STRIKE!

Something hit me the other day as I was sitting in a never- ending history class. I realized that I'll probably have perfect attendance this year. It would be the first time in my life. But instead of feeling proud, or however "perfect attendance kids" feel, I felt tired. I was tired just THINKING about going to school EVERY SINGLE DAY for a whole year. It's a foreign concept to me. I mean, everybody has those days when they just don't feel like going to school. (everyday for me...) Over the years though, I have become the master of getting out of school. *COVER YOUR EYES MOM AND DAD!* I mean really. If I'm being completely honest with myself, I was probably sick 2 times. I mean truly, can't get out of bed, feel like shit, watch TV eating soup all day, not even enough energy to go on facebook, SICK. And how many days of school have I missed over the years? Yeah, I really have no idea. Quite a few, I can tell you that. But on those days where school just seemed like a torture chamber, I became pretty good at the "excuse game." I guess you could say I channeled my inner Ferris Bueller. "Ferris Bueller, you're my hero." Well said, Cameron.

I began studying the art of "faking sick" when I was in 7th grade. It all started one day, right before a giant Pre- Algebra test that I had forgotten to study for. Back then, grades were the only thing I cared about, and I was in tears because I was petrified of getting a bad grade. It was then that I decided to try my hand with the nurse. I went down, got my file, and sat in the waiting room. All the while, my heart was beating out of my chest, and I actually felt like I was going to throw up just from being scared shitless that the nurse would know I'm phony.

After I waited a while, I heard a soft voice say, "Payton?" So I followed the voice into the tiny room, closed the door, and let this woman poke and prod me with various metal tools until she came to a conclusion.

"Well sweetie, you don't have a fever, but your face looks a little blotchy, and you're throat's a little red..."

(I was silently thanking my eyes for the tear session I had earlier, causing my face to be blotchy. And for the cherry cough drop I had consumed just 5 minutes before. I figured that the nurse would smell the menthol on my breath and assume I was getting over something that had on last kick. It was an added bonus that it turned my throat red.)

...after a pause, "You know what, you don't look so good. Do you want to go home?"

So I put on the most innocent face I could muster, hunched my shoulders over, let out a pathetic little cough, and nodded my head.

"Okay honey. Now, your file has two contact numbers in it. I'm assuming one for mom and one for dad. Who do you think we should try first?"

"MOM!" I'm sure my abrupt, and rather loud answer surprised her a little, but regardless, she dialed my mom, and I sat with the same anxious feeling in my stomach as I had when I first went in. You see, the reason it was so critical that she call my mom, and that my mom actually pick up, is because of my dad. He has this amazing ability that allows him to see through my bullshit. EVERY TIME. It's a pretty impressive gift. I mean, it's annoying for me, but it ultimately makes him the best dad ever.

Mom- this is not to say I took advantage of you. I mean, after a while you saw through my bullshit too, but you were just too tired of fighting with me about it.

Anyway, that's the origin of my Hookie profession. Needless to say, since then I've changed and refined my methods, but the hookie game lived on...up until this year.

There's a problem now. Both my host parents are doctors. Yeah, I know. So this means no more sick days. (who sees through sick bullshit better than doctors, right) This is why the whole "perfect attendance" thing was such a huge slap in the face for me. Oh well, I guess it might actually do me some good to go to school. Turn over a new leaf. I've already turned over 10,000 in the last month...what's one more?

I almost forgot to say the real reason for this insanely long and pointless story! So, when I was sitting in that never- ending history class yesterday, there was a knock at the door. A woman walked in and said, "Premiere S5? (my class) You have no class tomorrow."

Just then, an erruption of cheers and screams fills the history classroom. Of course, I'm still in the dark, so I kindly ask my neighbor what is going on, and I'm told that the teachers are going on strike. French teachers strike like it's their job. Gotta love France. Hello new sick days...

P.S. I bought my first pair of heels the other day! I mean, I've worn heels before, but these are my "school heels." I'm pretty excited. My school is like a runway show EVERYDAY. It's amazing. Unlike at Mifflin, here, I stand out because I DON'T wear heels. I know what you're thinking. Wait to conform, Brooke. But don't worry. I'm still that creepy girl in the corner, dressed in all black with her headphones permanently glued to her ears. (no lie) Only now, I'm wearing heels :)

^^^ I didn't buy these. I seriously thought about it, but I don't think I'm ready for their intensity quite yet. We'll see where things go...