Ms. Tinker grabbed my arm as I was walking out of class. “I want to talk to you.” “It’s Vickie,” I corrected her. My name wasn’t Vickie, either, but it was what she usually called me, and I had gotten used to it. “Vendela, Vickie, Velma, Valentina—it’s all the same to me,” Ms. Tinker said. I think it’s possible that she winked when she got to my actual name, but it was hard to be sure, she was such a twitchy person to start with. “I must say that Vendela suits you better than Vickie these days,” she went on. “Forgive an old woman for getting mixed up.” Ms. Tinker really wasn’t even that old, but she was always acting like she had one foot in the grave. “I’m going to be late to my next class,” I told her. I was sick of her bullshit. I zipped my motorcycle jacket all the way to my chin and pulled away. She grabbed me again. “Hasn’t seemed to bother you much lately.” “Can I go?” I asked. “I’m worried about you,” Ms. Tinker said. “Doodles all over your work.
What do You think about The Blonde Of The Joke (2009)?
