DURING MONDAY’S FREE PERIOD, I HEAD TO THE computer lab to check e-mail. I have to wait until I’m at school to do it, because our computer at home is slow as shit. It’s old to begin with, and then Pat downloaded a bunch of games, aka porn, and now the thing’s got more viruses than a prostitute.
As soon as I log in, I get a pop-up window that says I’m running out of available mailbox space. No surprises there. About a month ago my aunt Jackie discovered “electronic mail” and asked for my address. Now she forwards me at least ten messages a day. Poems about angels and cancer-prayer chain letters and articles about new research and treatments. She’s unhealthily obsessed with my mom’s death. She could use an hour with Ms. Chirazo.
What I don’t see, unfortunately, are any e-mails about my early-decision application to Oberlin. I know they have until the end of January to get back to me, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed I hear something before then. Ms. Chirazo loved my new essay. She said it brought tears to her eyes. She was probably hot flashing or something, but it was all I needed to hear.
Later in the day, we have a drunk-driving assembly, which is a lovely way to help ring in the holidays. An older-looking woman in a police uniform is up at the podium, talking in the most sleep-inducing monotone while she clicks through car-crash slides from the 1970s that don’t even show you anything interesting, like gore or dead bodies. Just a bunch of wrecked-up and dented metal. She might as well have taken pictures of my garage.
Anyway, somewhere along the line I fall asleep, and the polite applause wakes me up. I open my eyes right as the police officer trips across the microphone cord and nearly falls flat on her ass.
I can’t help but laugh. And look around at my fellow classmates to see who else enjoyed this early Christmas gift. Nobody else is laughing.
I meet eyes with Rennie, who has a big smile on her face. As big as mine.
I immediately look away. A sick sense of humor was one thing Ren and I always had in common.
Fuck. I guess we still do.
