But other than that, I don't see us getting back together. I will, of course, give him his birthday present, because I went to
all the trouble of stealing it.
But I know it won't do any good. It's over. Like my life.
They just announced the name of the newest member of the Albert Einstein High junior varsity cheerleading squad. It is Shameeka Taylor.
Who even cares?
Friday, January 22,
Algebra
Michael did not stop by here between classes. It is the first day all week that he hasn't slipped in to say hi on his way to
Senior English, three classrooms away from this one.
It is obvious why. I mean, we are broken up. He hates me now. I don't blame him. I hate myself.
To make matters worse — as if I can even care about something so trivial - Lana just turned around to hiss, 'Don't think
just because your little friend made the squad that anything is going to change between us, Mia. She's as much of a pathetic geekette as you are. They only let her on the squad to fulfil our freak quota.'
Then she whipped her head around again — but not as fast as she should have. Because a lot of her hair was still draped across my desk.
And when I slammed my Algebra I—II text closed as hard as I could - which is what I did next - a lot of her silky, awa-puhi-scented locks got trapped between page 212 and 213.
Lana shrieked in pain. Mr G, up at the chalkboard, turned around, saw where the screaming was coming from, and sighed.
'Mia,' he said, tiredly, 'Lana. What now?'
Lana stabbed an index finger in my direction. 'She slammed her book on my hair!'
I shrugged innocently. 'I didn't know her hair was in my book. Why can't she keep her hair to herself, anyway?'
Mr. Gianini looked bored. 'Lana,' he said, 'if you can't keep your hair under control, I recommend braids. Mia, don't
slam your book. It should be open to page two-twelve, where I want you to read from Section Two. Out loud.'
I read out loud from Section Two, but not without a certain primness. For once, vengeance on Lana had been mine, and
I had NOT been sent to the principal's office. Oh, it was sweet. Sweet, sweet vindication.
Although I don't even know why I have to learn this stuff; it isn't as if the Palais de Genovia isn't full of dweeby staffers
who are just dying to multiply fractions for me.
Polynomials
term: variable(s) multiplied by a coefficient
monomial: Polynomial w/ one term
binomial: Polynomial w/ two terms
trinomial: Polynomial w/ three terms
Degree of polynomial = the degree of the term with the highest degree
In my delight over the pain I had brought upon my enemy, I almost forgot about the fact that my heart is broken.
Must keep in mind that Michael is dumping me after the black-and-white ball tonight. Why can't I FOCUS????
Must be love. I am sick with it.
Fiday, January 22,
Health and Safety