((Flashback)) 10 Things About Me by Mortimer Toynbee, age 13
It was composition class with Mrs. Allen. Usually he could sort of fade out in this one. He was better at writing than most people thought, and there were a lot of kids in this class. He settled down in the uncomfortable chair and began to work on a daydream about Shannon Bonny letting him get his hand under her jumper again.
Mrs. Allen was passing back the corrected composition books. He definitely had ninety seconds before he needed to pay attention; T was near the end of the alphabet.
80 ...Shannon would be wearing that tight black sweater, the really soft one that made her skin patterning stand out...
70 ...it would be in the dead-end hall after PE, she wouldn't have had time to put on hair-spray or makeup...
60 ...she would be leaning into him, gripping his waistband, her fingers...
"Today, we're going to be doing something new, class!" Shit! He should have had nearly a minute of daydream left.
Mortimer sat up straight and listened as Mrs. Allen passed out the books and described the new assignment.
"I know some of you have problems with writer's block," she was saying, "so this assignment will focus on getting things on the page quickly. You don't need to worry about composition structure; we're going to be making lists."
Lists? What the hell? I don't need someone to teach me how to write a frigging list!
But that wasn't the whole of it, apparently. "And since this is your first year of Secondary, and most of us don't know each other very well, I'd like you each to write a list of ten things that your classmates don't know about you. When we're done we will each share a couple of things from our lists."
Mortimer opened his composition book and took a pencil out of his pocket. He frowned down at the blank page, unconsciously drawing his legs up to crouch on the chair, legs folded double, practically sitting on his own ankles. He cast about for something he wouldn't mind other people knowing.
"Feet on the floor please, Mortimer," Mrs. Allen's voice interrupted his search.
He slid back to a sitting position and wrote "Ten Things About Me, by Mortimer Toynbee" very carefully at the top of the page. Looking up he noticed that the tension in the room had gone up two or three notches. Maybe the other kids were having the same trouble thinking of things to tell people. Even the human kids. He hadn't really thought about the kinds of secrets they would have.
He wrote "1." in the left margin. Then he wrote "If I drink too much Coke my tongue gets less sticky." He erased "gets less sticky" and wrote in "feels wierd. Other colas don't do that." He looked again and corrected "weird." Then, grinning, he wrote "2. I'm not dyslexic, it's just that no one bothered to teach me how to spell."
"3. I have a pen-pal in Genosha named Joel." That should be pretty safe.
"4." He almost wrote "No matter how hard I try not to, I still get crushes on human girls," but instead he wrote "I have a scrapbook of news clippings from when Lord Magneto was fighting for Genosha."
"5. If I have a big enough piece of paper I can write with my tongue. It looks a lot like my left-hand writing."
Halfway done. Mortimer looked around to see how far the other kids were. A couple human girls in bright shirts were passing a notebook back and forth, probably dotting their i's with hearts as they ruined someone's social life with gossip. Most kids were either writing steadily or staring at the ceiling or out the window. Mrs. Allen was grading papers and looking up now and then.
Time was running out though. Mortimer realized that his classmates knew very little about him. He could write any number of things that would fulfill the letter of the assignment.
"6. I like Greek olives on pizza. 7. I like kebabs better than hamburgers." He wished he knew what sorts of things the other kids were writing. They were probably writing stuff about pets or brothers and sisters or what they got for Christmas when they were three.
"8. I'm not a cat person or a dog person."
"9." Shit. Shit! Why is it that all these things that are supposed to help writer's block end up creating it instead? Mortimer tapped his pencil against his thigh, poking at the fraying seam. Gotta get new pants soon. These are about to split. C'mon, Mortimer! Two more stupid facts.
"I've seen all the James Bond films." OK, that wasn't so hard.
"10. I taste like chicken."
He leaned backwards over his chair, looking at the clock behind him. 10:35 am. Twenty-five minutes left. With any luck that time would be taken up with other kids' lists. Then there would be PE. He could show Shannon Bonny his back-flip. Maybe after class she would wait in the hall for him.
Mrs. Allen was passing back the corrected composition books. He definitely had ninety seconds before he needed to pay attention; T was near the end of the alphabet.
80 ...Shannon would be wearing that tight black sweater, the really soft one that made her skin patterning stand out...
70 ...it would be in the dead-end hall after PE, she wouldn't have had time to put on hair-spray or makeup...
60 ...she would be leaning into him, gripping his waistband, her fingers...
"Today, we're going to be doing something new, class!" Shit! He should have had nearly a minute of daydream left.
Mortimer sat up straight and listened as Mrs. Allen passed out the books and described the new assignment.
"I know some of you have problems with writer's block," she was saying, "so this assignment will focus on getting things on the page quickly. You don't need to worry about composition structure; we're going to be making lists."
Lists? What the hell? I don't need someone to teach me how to write a frigging list!
But that wasn't the whole of it, apparently. "And since this is your first year of Secondary, and most of us don't know each other very well, I'd like you each to write a list of ten things that your classmates don't know about you. When we're done we will each share a couple of things from our lists."
Mortimer opened his composition book and took a pencil out of his pocket. He frowned down at the blank page, unconsciously drawing his legs up to crouch on the chair, legs folded double, practically sitting on his own ankles. He cast about for something he wouldn't mind other people knowing.
"Feet on the floor please, Mortimer," Mrs. Allen's voice interrupted his search.
He slid back to a sitting position and wrote "Ten Things About Me, by Mortimer Toynbee" very carefully at the top of the page. Looking up he noticed that the tension in the room had gone up two or three notches. Maybe the other kids were having the same trouble thinking of things to tell people. Even the human kids. He hadn't really thought about the kinds of secrets they would have.
He wrote "1." in the left margin. Then he wrote "If I drink too much Coke my tongue gets less sticky." He erased "gets less sticky" and wrote in "feels wierd. Other colas don't do that." He looked again and corrected "weird." Then, grinning, he wrote "2. I'm not dyslexic, it's just that no one bothered to teach me how to spell."
"3. I have a pen-pal in Genosha named Joel." That should be pretty safe.
"4." He almost wrote "No matter how hard I try not to, I still get crushes on human girls," but instead he wrote "I have a scrapbook of news clippings from when Lord Magneto was fighting for Genosha."
"5. If I have a big enough piece of paper I can write with my tongue. It looks a lot like my left-hand writing."
Halfway done. Mortimer looked around to see how far the other kids were. A couple human girls in bright shirts were passing a notebook back and forth, probably dotting their i's with hearts as they ruined someone's social life with gossip. Most kids were either writing steadily or staring at the ceiling or out the window. Mrs. Allen was grading papers and looking up now and then.
Time was running out though. Mortimer realized that his classmates knew very little about him. He could write any number of things that would fulfill the letter of the assignment.
"6. I like Greek olives on pizza. 7. I like kebabs better than hamburgers." He wished he knew what sorts of things the other kids were writing. They were probably writing stuff about pets or brothers and sisters or what they got for Christmas when they were three.
"8. I'm not a cat person or a dog person."
"9." Shit. Shit! Why is it that all these things that are supposed to help writer's block end up creating it instead? Mortimer tapped his pencil against his thigh, poking at the fraying seam. Gotta get new pants soon. These are about to split. C'mon, Mortimer! Two more stupid facts.
"I've seen all the James Bond films." OK, that wasn't so hard.
"10. I taste like chicken."
He leaned backwards over his chair, looking at the clock behind him. 10:35 am. Twenty-five minutes left. With any luck that time would be taken up with other kids' lists. Then there would be PE. He could show Shannon Bonny his back-flip. Maybe after class she would wait in the hall for him.