The Ivy League

The Ivy League Part 3

The rest of the class would have passed slowly if it hadn't been for Grace. We made a point to respond to each of the teacher's comments with sarcasm and comebacks under our breaths that kept us in a constant state of laughter. 

Needless to say, I don't think the teacher liked me very much. 

Five minutes before the bell, I was allowed to demonstrate my Canadian-ness once more.  

"Courtney, you're not on my attendance sheet." Ms. Reynolds, the English teacher, felt compelled to inform me. 

"That might be because I'm new here, but that's just my wild guess." 

She glared. "For now, I'm going to have to add your name at the bottom of the list. What is your full name?" 

"Courtney Elizabeth Meyers." 

"Elizabeth with an 's' or with a 'zee'?" 

"With a 'zed'." 

"I understand you have deluded yourself with the false impression that your coming from Canada is something of interest, but let me be the first to tell you its not. Now as long as you are living in America you will conform to our habits." 

"You want me to be a conformist?" 

She huffed. "How do you spell Elizabeth?" 

"With a freaking zed, but if you want to spell it with a zee, feel free." 

The class laughed.  

Ms. Reynolds pressed her lips into a line so thin that I wondered if she had swallowed them. She scribbled my name at the bottom of the orange sheet as the bell rang. With a mighty scraping of chairs, the class stood up to move to their next period class.  

Unfortunately, I got to the front first, accompanied by Grace, which meant my rear end was exposed to the rest of the students. 

Why is that unfortunate, you may ask? 

Well, see, I was suddenly reminded why I had stopped wearing those jeans by a great bout of laughter behind me. 

Two months ago, my friends and I had been hanging out and decided to go visit a construction site, ignoring the 'Do Not Enter' signs. Not knowing it had been painted, I had sat down on a sign that said 'Caution'. 

Yes, the word 'Caution' was now written backwards on my butt in white paint. And everyone had noticed. It was a difficult moment: laugh or be embarrassed?  

I shrugged at them.  

"What? I always thought that writing B.U.M. on the butt of jeans was too obvious, but writing caution in that particular area is a little more interesting. I got it backward, though. Too bad, huh? Ruins the effect." 

There was more laughter, and it stopped being awkward. Oh, people. They're so easy to manipulate. Laugh, or get laughed at. You choose, really. Not them. 

"Nice save, but it's not over yet," Grace whispered as we left. 

"Ah, let it come," I said optomistically. "I've felt like discussing my butt for a while anyways, it was getting boring." 

Grace looked at me. "You are so strange." 

"What? You've never felt urgings to discuss various parts of your anatomy?" I asked, making my eyes go all wide. 

She smirked. "That right is reserved by the male population." 

"True." 

We wove our ways through the halls, with me nearly walking into an open locker door. It was only when we had descended two floors that I stopped mid-stairs.