Vibes Read Free Page A

excitement. "My individual project this year is going to be self-improvement."
    Brian claps his hands. "Wonderful! I think it was Aldous Huxley who said, 'There is only one corner of the universe you can be certain of improving, and that is yourself.'" Brian slowly rotates in the middle of our circle so that he can make precious eye contact with each and every one of us. When his eyes meet mine he thinks,
Troublemaker.
"I think we should all be supportive of Jacob's efforts this year! Let's give him a round of applause!"
    Everyone claps for Jacob Flax, and a few people start whistling and catcalling, including Gusty Peterson, who shakes his fist while yelling, "Yeah! Yeah!" Evil Incarnate holds up her hands over her head and claps super enthusiastically. I watch Jacob to see if he understands what's happening, but he is blushing and smiling with glee.
    He has no idea he is being mocked.

EXPLORATIONS OF NATURE
    After Morning Meeting I head to my first class, Explorations of Nature, which is biology in disguise. Every one of our classes is supposed to be interdisciplinary, which is another word for "confusing." Math is called "The Language of the Universe," and English is "Story as Cultural Artifact." I have Maria Callas warbling in my ears, but that doesn't keep me from hearing my ex-best friend, Hildie Peterson, think,
Why does she have to sit so close to me?
when I take the chair behind her. I'm sitting here because it's the only padded chair left, but of course she's so self-centered, she would never think of that.
    Our school doesn't have desks in the classrooms because Brian thinks they conceal our inner states and inhibit the free motion of our bodies. I glance at David, who is seated on his teacher stool, staring out the window and stroking his goatee. All the girls think he's totally hot, and they all flirt with him, which is pathetic, but what's even more pathetic is that he flirts right back.
    "Hi, David!" Hildie calls, flashing her blond hair at him.
    "Hildie," he says in an intimate tone. His black eyes practically rub against her as he smiles.
    I don't know
how
he hasn't gotten fired.
    Today David has written another Robert Frost poem on the board. The poem says:
Then when I was distraught

And could not speak,

Sidelong, full on my cheek,

What should that reckless zephyr fling

But the wild touch of thy dye-dusty wing!
    Either David likes Robert Frost or Frost is the only poet he knows. That's okay, because I actually like him. Frost, not David, who I especially dislike today. On the little table in front of him is a mutilated caterpillar. What used to be a cute, fuzzy, green little wormy animal has become a science exhibit for how gross nature is. Class hasn't begun yet, but I don't care. I raise my hand.
    David pretends not to see me. I can hear him thinking,
Oh God, not again.
This does nothing to stop me. I wave my hand in his face. The second his eyes flicker over me, I launch into it: "What right do you have to kill that poor defenseless creature?"
    "I didn't," he says wearily. "I found it dead on my lawn." I catch a brief flash of the caterpillar lying helplessly in front of David's Birkenstock sandal, motionless. But I can't tell from the image if it was really a goner yet.
    "How did you
know
it was dead?" I hear sniggering behind me, and a whole wave of thoughts rushes over me.
Not this again. Why can't she shut up? God, her neck is fat.
This only strengthens my resolve. "Maybe it was just stunned."
    "It was dead."
    "Did you hold a tiny mirror up to its nose to see if it was breathing?"
    "Kristi, I can tell when a caterpillar is dead."
    "Did you try to resuscitate it?"
    "How do you suggest I do that?"
    "You could get a tiny straw."
    "Surely you're not serious."
    I open my mouth to assure him that I am quite serious (I'm not), but he holds his hand up in my face. "So, how is everyone today?" David asks the class at large.
    "Better than that caterpillar," Casey Spinelli says in his squeaky voice. Everyone