hallways, to work on an assigment. Adri and I sat together and worked while we felt this amazing october breeze blowing. How beautiful. Life was good: I'd gotten a good grade in math and I was accomplished, and confident, knowing everything would work out. At the same time, I was sad...school is practically over. And I live for school moments like that one, when the wind blows, and you're under a tree with a dear friend of yours.
On the first recess, I walked up to Denver and asked him for the pics. He said he'd give them to me depending on the way I behaved.
- Me: Yeah? And how do you want me to behave...?
- Him: Bad...very bad...
Long story short, this afternoon, after classes, he put his arms around me and gave me his pics. Now, you see...we had some kind of closeness today, like the old days...when our flirty friendship seemed to turn into something else. Things like my hand going under his pants (no, I didn't touch anything...that was part of misbehaving, but I knew he'd chicken out before my hand touched anything valuable), hugging, flirting, pinching, kicking (I think I kicked one of his balls)...it was fun, I'd missed that.
Here, Candy...this is the last yearbook picture missing, I said proudly to Candy (a senior, who, by the way, will be my fellow psychologist next year at the UCA). I feel proud of myself. Angelito and Phil sort of hate me (with that look what you've made me do face) but...mission accomplished.
Tomorrow I'm going on a field trip...my last school field trip. We're going to this forest, called The Impossible. One girl isn't going because last year she went and her mother went with her, to help watch all of the -then- juniors.
On their way back (I didn't go) her mom received a phone call, saying her son had commited suicide.
The boy was in 6th grade. He suffered depression and low self esteem. I'm killing myself because I'm ugly, the note said.
On psychology class we're studying the problems teenagers have. And Geovanni mentioned that case. And then my classmates told him about other kids that present a similar behavior pattern as the 6th grader: wandering alone, looking at the ground, quiet, shy...Geovanni said a lot of ESJ students have ended up seeing psychiatrists because the pressure is too much to handle. He says that sometimes the ESJ is kind of inhuman. They have psychologists and shit, but it's not like they spontaneously help them. We'll see what we can do about those kids, Geovanni said. He says -and I agree with him- that the suicide of the 6th grader could've been avoided if people had done something in time. But they didn't, because...well, people tends to think they have all the time of the world to work things out.
Then we proceeded to talk about depression. Vic and I kept looking at each other. Like saying we've been there. I personally found a lot of sympthoms on myself, and I wonder why. Self-destruction...we almost touched that subject, but there wasn't enough time. At the end of the class, Vic hugged me.
- Me: do you think we are chronically depressed?
- Vic: yes, baby.
(Carmen had told me they discussed self-mutilation in her classroom -A-, and Geovanni mentioned he's seen some people with scars in their arms...I do have quite a few but I doubt he's seen mine)
I love Vic. I'm gonna miss him when school is over. But he says we'll meet often. I hope so.
- Me: Vic...if I looked at you, looking like this [I strike a sexy, flirty pose -the pose to convince Denver- with hair covering half of my face and 'melting-like' lipstick]...do you think I could convince you of something?...would you give in?
- Vic: I'd kiss you on the lips.
And after his horny reaction, I looked for Denver to try to convince him. Although I discovered I don't have the same effect on him.
Well, I have to pack my bags. Tomorrow is gonna be rough. If I don't update in 3 months (starting tomorrow), I either got lost, died, or in the least, I'm at the hospital.
You see, my bus always loses a wheel.
- Well, about time...you were the only one without a spot on the yearbook. You're so ridiculous.
(...right now I smell like Denver...he smells so nice...)
prev / next