By the time I reached Lincoln High that morning, I'd missed all of first and half of second period. Mrs. Spiel-man, the attendance secretary, chewed me out. "You can't get credits if you cut classes," she said as she wrote out my pass.
"I haven't cut many classes," I said. "Besides, school has only been going a couple of weeks."
"Well begun is half done, and don't forget it."
All morning I sat in the back of whatever class I was in and tuned out everything. During lunch I went to the commons area, bought a Coke out of the machine, sat in a corner, and drank it.
I tried to tune out everything there too, but three girls came and sat at the same table. They'd talk a little, and then start laughing so hard their heads bobbed up and down. Then they'd talk some more, and then they'd laugh again. Just before the lunch period ended, I spotted Melissa Watts. She was talking to Rachel Miller, another girl in Arnold's class. I kept hoping she'd look over and see me, but she didn't, and then the lunch period ended.
I thought about cutting my afternoon classes. The Tiny Dancer would probably be empty. My dad might be looking for a job, although it was more likely he was out looking for a drink. But what would I do when I got to the boat? Cutting school would just make the day longer.
So when sixth period rolled around, I was sitting in my normal place in the last chair in the last row in Mr. Arnold's class. The starlings were still attacking the bugs in the lawn, and Arnold still wanted to talk about terrorism and Iraq and all that crap.
I've got to give it to Arnold. The guy worked hard to make class interesting. But without Brent Miller in uniform right in the front of the class, kids didn't pay attention. Heather Carp was picking nail polish off her fingernails; Melody Turner was doodling in her notebook.
Class ended with Arnold and Melissa arguing about countries I couldn't have found on a map and leaders whose names I couldn't begin to spell. A couple of times Melissa would look back at me, but I couldn't make myself care about Singapore or Indonesia. All I could think about was the moorage fee, the electric bill, the heating bill, the sewage fee, the food bills—and how we didn't have money to pay any of them.
When I reached my locker, Melissa was waiting for me. "Why didn't you say anything? You just sat there all through class."
Her eyes were both angry and disappointed. How could I explain? She lived in a big house overlooking Puget Sound. She drove a brand-new blue Jetta, wore hundred-dollar shoes and hundred-dollar pants and hundred-dollar shirts.
I closed my locker. "I've got to go," I said. "I'll see you tomorrow." Before she could say anything else, I walked away.