My ass—on a bus—at 0550 hours, for a class I volunteered for—which really means my parents signed me up to get extra “credit” for a college that I haven’t even thought about yet or some misguided attempted to make me appreciate sleep deprivation, both of which seem centered around making me a more rounded person (the only thing I need well rounded is my stomach) but there’s no arguing the point, because—again—my parents, you know… Futurism, Fun AND Learning, all that Magic School Bus Jazz—on our road to bettering ourselves [possibly Viridian City]—but really just killing time on the back of a yellow tortoise as the world speeds by, highlighted by the paper delivery boy (he sits three seats behind me in AP Euro) speeding past the bus on his 32-speed bike; that metaphor was kinda hard to miss, what with my 1st-class ticket to Whatever-the-F**kville [translator’s note: pretty sure it’s supposed to be Honors English, subtitled: 18th Century Lit], transient population: 37, indigenous native: 1—that’d be Ms. HuckleHudson, which keeps droning on about stuff I’m pretty sure I’m not going to remember or care about [the “care” part seem fairly important to her] just because she chose to be overworked and underpaid for students, who either don’t appreciate—[that’s NOT me]—or don’t care—[that’s DEFINITELY me]—about her investment, which she rants about in that “I’m joking but not really, PLEASE TAKE ME SERIOUSLY” manner that’s just as adorable as it is depressing…

Written by Bryce Rammler-Young, illustrated by Elizabeth DiFiore.