Chapter 19

IT’S NOT SO EASY WRITING IN A DIARY IN HOMEROOM

Homeroom is nothing but dead air this morning. I don’t feel much like writing. Still no luck with the new ending for Twilight. For a while, I was working on a musical number. But I can’t write music. And it’s hard to get the dance steps across in a book.

So that’s not working.

Half the class is zoning out, and the other half is trying to carve expletives onto the desks, so nobody notices as I take a little mental vacay and go visit Laurence.

The English countryside is way more beautiful this morning than dreary suburban Portland. (No offense, suburbs!)

So I’m sitting there, mentally running through a field of flowers, when it’s like a heavy weight lands on me. You know what’s worse than having a football lineman pull you out of a back-row seat? It’s some football lineman sitting on you because he didn’t even notice you were there.

I try to gasp but can’t get enough oxygen. Tommy Marinachi has got to weigh two-eighty.

Interestingly, it’s Marty Bloom who notices I need help. “Jeez, Marinachi!” he says, smacking Tommy on the side of the head and hauling him off me.

Tommy apologizes as I try to massage some feeling back into my legs. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t even see you!”

He’s only making me feel worse. “I’m okay.”

Marty looks doubtful. “Are you sure?” he asks. “Do you want me to carry you to the nurse or something?”

“No, really,” I say. “I can feel the blood returning to this one already.” I attempt to move my foot, and fail. Any minute now.

Marty looks concerned, but he doesn’t push it. I’m grateful. I mean, I haven’t even spoken to him since that whole food fight/Freaky Jesus deal.

It would definitely be a little weird to have him carry me to the nurse.

I just wish I could figure Bloom out.

Nice?

Mean?

Why can’t he just be one thing or the other?