I think I'm on the verge of being called a teacher's pet. I won't blame it on Misha's suggestions and her struggle to get emailed by Miss Bacalla, but nevertheless I'm facilitating everyone's entry into the journalism class' Yahoo! group. It's twice as hard because my emails are apparently being tagged as spam.
Fridays are inevitably slower. At least more people are being forced to participate in the discussion. I took the plunge and volunteer for what appears to be a report next week, while all the others, except for Jackie, were called randomly. (Burton was specifically pointed, for some reason. Adrian, on the other hand, thought, or maybe wanted, to see Aaron get picked when it's him wearing blue.) At least people are finally settling in with the class, unlike two weeks ago, when almost everybody had something to say outside the class.
And still, Marcia's the only one who's willing to be my dumping ground for that class' extra thoughts.
This week I can specifically point to particular people that I'm surprisingly being close with. To be safe, this is bound to last for only a term, much like me and Naomi during the last one, and only because we were classmates in all but one class. That's not the case with anyone these days - the most is four days a week, because I took an elective in each career track, making me a confused man - and the conversations are, well, non-existent to an extent.
I've been going home with Marcia twice this term now. One conversation jumped to those nude Vanessa Hugdens photos, while yesterday I introduced her to The Magic Numbers and fell in love with it all over again. On both instances I've had a headache, but the second time wasn't as bad, because we had better seats in a more stable bus. And maybe it's because Romeo Stodart's voice was soothing both of us to half-sleep. Never made it entirely.
Anna's also been receiving a lot of mentions here lately, but we're classmates in only two classes, three days a week. Karla has already insisted that I have, at one point, had a crush on her, and I don't get it - it's not the basketball games, really, but nevertheless my mobile's inbox is getting fuller with her messages, mostly about the basketball games. Today I've read that she's not the type to talk unless, err, provoked, and now I'm quarter-doubting myself. I probably still haven't learned to believe everybody's compliments.
And, yes, Karla has also asked about why I don't have a crush on Misha. Simple, I said, or maybe made up: a smaller sense of mystery means a smaller possibility. However, I still wonder why she never spent one day with her hair in all its untied glory; I personally think it looks better. It's like the day when she came in thirty minutes early for film writing class and wondering whether she's late.
But today's clues aren't really all that clear. Karla's becoming a more frequent companion again, more so now that I know where to find her on Friday morning, and some of the people around me are learning more about things, her included. It's funny to play hide-and-seek with the people you're not supposed to victimize, for lack of a better term, but we're still doing it anyway. I've loved telling selected participants of the world about the many cross-references my discovery screenplay had, but not to the extent of overindulging in it. I still have to save face, though. I don't have to be amazed. There's just no reason for it.
And so, if I bother to text my group for advanced radio class, I'd probably expect a reply from Anna first. The way things are going, it's probably going to be us getting pulped to bits again, but I'd never bother about it. I'd have photos of Cots, more stabs at Tina, more consultations with Jason and Cuyeg, and inevitably, have to cozy up myself to Sir Mariano again. As one of the shorts we last watched for film writing class proves, life is a fleeting thing. Insert my archive clips, and my jitters with regards to my discovery screenplay.
And then, in a week, the retreat, and the accompanying numbness. There are, however, still so many lessons to learn.