november 20, 2000. A poem on the first day of school placement, written in the colours of adolescent angst: Up at 3. Up at 5. Up at 6. Time to go. Nerves push me out of bed. Somewhere in the shower comb adjust and pack dance I realize that I'm out of time. Kiss from the boy, out the door. hello, car pool! "I'm five minutes late?" High school again. "Oh crap." Smell of unwashed skids fresh from the smoking pit overwhelming beside me. Infected throat is aching and water is no help. So hungry. So nauseous. I am:                       too useless to be a teacher.                       too quiet to be a member.                       too lonely to be a classmate. Almost fall asleep in third. "I want to go home." One wolf whistle. Lots of lost wandering through narrow schizo halls. Yeah. This is what it was like. But I remember more plaid. At least the girls aren't better-dressed than me. Today is Scout's 20th birthday. That makes the Boy feel very old.