Last summer, at the end of July, I got an email from Mr. Kowalski. He invited me (and the rest of FWS) to a "reunion" party at his house that weekend. By 'his house' I mean his tidy but tiny studio apartment a few blocks from school. There was a list attached telling each of us what we could bring to help out. I was to bring cups for soda.
My big dilemma was what to wear. I figured Mr. K. might not have air conditioning, as teachers are notoriously poor, but I didn't want to wear shorts. I look like enough of a daddy longlegs in jeans, thank you very much. My legs are so spindly I could never subject people to having to see them sticking out of a pair of shorts. It's just wrong.
I had khakis, but I couldn't imagine wearing them to hang out with the FWS gang. Who wears anything but jeans unless they have to, like for a job or your school has a dress code, or the family is going out to the Olive Garden with Grandma? Nobody. Even if it is over a hundred degrees out.
The lightest jeans I could find, my suede Pumas, and my "Brooklyn's Ambassadors of Love" shirt. I rethought that. In almost a year, she had never, ever commented on any of my TMBG shirts. It stood to reason that today would be no different. At the last minute, I had the crazy idea to put on a Hawaiian shirt instead. That's quirky, right? It's something I would never wear to school, for fear of being called an idiot and having stuff chucked at my head in the halls. But I knew enough about this crowd to know I was safe in it; it was quirky; they were quirky; it was all good. Let her think I'm a totally different guy in the summer. Mysterious. Full of stuff she had no idea about. It could work.
My mom offered to drive me, but I insisted on taking the bus. Even carrying a grocery bag full of plastic cups, I felt cooler on the bus than having my mom drop me off. It was important to me to feel independent. Plus it gave me a chance to think about what I was going to do without being under my mom's watchful eyes.
A movie I had been dying to see was opening that weekend. Maybe Erika wouldn't go see it with me, but I had determined that I would ask her. No matter what. I would just have to get her away from the crowd somehow.
Mr. K.'s apartment was nothing to write home about, but it was still totally weird being in a teacher's apartment. Most teachers don't even want you to know which car is theirs, and here was Mr. K. inviting us into his home. I guess he thought he was so beloved that no one was ever going to slash his tires.
I showed up a full half-hour late, but I was still the first one there. I felt like an ass
My big dilemma was what to wear. I figured Mr. K. might not have air conditioning, as teachers are notoriously poor, but I didn't want to wear shorts. I look like enough of a daddy longlegs in jeans, thank you very much. My legs are so spindly I could never subject people to having to see them sticking out of a pair of shorts. It's just wrong.
I had khakis, but I couldn't imagine wearing them to hang out with the FWS gang. Who wears anything but jeans unless they have to, like for a job or your school has a dress code, or the family is going out to the Olive Garden with Grandma? Nobody. Even if it is over a hundred degrees out.
The lightest jeans I could find, my suede Pumas, and my "Brooklyn's Ambassadors of Love" shirt. I rethought that. In almost a year, she had never, ever commented on any of my TMBG shirts. It stood to reason that today would be no different. At the last minute, I had the crazy idea to put on a Hawaiian shirt instead. That's quirky, right? It's something I would never wear to school, for fear of being called an idiot and having stuff chucked at my head in the halls. But I knew enough about this crowd to know I was safe in it; it was quirky; they were quirky; it was all good. Let her think I'm a totally different guy in the summer. Mysterious. Full of stuff she had no idea about. It could work.
My mom offered to drive me, but I insisted on taking the bus. Even carrying a grocery bag full of plastic cups, I felt cooler on the bus than having my mom drop me off. It was important to me to feel independent. Plus it gave me a chance to think about what I was going to do without being under my mom's watchful eyes.
A movie I had been dying to see was opening that weekend. Maybe Erika wouldn't go see it with me, but I had determined that I would ask her. No matter what. I would just have to get her away from the crowd somehow.
Mr. K.'s apartment was nothing to write home about, but it was still totally weird being in a teacher's apartment. Most teachers don't even want you to know which car is theirs, and here was Mr. K. inviting us into his home. I guess he thought he was so beloved that no one was ever going to slash his tires.
I showed up a full half-hour late, but I was still the first one there. I felt like an ass
