23:08 - October 29, 2002
what's in that book?
There is a blizzard.
I looked out my window earlier today and saw, faintly through the swirling snow, a red shape and a blue shape and a green shape, moving around in the confusion erratically, going in jerky circles around the blurry brown object that was once a picnic bench but the wind blew its legs off. These people are crazy. Coming back from lunch, me hunched over wrapped in my coat and hiking up my pants so they don't drag, the red shape calls my name. How can he see through this whirling white? He comes closer; it's Matt, wielding a shovel. 'What are you doing?' I ask him.
'Playing,' he grins with that impossibly wide quick grin, and goes on to explain something about sliding the bench down the hill that I can't hear properly because the wind is going so loudly. These people are crazy.

For my part, I'm staying inside. My heater is full-blast, and no matter how many times Ashley tells me it's 200 degrees or Nick makes a big show of discarding his hoodie and leaving it in his own room, it's staying that way.

Creepy Steve just came in to fetch some illegal substance from our freezer, and asked me if it was true that Ashley's mom had almost found my weed stash; yes, O Creepy One, it is. Thank you for the anecdote, as there is nothing interesting going on. (And he's not even that creepy anymore, but the name stuck, so shut up.)
I keep my stuff and paraphernalia in a hollow book, a music book; it looks completely natural on my shelf with all my other music texts if it's just lined up with them. However, I hadn't cleaned in awhile or organized my shelves, so the book was just sitting around on my desk, scattered with some other books, because I hadn't put it away after taking it to Andrew and Chris's the last time. When I got back from class on Friday, Ashley's parents were in the room, drinking vodka, her father slouched in her beanbag chair and her mother at my desk chair. As I walked in and was introduced, her mother looked up and said, 'Oh, hi, I hope you don't mind that I've been looking at your music texts; I wanted to see what they were about.'
My heart skipped a few beats as they all stood there smiling at me - I don't think even Ashley knows where I keep things - and I kind of slid over there gabbing, 'oh no, it's perfectly fine, wonderful, glad you're interested, jolly good, mind if I take a look at the one you're looking at there to see what you've been learning, eh?' and crouch innocently under my desk to take a look at the spine. Thankfully, it's not the offending one, but the offending one is next in the stack, so I swoop over and whisk it away, going, 'well, got to study with this one, sorry... think I'll go to the sixth floor crossover..'
Her mother is rising. 'No, you can study here, let me just get out of your chair...'
'No, no no no no,' I object, pushing her back down. 'I LIKE the sixth floor crossover. It's beautiful. Nice desks. Yes. Nice to have met you and all. Bye.' and run out.

Safe again. And then I ran into the R.A., but it's just a book under my arm, right? They're not going to stop you and go, 'What's in that book, young lady?'

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