Possible Origin: Thursday, October 14, 1999

Most students are quiet, especially girls.  The aggressive floor-taking format, the father-figure pacing the front of the room, hands deep in pockets, talking passed his tie, and the frantic desire not to sound too stupid or too smart forces them into their sweaters and note scribbling.

The popular girls sit in the back with the popular boys and whisper.

For awhile, I thought they were gossiping and giggling about me. I’d continuously check my fly, wipe the corners of my mouth, and fiddle with the change in my pockets trying to find something out of place. 

But I'm the least of their concerns.

Today, Joan began laughing, breaking the rule of silence for the little-liked.  She laughed from deep in her body, and I thought she was laughing at me. That maybe she was making a bid to popularity, but none of the popular people shared her hilarity. 

When I inquired to the cause of her mirth, she just ducked her eyes and mumbled, but the edges of her mouth turned up and chuckles escaped her pressed lips.