Chapter Three

 My two best friends are Michael Bachelor and Lisa Bunch. Michael was the first kid I met in school.

The problem is, he's got an after school job and Lisa's got a new boyfriend, so I don't get to hang out with them after school very often. Afternoons get lonely sometimes.

It amazes me how long an afternoon can stretch out with nobody to hang out with. Until you finally go home alone and try to buckle down and finish your mountain of homework. Then it seems like there's no time at all, and the next thing you know, it's the middle of the night and you're falling asleep in your chair, and you haven't cleaned up or had a shower. Forget cooking. Thank God for peanut butter and jelly, or I'd never have time to eat anything. How do grownups do it? They don't even get off at 2:00. Where do they find the time?

 

I'm constantly having to finish my homework at the table while scarfing down breakfast. The honk of the schoolbus horn outside my window always shocks me back to a sense of time, and I have to run to catch the bus. That bus driver can be impatient.





Weekends are the best, though. I feel like I only really come alive on the weekend. Does everybody feel that way, I wonder?

Me and Lisa and Michael, we're the Three Musketeers. We spend all our free time together. When we're not together, we talk on the phone.

We have marathon study sessions where we drill each other on French conjugation and gossip about who's cuter: the new boy because he's our age, or the physics teacher because he's got those dreamy bedroom eyes.

Sometimes we hang out and just goof off. Michael plays catch with me, but I think he just likes to tease me because I do look kind of dorky. It turns out that my big old half-empty lot is the perfect place to run around and play ball and catch butterflies and generally get some exercise without somebody telling us not to make so much noise or to get off the hydrangeas.

One weekend we had a pool party. I found out I can hold my breath a whole lot longer than Lisa can, but not nearly as long as Michael.






I found out early on that Lisa's a snob. The first time I invited her over, she said some cutting things about my crummy little house. I was dismayed to discover a mean streak in my friend, but Grams always told me to take the good with the bad, and to walk a mile in somebody's shoes before you judge them. I'm not a hundred percent sure I understand the shoe thing, but Lisa and I made up and pretty soon we were back to being the Three Musketeers again.

One weekend I had a sleepover. It was the best. We stayed up late. We watched TV with no parental blocks. We ate everything we could think of that was bad for us. We made a big mess. I showed them a couple of things I'd painted, and they thought they were good. We hung them on the wall.

 

Michael took a candid shot with his camera phone, of me pigging out on pizza. Har, har. Very amusing. I look like Jaws.

Here's one of him showing off his muscles to try to impress us. What a goof.

I was so wiped out the following Monday, that I think I actually sleeptoothbrushed.









All that hard work has finally paid off! I'm so happy! After making myself a solid reptuation as a C student with the teachers, I finally spent enough time slogging through reams of book reports and theme papers with Michael and Lisa that I actually made all As last semester.



I've been watching the Food Network. One of these days I'm going to learn to make something beside peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and Kraft macaroni and cheese.











And after everything, under everything, behind everything, there's always painting. The smell of the oils, the roughness of the palette in my hand. The beautiful pristine canvas just waiting for me.

Woot! I actually sold a small painting for 25 simoleans. I know it's not much, but that's not the point. Something I painted was actually worth selling. Maybe I really am getting good. Yeah. I am.