Posted by: Laura A. H. Elliott | August 29, 2010

Answer: Magic Eight Ball

Dear Magic Eight Ball,

What’s the deal? I mean, every time it’s just you and me I’ve got something epic on my mind and every time I sit here and stare at you I’m thinking why am I doing this. I mean I don’t even believe in God but I’ll turn to you. I guess because I can hold you in my hands and the feel of cheap plastic combined with answers when I need them with no attachments is so, me. And that’s so wrong. Just like me.

I wish I were like every other sophomore girl I saw at school today, the first day of school. There really aren’t many more epic things than the first day. Today I’m officially not a freshman anymore even though my senior friends still call me Frosh. It’s chill, because they’re all Alzheimer’s and stuff. God or Magic Eight Ball or Whoever Might Be Listening And Has Some Answers, please, oh please free me from the curse of being a complete and utter Legohead.

So here’s the deal. I think I’m h*t sh*t pulling into the student parking lot with my new, old friend Bethanny who has somehow managed to reinvent herself from the invisible freshman to a chickalicious sophomore in one summer. Ok. The Beemer she got for her birthday helps, and so does her stake in Slimfast. But, I’d never park my new Beemer in that lot–not like I’ll have a new car any time soon-knew her car would get keyed by lunch.

Anyway, Bethanny and I are all pulling into the perfect spot. And, you know when people are looking at you. Right? I feel it. Well, all guylicious eyes were on Bethanny but it felt like they were looking at me too. And I’m sort of feeling famous because I’m in the front seat of this new, beautiful car with this very newly-cool, old friend. And Bethanny turns off the car and gets out all perfect. Perfect jeans and tight-not-too-tight top. And I’m a total idiot. I get out and tug on my new purse that got stuck in the seat somehow and I’m all on the wrong end of a slingshot. Very cave woman of me. And just as I go to slam the door, the handle catches on my purse strap and I-all trying to be smooth and not act like the car is attacking me, which it totally was and I’m totally reading Christine tonight [by this time Bethanny is talking to almost all of the starters on the football team]-slam the door on my thumb. My left thumb. Because I just couldn’t start school like I’d dreamed of starting school. I had to go for the nightmare. Cause that’s just how I roll.

So here’s my question. Magic Eight Ball, will Bethanny ever talk to me again?

Yes, definitely

Really? Because perfect people don’t usually talk to mere mortals like me. Especially ones that have to hold their thumb up over their head most of the time because it hurts so bad. Really?


I said definitely



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