After the assembly, Eliza and I picked up little pink pamphlets with a typewriter embossed at the top.
“Boy, some of the idiots they let in this place,” I said.
“Definitely,” Eliza answered. “To think that I would cut my nails to type all day!”
Time passed in a flurry and the contest was near. I was in English class growing restless by the minute. I was trying to concentrate on Mrs. Douglas teaching Haiku poetry. You haven’t lived until you have heard her explain that to the Future Farmers of America. I tapped my pencil on the desk and thought of California palm trees and long, endless beaches.
“Mary Ann, would you like to instruct the class on today’s poetry lesson?” she asked.
“No ma’am, I’m sorry, just a lot to think about.”
“You’re excused. Please pay attention from now on. You can start…
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