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made a mental note to somehow develop a pill that made the word “ hawt ” impossible to utter by vapid blondes… especially the bottled variety.
    “I know!   I can’t wait to hear his voice again.   It was like listening to melted honey,” Erica moaned, licking her gooey pink lips.
    The one named Becca cackled.   A genuine cackle.   I half expected her skin to explode into bright green warts and a pointy black hat to magically appear on her head as she flew around the bathroom on her broomstick.   “You’re such a slut!   Please tell me, what does ‘ melted honey ’ sound like, Mrs. Shakespeare?”
    Erica shrugged.   She looked at me once more.   “It sounds hot and slow and sweet…a lot like Graham when he’s kissing me.   Mmm…I wonder what the new guy kisses like.   If his voice gets me all hot, imagine what his lips are like!”   She turned her body sideways in the mirror, sucking in her stomach while examining her figure.   “I wonder if he’ll be like Graham.   Graham’s obsessed with making out—wants to do it all the time.   He especially likes kissing this .” She slapped her rear end on that last word in emphasis.
    With a shrill peal of laughter, the two of them left, the resounding cackles bouncing off the walls long after they had gone and the door had closed.  
    Long after the bell had rung.  
    Long after I had stopped fighting the tears.

SO WE MEET AGAIN

    I entered my homeroom class five minutes before it was time to head off to first period, my face a puffy, blotchy mess.   I didn’t even bother to try and set myself to rights.   No one would notice me anyway.
    Mr. Frey was, as I expected, asleep at his desk.   A piece of paper was perched carelessly on his face, rising and falling with each snore; it had the words “I’ll teach when I’m sober” written on it in red ink.   The raucous nature that is every homeroom occupied by Mr. Frey didn’t skip a beat when I walked in.   Like some amorphous being, it accepted me without a ripple of distortion.   I somehow found an empty desk and proceeded to wait until the bell rang to proceed to first period.   All around me, I could hear the laughter of friendship, the stories that were told filled with fond memories, and I felt my spirits grow heavier by the second.
    With nothing left to do but wait, the thoughts that I had tried to avoid came barreling through my mind.   Graham was here, and he had lied to me.   Well, of course he had lied to me.   But to do it while trying to making it seem as though he was finally being honest was a double lie.   And to hear that Erica was now interested in this new guy…   Oh Graham.   He broke my heart for a girl that was already looking to replace him.   I felt the ashes in my chest begin to get soggy…as though I was now crying on the inside.
    Just when I was sure that my body would explode from the seemingly endless internal flooding, the bell signaling the end of homeroom rang mercifully.   I was off to French class.   Madame Hidani would provide a respite from the tortuous reminiscing.   She knew how to keep a class in hand and focus our attention onto more important things.   Like vowels.
    I walked into the familiar classroom, feeling a bit better as I saw the long list of tasks we had to complete by the end of today’s lesson.   No small talk allowed here.   It was straight business with Madame Hidani.   There would be no time to think.   No time to listen.   No time to feel.   It sounded like heaven.
    A group of girls were gathered around a central figure at the front of the classroom, near the poster of Manet’s famous print, “ Le déjeuner sur l'herbe ”.   I didn’t spend any time paying attention to their giggling and chattering and took a seat in the back of the class; the same seat I had occupied last year; the same seat where I had helped Graham pass each and every single French test we had.   I shook my head again, forcing the thoughts