Esthelle~

I am exceedingly grateful to Hannah for sticking up for me. I am also both furious with and ashamed of myself for off-setting a teacher on the first day. Besides, Mr. Blits isn't the most villianous of educators--despite his rather exaggerated habit of exterminating library property. Perhaps he has a reason for this antipathy on the subject of literature. Perhaps he merely dislikes being openly disregarded and ridiculed. Really--who wouldn't? I wish we could have started off on better terms. Perhaps I could have learned what inspires him to select literature for his own personal warpath. We all have a warpath of some kind, don't we?

I sit up straight in my seat and regard the chalk-board, my cheeks still burning. I am, admittedly, angry with Mr. Blits for making me an object of disfavorable public attention, but that is passing, and I am becoming more enraged with myself every moment. After all-- few teachers should be expected to take kindly to blatant rejection of the rules.

I am so taken up with my stupidity that it takes a minute for me to realize that everyone else is busy drawing. I extract a new sheet of paper from my bag as quietly as I can contrive, locate my pencil and begin the first feverish sketchings of what I hope somewhat resembles a rabbit.

I get caught up on the ears, like usual, and soon my desk has been graced with a generous showering of eraser-bits. This poses to be a problem. I hastily scrape it all into a ragged sort of heap, but I can't leave it sitting conspicuously on the desk after that hygiene lecture, and I can't brush it off onto the floor, either. I shield it with my hand and glance about for inspiration.

I notice that Skye is also much concerned with the ears of her drawing. I wish I could get to know her better, she is clearly an interesting and original person. Beneath the panic that floods my mind in regard to the residue so inadequately concealed by my hand, I resolve to try and speak to her at an opportune moment after this flustering lesson.

Hannah doesn't appear to be much perturbed now that the execution of the library-book has passed. This doesn't surprise me in the least-- she seems to possess a kind of cheerful endurance, even in the face of such horrors as Balrogs in the form of indefatigable and ubiquitous education professionals. If he is a Balrog, which I doubt somehow. But I haven't got time for psychology! There is a pressing dillema to be conquered. Oh my!

I make one final desperate sweep about the room-- and, as is often the case with final desperate sweeps, notice a handy trash bin, standing in all it's glorious helpfulness not five feet away from my current position. What joy!

I wrap the horrid eraser-heap in a serendipitously available handkerchief, take aim, watch for a moment when the esteemed Mr. Blits is safely engaged, take aim, and let fly. The handkerchief, and it's aggravating cargo, survive their maiden voyage and reach their destination with all possible success. Oh the unrivaled bliss of relief!  

I return to my drawing, determined not to use another eraser. How long is the lesson supposed to last, precisely? I locate the wall-clock and divine from it the time. We've been here for barely fifteen minutes. Durin's Bane!

Eons pass. Or they seem to do so. Eventually, sometime during the infinite reach of eternity, the bell rings. I stay put and wait while everyone else misplaces vital papers and trip over other people's backpacks and vie for the exit and finally make it out of the classroom amid general uproar. I've been thinking throughout the better part of infinitude, and I know that there's only one thing I can really do. Timidly, I approach the desk, where Mr. Blits is flipping through everybody's artwork. I notice that he looks rather tired. Maybe this isn't such a good idea after all. But I'm already here, and it has to happen at some point. Might as well be now.

"Excuse me, Mr. Blits?" He looks up. He doesn't appear to be particularly pleased to see me. I can hardly blame him. But he sets down the papers. "Yes, Esthelle?"  I hover for a moment on the edge of failure. Why don't I just say "Goodbye" or something easy like that? Why am I always getting myself into these situations? Oy vey. "I'm sorry about what happened in class today. Doodling, and everything."  Auuggggghh! Couldn't I have said that any better? But I always get clumsy regarding sentence structure when I'm nervous. What is going to happen now? 

Mr. Blits looks rather surprised. I suppose few students have ever made him an apology. He looks as though he dosn't quite know what to do with the circumstances. I hope he doesn't get flustered. If he does, I've probably made an enemy for the rest of the school year. Few teachers, especially teachers like this one, appreciate being embarrassed. But he seems to pull himself back together. He straightens his spectacles. "I understand there will be no further disregarding of rules in my classroom?"  Oh, well. Something along the lines of 'you are forgiven' would have been a bit nicer-- but I didn't expect much else, and I'm the one making the apology, after all. I nod and squeak out as polite and amiable a "Yes sir" as I can contrive just now, accept my dismissal, and flee the classroom in as collected a way as I can, and just as though I was not surpressing the largest sigh of relief ever vented in the history of all my days. 

Well, perhaps Lunch can wait til after Animal Science? Or maybe the student-management has us in shifts-- half of us go to Animal Science while the other half got to Lunch? I'd like not to write until I know what's going on here, so I don't wreck the system you've all got going. :)

Ginger says 'xact'. Do you mean 'exact'? I'm glad you agree with me! ;) 

We already did lunch.

Actually, Animal Science is after art. We already had lunch, remember?