I should have known something was up when Jane met me at the bus stop this morning and she was all smiles. She hates mornings, but today, it just looked like something was up.
“What are you smiling about?” I asked her.
“You’ll see,” she said.
I hate when she does that.
So, we got to school and Assistant Principal O’Reilly was there in the foyer like he is every day, standing there with that stupid ruler in his hand so he can check and make sure none of the girls have on skirts that are more than three inches above the knee. I think he enjoys getting down on his knees to check those hem-lines way more than he should, Diary, but I could get in big trouble for saying that.
“I’m watching you, Hamsher,” he said to Jane as we came through the door, “I still haven’t forgotten that picture you made of Mr. Lieberman,” (our totally grody history teacher from last year), “You’re a trouble-maker, young lady.”
Jane just gave him her prettiest smile as we strode by.
Fortunately that little butt-kiss Kirsten came by. She’s one of those girls who hangs out in Mr. O’Reilly’s office in her free periods like Michelle Malkin. I heard those girls let Mr. O’Reilly look down their shirts and stuff and he writes them all the hall passes and tardiness excuses they want.
“Good morning, Mr. O’Reilly,” Kirsten cooed, brushing her boobies up against his leisure-suit jacket. That distracted him, alright. Old pervert. Last year he didn’t even know that we had a girl named Kirsten at our school, but over the summer her breasts developed, and now that she’s in a D-cup, she’s his favorite student in the whole world.
Jane says Kirsten’s dad paid to have her breasts “developed”. I don’t know about all that stuff, though. All I know is that last year she was the most flat-chested girl in school, but this year she looks like Pamela Anderson.
But, whatever. We were halfway down the hall to the cafetorium where Jane and I have first period study hall when Jane looked at me out of the corner of her eye and said, “Watch this.”
She pelted to the end of the hallway, yelling and waving her arms, “Check it out! Look what I got!”
Everybody stopped what they were doing and watched her as she ran through the tables and chairs and up the steps to the stage. She stopped and turned and, oh my god, Diary, I totally thought she was going to flash her boobies to the whole cafeteria! She pulled open her school blazer, then her blouse, to reveal…
Her Butthole Surfers t-shirt that she got at the show on Saturday.
“PUNK ROCK FREAKIN’ RULES!!” she shouted at the top of her lungs, “And all of you people SUCK!!”
Honestly, Diary, I don’t know what gets into her sometimes. I know it’s normal at our age to be a little rebellious, but sometimes I think she goes too far.
Well, Mr. O’Reilly came storming into the cafeteria and grabbed Jane by the arm, “You cover that up this INSTANT, young lady!” he bellowed.
“Don’t touch me, you old pervert!” shouted Jane, jerking her arm away.
“You watch your mouth, you little hellion!” said Mr. O’Reilly, “If you were my daughter, I’d-”
“If I was your daughter, I’d have spontaneously aborted myself before I ever had to see your ugly face!”
Mr. O’Reilly didn’t like that at all. He’s Catholic, you know. His face turned really, really red and he grabbed at her arm again and started dragging her toward his office, “You little…I oughta…you…GET IN MY OFFICE RIGHT NOW! I’m calling your parents!”
Jane just smiled that certain sarcastic little smile that seems to make grownups lose their minds. I need to learn to do that.
As he dragged her away, I could hear Mr. O’Reilly making all kinds of threats, “I’m going to call your mother and father and I’m writing this up for the Principal. Then, I’m going to contact all those colleges you applied to and tell them what a disgusting little discipline problem you are…”
I didn’t see Jane again until after school. She was waiting for me when the bus dropped me off. All the kids on the school bus saw her and cheered and Jane just waved at them like a benevolent goddess. I noticed she was still wearing her Butthole Surfers shirt, but she’d traded her uniform skirt for jeans.
“Omigod, Jane, what happened?” I asked her.
“Oh, you know O’Reilly,” she said, “He just loves the sound of his own voice. He talked forever. I just counted ceiling tiles in his office until the wind died down.”
“But are you in trouble? What did he say?”
“Well, you know, he can’t really do anything. It’s not like he’s the Principal.”
“He said he was going to call the Principal, though.”
“He did. I’m suspended until Friday,” she shrugged, “Totally worth it.”
“But what about your parents? Aren’t they mad?”
“They were until they talked to O’Reilly. He’s such a jerkwad that by the time he got off the phone, they were more mad at him than they were at me. I should have thanked him for being such an ass.”
I started giggling, then Jane did, too. The giggles turned into big loud laughing. Jane turned a cartwheel on somebody’s lawn and then we ran, ran to her house and ate oatmeal cookies and watched TV until her folks got in and it was time for me to come home.
Jane is so brave. It just seems like she does whatever comes into her head. I wish I could be more like that.
I hope she’s my best friend forever and ever.