A note on eighth period.

It's French class. If you want to be technical, I speak fluent French, but it's one of the requirements for scholarship students. They each have to spend their off period helping another teacher. So I help Madame Macy, the French I teacher.

Mme Macy might have been a spy in her youth. She's spent years in Africa--Burkina Faso, if you want to be specific--and she broke her leg jumping out of a helicopter. She speaks like 20 languages, is afraid of Cheerios and left turns, and rides her orange bike to Lakewood from the town ten miles away every day. She's probably the weirdest person I know.

I usually spend the class doing homework, but today, since I was still recovering from the kissing conversation/bullying, I actually helped by stamping papers, grading worksheets, and even by reading some of the phrases out loud so I could help people with their pronunciation.

The only one of my friends in French I is Alex. We sometimes just talk. Today, we did work.

OK, note over. Signing off.