Commie and me.

The child seems to enjoy animanga, although he says, "Why are they all cross-dressers!?" a lot. I say it's because the author (author? What do you call someone who writes manga?) wants to do it. That's kind of a bad explanation, but it's true. That is why writers do things. Why did J.K. Rowling kill Hedwig? She wanted to. It's just the way thinks work.

I went to visit Commie again today. I love it there, and I don't really know why. It's like how I love Montréal. I'm usually a little nervous in big cities, but I just love Montréal, who knows why. It's the same with Commie. Even though it's a high school, I feel comfortable there. This is why I wanted to go there; this is the first step to coming out of my shell.

I have barely any time tonight, as I'm being told to go to sleep soon. I live under a dictatorship here. I think I will hold a protest soon. Maybe in front of the refrigerator or on the kitchen table...you're invited. Bring signs. We'll peacefully demonstrate against Mother and her dictator ways. There'll be Girl Scout cookies, too. See, now you want to come. Everyone loves Girl Scout cookies. They're made that way just so you'll buy more of them and further our plans for world domination.

Sorry, did I say world domination? I meant helping people at all times and living by the Girl Scout law.

 I think this post has taken me a week to write.  I keep starting, stopping, eating, procrastinating, starting, and stopping again. With a few other things, like going to school and sleeping, mixed in. This is my life.

Back to typing about Commie, the lovely school at which I am going to spend my next four years of education. That is, assuming I don't get kicked out. You never know; I might become a rebellious teenager and take up various profligate pastimes. Profligate, of course, meaning utterly and shamelessly immoral. It's my word of the day today. Next time someone's being a jerk, don't tell them that. Call them profligate.

Commie. Right. I'm so distracted today. I went to the Commie thing after school with Liss, since we both got accepted and we're both going. Spiffy was there, too, but I have no idea about her status as a commie.

Spiffy, Liss, Eva Hattie, Katie, and I found each other once inside the school. Peter Ways (I think that's his name) gave us each a lovely rainbow lanyard with Community High School repeating on it over and over in black letters. He asked us to go write ourselves nametags, so we did. Obviously, we are not the kind of students who would refuse an order from a person of authority.

Little did I know that my picking the name tag with the little 3 in the upper corner would seal my fate.

"Everyone whose nametag has a one in the corner is in group one," announced a staff member. "You'll be with this host." They gave the host's name, but I ignored that because I knew I wouldn't have to care. Host was what they called the current students who were showing us around the school. In scientific terms, a host is an organism that harbors a parasite. In Steph Meyer's lovely novel, a host is a person who's being controlled by a random soul. See what the commies think of us?

Fine, a host is also a person who recieves and entertains guests. I'm just thinking of the most negative definitions I can.

They moved us into the auditorium, where we sat by group number. Unfortunately, no one I knew was in my group. See what I mean about the sealing of fate? One of the commie jazz bands played for a long time. Too long, in my, Eva Hattie, and Katie's opinions. We mostly talked over their lovely music (first in the state or some such thing).

"What's the point of putting us in these groups?" asked Eva Hattie. I'm not transcribing her words exactly here, mostly because I forgot what she said. At least it's not yo dawg, why be they killin' our groove? which is how most conversations I transcribe sound. "Do they think we're going to talk to each other and get to be friends?"

"But we are!" I protested. "I've gotten to know Bethany already! Bethany and I are the best of friends, aren't we?"

"Sure," said Bethany, giving me a look like she thought I was a few pages short of a novel.

"See?"

We had many fabulous and fascinating conversations, but I don't remember them.

Peter Ways invited the counselors and several of the students to speak to us before sending us out across the school with our hosts. He also gave us pizza.

My hosts were a guy named David with curly hair who looks like I think Brendan will in a few years and a girl whose earrings blatantly broke the hand rule (if you can fit your hand through your earrings, they're too forking big!). They brought us up a flight of stairs to a classroom, where they proceeded to light a fire under the cauldron and pull out a couple of black magic textbooks. As it is said in the Book, The only thing worse than black magic is beginners performing black magic. The Book never lies. It's hard to lie when you don't exist.

So maybe there wasn't any black magic. I lied. There was, however, a very large picture that reminded me of the Buddha, a wall covered in posters of First Nations people, twinkly lights all around the room, and pillows on the floor. Pillows. Forking pillows. In a high school classroom.

David spoke to us about his school, then opened up the floor for questions.

No one talked.

"You already know everything about Community?"

No one talked.

"Okay, okay, I get it. You're the strong, silent type. I respect that."

"So, when does school get out? Like, every day?" I asked.

Let's back up for a moment. This is me talking, me, Libby. This is the girl who can't give a two-minute speech in front of the class. This is the girl who has trouble asking questions in class, especially asking the first question. This is the girl who freezes up when the band teacher asks the ten-person second clarinet section to play their part. And I asked the first question! I'm so proud of myself.

He drew his schedule on the board and tried to explain it to us. The floor was opened up. Other people talked.

"So, how many of you know you're going here?"

I raised my hand; so did a few other people.

"How did you feel when you found out?"

Silence.

"I was really happy. My friend came running up to me in the hall and said, 'We got in!' I didn't believe her at first, but then she was right. I was happy." I sat back. "I'm still happy."

"As you should be."

"So, are all the desks like this? They're awful." The desks are awful. There's a bar right below my knees, so it's very hard to stretch my legs out. I guess that's the point.

"Yup. All over the school. And they're at Pioneer and Skyline, too, so you can't switch schools to stay away from them."

"That's exactly why I was thinking of switching schools."

"We get a lot of people who stay away just because of the desks."

I talked! It was great. I love talking. People who don't know me probably don't know that, because I'm so shy and get nervous so easily, but I could talk for ages. I just need someone I'm comfortable talking to who won't get totally bored after a a few seconds. Or a few minutes...hours...days...I really, really love reading out loud. I try reading to the child (with high-pitched voices for men, low voices for women, and scratchy Darth Vader voices for everyone else, natch), but either he gets bored or I get tired.

Liss dragged me out to the swings in front of the school afterwards because her host told her to try them out. We hung. We swung.

It was fabulous beyond reason.

I'm going to be a commie. Maybe that's what I'll call the musical of my life. Currently, it's Libby, the Musical: A Highly Fictionalized Account of my Life. Commie and Me might work, too, but I think Libby, the Musical et cetera has more verve. There's another word for you: verve. Look it up yourselves, infidels, I'm going to go play the clarinet.

Over and out.