Danny-don’t call me Daniel -- no, I’ll call you Daniel, Daniel. Heck, I’ll even call your mom Daniel, Daniel, wasn’t in school this week.
For starters, I should say that it’s really not a matter of Daniel and I not getting along. It’s that I hate him. There’s this ultra-liberal bullshit creed, “there are no bad children.” Really? I’ll give you fifteen minutes alone with Daniel. You’ll come back saying, “There are no bad children. I stabbed Daniel.”
Daniel couldn’t make it in this week. He’s in lock-up. Juvie-jail. Whatever they call it. Let this be a lesson, children: don’t try to break into homes when you can barely break into a bag of chips.
Trey got busted, too. He might not be coming around much anymore. Apparently that minor crime of breaking and entering was a violation of his parole. Not probation. Parole.
Fourteen! That Trey. Such a go-getter!
I never really had a problem with Trey. He’d just sit in the back of my class and talk, but his voice was soft and didn’t carry very far so we were cool. Other kids said he was bad news. Perhaps they were referring to that parole thing.
Always the last to know...
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