part 7 {rach}

“Umm, I’d have to talk with my parents,” Eliana said. Was this lady off her rocker? A pig… as a pet?
“I’ll give you my number,” Mrs. Kirk said, pulling a piece of paper and a pen out of her purse. “Think it over, talk to your parents and get back to me, alright?”
Eliana smiled, looking a bit confused, and nodded, accepting the paper that Mrs. Kirk proffered. “Have a nice day,” she said as the petit lady walked out the door.

Eliana’s cell phone rang at quarter of five.
“Keep the noise down, Ellie,” her manager Gary called from his office. “I’m trying to concentrate on these fitness reports.”
“Sorry, sir,” Eliana replied, pulling the phone out of her purse. “Hello?” she whispered into the receiver.
“Hey, it’s me,” Hayden said.
“Hi, what’s up?”
“Can you come over and have dinner with us tonight?” Hayden replied.
“I’m sure that’s fine,” Eliana said. “Any special reason?”
“Mom picked up some tongue at the store yesterday – yes, I said tongue. But everyone here refuses to eat it. So she wants you to come over and try it out. You’re the only one who can eat stuff like that without gagging.”
“Umm, sounds fine,” Eliana said.
Hayden laughed. “I’m grilling hotdogs too,” he said, “so you won’t starve if the tongue tastes like leather.”
“Alright, I’ll come over after work,” she said, smiling. “Later!”

Eliana left work at 5:03pm. The ride home was short, and she stopped in a home before going over to Hayden’s house.
“Mom, can I have dinner with the Zanglers?” Eliana called from the kitchen. She dropped the backpack on a chair and ran upstairs to change.
“Sounds fine with me,” Mrs. Vostras called back from her office. “We were just going to have leftover honeyed liver.”
Eliana changed quickly, started the coffee maker for her dad and then headed across the street to the Zangler’s house. Addison answered the door for her.
“Hold your breath,” he said, eyes wide, as she stepped inside. “The tongue smells like a rotten fish stick that got doused in Worcestershire sauce and left to decompose in a dump.”
Eliana laughed. “It can’t be that bad, Addison. Probably just a little bit-” She stopped mid-sentence as a smell wafted past her nose.
Addison giggled at the face she made. “You look like a-”
“Don’t say it,” Eliana gagged, plugging up her nose. “I have no idea where you get these wacky descriptions, but they’re a bit too graphic for me.”
“I think ‘em up while I’m falling asleep,” Addison replied.
“Good for you,” Eliana muttered, peeking into the kitchen. Mrs. Zangler was standing in front of the over, wearing big purple oven mitts and a bright yellow apron. A large platter of something rested on the stove, wisps of steam curling up into the air. It looks like pork tenderloin, Eliana thought, minus the pleasant aroma. How on earth can something smell so horrible?

**This section is dedicated to the one and only Andy-the-hula-hooper...he was the inspiration for this section, and is a veritable expert on potbellied pigs. (except for the fact that he knows, like, nothing about them) aaaaaanyways, kudos to Andy for the exceptional advice and inspiration, I'll have your million dollars for you next December. :D

as always, 5 comments are required in order for the next section to be publisized.

to quote the famous and all-wonderful Spot Conlon, "I say that what you say... is what I say." soooo profound. don't you just love it?????? (go brooklyn :D)

Part 6 {lib}

The class scurried out in a confusion of slamming books, shuffling feet, and dropped pencils.
Eliana and Hayden had history class immediately after homeroom, and they walked together to Mrs. Cornwallis’s class.
“I hope she hasn’t decided to start the sculpting classes today,” Hayden said swinging his textbook.
“Hopefully we’ll learn something normal,” Eliana replied. “But then again,” she said, considering, “Mrs. Cornwallis’s class can hardly be classified as “normal.””
“Agreed,” Hayden laughed, as they entered History class. Mrs. Cornwallis was writing dates up on the blackboard as the students took their seats.
“Good morning, class,” she said, smiling. Her eyes took them in over the rims of her sparkly red glasses. “I’m sure you’re all just as excited as I am to be learning about Teddy Roosevelt and the many fascinating things he did throughout his lengthy and significant career.”
She almost sounds like the textbook, Eliana thought absently.
“However,” Mrs. Cornwallis was saying, “We have focused more on Roosevelt’s early presidency for the past three weeks. Starting today, we will be studying the area of prehistoric reptilian animals and how they affected Roosevelt’s presidency and decisions.”
Hayden raised his eyebrows, but the class was only mildly surprised. Mrs. Cornwallis was well known for her eccentric views on education.
“To begin, let’s brainstorm a little. Who can give me some ideas of how prehistoric reptilian animals affected Roosevelt?” Mrs. Cornwallis asked brightly.
Her students exchanged uncertain glances with each other. The room was dead quiet.
“Brandon, how about you? What might be some affects of prehistoric animals on the President?”
Brandon shook his shaggy hair back out of his eyes. “Uh…none?” The class burst into laughter. Mrs. Cornwallis was not amused.
“Hayden?”
“Well,” Hayden began. He fumbled for an answer. “They were very…ah…strong! And aggressive! And so Roosevelt was inspired by their example and … uh… used their tactics in defeating his enemies?”
“Not bad,” Mrs. Cornwallis said. “Anyone else?” No one raised their hand. “Very well. Open your books to page 376 and read along with me. The first reptile we will learn about is the apatosaurus…”

School was over at 2:00, and Eliana was unlocking her car door at 2:05, after dropping off an extra credit project for Mr. Beckman and leaving a note for Mrs. Cornwallis about the sculpting class. She arrived at work as usual, at 2:25. She had worked at Walk-It-Off Gyms for the past year as a receptionist. Her manager, Gary, was marking something on a clipboard when she walked in.
“Eliana, on time as usual, good to see you. Don’t forget to mark your hours on your time sheet. Tom! Can we move those dumbbells to Room 3? Sammy, how about a cup of coffee? A cinnamon prune cappuccino would be great right about now.” He hurried off to assist a customer and Eliana shoved her backpack under the desk. Her job as a receptionist, while unglamorous, provided ample time for her to complete her homework.
She had just settled down to reading her history chapter when a tiny, skinny old woman stalked into the lobby. Silver hoop earrings swung back and forth beneath her white hair, which was in braid straight down her back. She carried a bright red, leather handbag and wore smart black sweat-suit.
“Maybe you can help me, young lady,” the woman said, pushing wisps of snowy hair behind her ears.
Eliana looked up, smiling pleasantly. “What can I do for you?” she asked.
“My name is Mrs. Xymena Kirk and I’ve been coming here for three years, attending programs and stuff. Well, when I started I was 120 pounds. Then I lost a ton and was only 80 pounds. Well, that was last year! I’ve been coming faithfully since then and I haven’t lost an ounce!” Mrs. Kirk finished.
“Well, Mrs. Kirk, you could speak to a councilor about your present condition, or I could give you some pamphlets. But personally, Mrs. Kirk, I think you look fabulous,” Eliana dared to say. Mrs. Kirk smiled shrewdly.
“You’re a clever girl, you know that? Sweet of you to say so.”
“No, Mrs. Kirk, I’m absolutely serious. You are terribly fit! I have your record here on the computer, tracking all your progress and you’ve never missed a session and are typically ahead of you class. I wouldn’t be worried about your weight.” If she loses anymore, she’ll practically disappear, Eliana couldn’t help thinking.
“Well, that’s nice of you.” Mrs. Kirk appeared to be lost in thought. Suddenly, she perked up. “Say, do you like pigs?”
“Excuse me?” Eliana asked, astonished.
“Pigs! Do you like them?”
“Well—sure, I guess so,” Eliana answered, uncertainly.
“Because my friend is looking for someone to take her pig, Ursula. She can’t take care of her anymore and she’s looking for a responsible person to give Ursula to,” Xymena Kirk explained.

As the brilliant and esteemed Lemony Snicket so poignantly puts it, "Miracles are like meatballs, because nobody can exactly agree on what they are made of, where they come from, or how often they should appear."

There must be five comments on this section before Rach will post the next one, and they must be longer than four and a half words. They must say something beyond "LOL." or "Funny." If you need help, look at Caleb's very acceptable comment on the previous section.

[My aversion to purple forces me to change the background yet again. I hope this will not cause any discord.]
Goodbye.

part 5 {rach}

“We’ll see,” Mr. Vostras said. “Eliana, tell your teacher that I would be most delighted to join your class. But I would like more information, so you may have her call. Not during my yoga classes, though, make sure you tell her that.”
“Sure, Daddy,” Eliana said.
“Good. Now run along.” Mr. Vostras turned back to his artwork and began to clean some paintbrushes.
The three children climbed back down the stairs and Eliana said goodbye to her friends at the door. “See you tomorrow!” she called as they headed across the street to their own home.

Eliana awoke early on Friday morning. I wonder why they always say “bright and early”, she wondered. Whenever you get up early, it’s not even bright outside. She rummaged through her drawers and donned a short-sleeved shirt and her gym shorts. Her backpack, which she had packed the night before, was sitting by the front door waiting for her. Eliana slipped downstairs quietly – Mr. and Mrs. Vostras were still asleep – and grabbed a protein bar from the pantry. Tossing her backpack over her shoulder and grabbing the car keys, she headed out the door.
Eliana was always early to her classes. She would arrive at the same time as her homeroom teacher, Mr. Beckman, and set everything up at her desk. Two pencils, one black pen, one red pen, a ruler, and eraser and a stapler. Then Eliana would pull a small clipboard out of her backpack and write out that day’s to-do list while she waited for her classmates. That was how she did thing every morning.
Just as the bell was ringing, seventeen other teenagers poured into Eliana’s homeroom. Each one took a seat at a desk, hurrying to get everything ready while chatting amongst themselves. Hayden took his seat at the other side of the room, smiling at Eliana. She crossed her eyes, making him laugh.
“Quiet everyone!” Mr. Beckman barked. The class came to order immediately. Everyone knew that when Mr. Beckman spoke, he meant business.
“Emma, take that candy bar off your desk. Donald, loose the sunglasses. Is everyone ready to begin?”
The entire 11th grade class at Gregson High School leaned forward, pencils at the ready. Mr. Beckman inhaled deeply, then began rattling off the day’s assignments. Pencils scribbled frantically. One kid in the front row nearly had a heart attack because the lead on his pencil broke and he didn’t have a spare one ready.
When he finished speaking, Mr. Beckman took a long breath, his arms crossed. “Who would like to recite back to me the happenings of third period?” he asked.
Almost everyone raised their hands. “Brandon?” Mr. Beckman said, calling on a lanky boy with long brown hair that practically covered his entire face. Brandon was one of the few students who had not raised his hand. Everyone at Gregson High School knew that if you raised your hand, Mr. Beckman would NOT call on you. Brandon, being fairly new, had not yet discovered this, and simply thought that Mr. Beckman needed to get his eyesight checked.
“I think we’re supposed to pick up some type of folder at the office,” Brandon mumbled.
“Only partially correct, young man,” Mr. Beckman said, “but you must be specific! You are to pick up a folder containing your science report assignments for the coming semester. And you are to pick this folder up at Mrs. Daxtroperdip’s office, not the principal’s office, do I make myself clear?”
The class nodded.“DISMISSED!” Mr. Beckman yelled at the top of his lungs, making Brandon jump.

By the way, I require AT LEAST five comments before my wonderful partner Libby will post the next section.

And, to quote the famous and brilliant Mr. Mark Twain, "Denial is not simply a river in Egypt." Very profound. I utterly agree with him.

Goodbye.

part 4 {Libby}

“It’s not nice,” Addison corrected. “It’s brilliant! Who would have thought that such a seemingly simple picture could have such a profound meaning! And not only that, but the conclusions to be drawn from such a work of art are abysmal!” he finished enthusiastically. Mr. Vostras smiled appreciatively.
“So, what are you going to do with it?” Hayden asked, still studying the painting intently.
“I plan to enter it in the “Paint-a-Story” contest at the art gallery downtown,” Mr. Vostras answered, surveying his work with satisfaction.
“Well I’m sure it’ll win something,” Hayden said, encouragingly.
“Even if it’s the “Most Original Idea” award,” Eliana teased. Mr. Vostras just laughed.
“I suppose it is a little different. But still, I think I have a chance.”
“Definitely,” Addison agreed, emphatically.
“Speaking of art,” Eliana said, “What do you think of this sculpture, Dad?” She placed the bust of Teddy Roosevelt on her father’s desk. He raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“A mustachioed Tibetan antelope?” he guessed, finally. The three teens burst into laughter.
“Teddy Roosevelt, actually,” Hayden managed, gasping. Mr. Vostras started to laugh too.
“Whose rendition?” he asked.
“My history teacher, Mrs. Cornwallis’s,” Addison explained. “She was wondering if you could come into our class and help with sculpting.”
“Wait a second. Let me see if I got this right. Your history teacher has taken up sculpting unflattering busts of our presidents and wants me to instruct her class in proper sculpting technique?”
The three looked at each other.
“That’s basically it,” Addison confirmed.
“So … what happened to teaching history in history class?” Mr. Vostras asked.
“I don’t really know. Mrs. Cornwallis said we were having a combined class with the art class.”
“Interesting idea. I’ve only dabbed around in sculpture anyway, you know,” Mr. Vostras answered, rummaging under his desk. “Ah! Here it is.” He placed a plaster bust next to Teddy Roosevelt. “Of course, I made this awhile ago,” he said, dusting the bust off. It was a fat, buck-toothed gopher holding an apple in it’s paws.
“At least it looks like what it’s supposed to be,” Hayden remarked.
“Maybe you could teach us to sculpt gophers!” Addison suggested. Mr. Vostras contemplated that idea.
“I don’t know how that would tie in with the history aspect though.”
“Oh, yeah. I’m sure there’s something in history that has to do with gophers!” Addison insisted.

We wanna hear from you, people! What do you like? What do you hate? What brings you the same amount of joy that a bag of gummy worms would bring? Leave us a comment...or we'll go on strike.

I leave you with a wise saying of J.R.R. Tolkien: "Never laugh at live dragons."

Part 3 {rach}

The three children trooped through the kitchen up the stairs to Mr. Vostras’s office. Eliana knocked lightly on the door.
A voice called from within the office. “I told you, Alexandra, I don’t want any more honeyed liver! I’m in the middle of an abstract art crisis!”
Eliana poked her head through the door. “It’s me, Daddy,” she said.
“Oh, hello dear,” Mr. Vostras said. “Come on in, I could use your help.”
Eliana opened the door wider and stepped into the office. Hayden and Addison walked in behind her.
“Oh, you brought the boys too,” Mr. Vostras said. “How nice. They can help me out. Come here, boys, and give me a hand with this poster. It’s a bit to big for me to move by myself without smearing the purple lighthouse.” Mr. Vostras turned towards the children his extra-large easel, which held on it a piece of poster board that was nearly ten feet across.
“Wow,” Hayden murmured.
The painting was of a few different things, actually. In the foreground, there was a small girl sitting in a stroller. She had a little guinea pig sitting in her lap, and she was eating some type of seafood with a blissful expression on her face. A little bit behind her and to the right, there stood a giant bear. He was standing on his hind legs with a vicious snarl, looking straight at the little girl. Above him was a very eerie-looking sunset surrounded by angry clouds, and all the way in the top left-hand corner was, as Mr. Vostras had said, a purple lighthouse. It was rather bulky and extremely large, with lime green stripes down the sides. At the very top of the lighthouse, a man stood on a balcony, flying a kite.
“Seems a bit sinister, Daddy,” Eliana remarked.
“Not when you know the story behind it,” Mr. Vostras said. “You see, this little girl is really the grand-niece of Thorgunna, who, as we all know, is the wife of Leif Ericson. She’s eating a customary dinner for her culture while playing with her pet in the park. That bear symbolizes addiction. The little girl is so addicted to her Terkon Derf – that’s the stuff she’s eating – that she’s about to be gobbled up by her own addiction. But do you see the man on the lighthouse? That’s Benjamin Franklin. He’s going to hand the bear that kite, and the bear will momentarily forget his prey and play with the kite. We all know that addiction and kites go hand in hand. Anyways, then the bear will get shocked when an electric current from the lightning travels down the kite string. So, as you can plainly see, the portrait is not sinister at all. It is a depiction of the greatness of our founding fathers, and how easily they could conquer things such grizzly bears and addiction.” Mr. Vostras ended his emphatic speech with a wide grin, and Eliana almost thought he might give a bow. “Very nice, Daddy,” she said with a genuine smile.

More to come..........

to quote the esteemed Dr. Krunklehorn, "Barium Cobolt Einstein Kool-Aide!!!!!!" :D