Take Todd "Totally Immature" Long, for example. Half the time he still acts like a fifth-grader. That morning in homeroom, he was trying his hardest to drive Ms. Levine nuts by clicking his ballpoint pen about seventy zillion times a minute. Every time she looked up to see where the sound was coming from, he'd stop and give her this innocent smile. Then, when she looked down at her attendance sheet again, his smile would turn into a devilish grin and he'd start clicking again. Ms. Levine finally decided to ignore the noise, which was the smartest thing for her to do.

I ignored him, too. I blocked out that irritating clicking noise by humming my current favorite song, "Sister Sally" (by the group Great Blue Whales) as I doodled on my notebook. By then I was drawing linked hearts with the caption S. M. + R. B. = LUV. My boyfriend's name is Robert Brewster, and I really do luv him. In fact, he's the most luv-able guy I've ever met. I drew a string of hearts across the top of the back of my notebook, and I was trying to decide if I should keep going and cover the whole notebook with them when suddenly a storm of static erupted from the loudspeaker over the classroom door.

"Yow!" yelled Todd, clapping his hands over his ears.

"Why can't they fix that thing?" cried Sheila.

I wondered the same thing. I have never heard one announcement at SMS that didn't start with an earsplittmg burst of static. It usually doesn't last long, though, and it didn't that morning. Soon, I could hear a voice through the noise. It was Mr. Kingbridge, our assistant principal. Mr. Kingbridge is okay, except for the fact that he has no fashion sense. I mean none. He wears the most ridiculous ties, the silliest jackets, and the ugliest shoes I've ever seen. At an awards night one year, he won the prize for worst dressed. I've thought of offering to be his fashion consultant, but I can't figure out how to do that without insulting him. After all, he's an adult. Supposedly, he should know how to dress himself by now.