Read If You Want. I Don't Effing Care.

Chapter 2

OH. MY. GOD. Somebody Kill Her, Please! Isn't That What You Do With Witches?

Ah-hem.

GraceAnne here. Perfectly civilized, nice GraceAnne. But, believe it or not, about thirty minutes ago I was almost cussing out my choir director.

Oh, what the hell, I'm still super pissed.

WARNING: YOU HATE RANTS, I SUGGEST YOU TURN AWAY NOW.

Anywho, Mrs. Gentry is not a good choir director. Or director of a musical, for that matter. Here's a list of reasons I hate her right now.

1) She is completely unorganized.
I am organized. All right, my room looks like a tornado hit it, but I can find everything in it. If any of y'all know me, you'll know that I plan ahead. No joke, I know the entire story line for most of my stories. In fact, for 105 HG, I know who's going to die, how, and when. And I've narrowed it down to two or three people who might win. For my StarKid story, I know exactly what's going to happen with Joey and Kat and Sabrina and Darren and Italian cursing. For my blind girl Harry Potter one, I know what's going to happen with Evelyn, Genevieve, Fred, and George. For my Zuko one, I know what'll happen with Kyura and Zuko. Exactly how it will all play out. Mrs. Gentry does not. For example, yesterday we were doing Act Two of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. I'm an Egyptian the entire time. We had these retarded pom poms we were using, and Mrs. Gentry was convinced they look jut absolutely incredible. Today, we were doing Act One, and during the opening number, oops! Egyptian pom poms are out the window, and in come Hebrew pom poms. Lord knows what she'll change by the time the show's over.

2) She yells. A LOT.
Have you ever been super mad at someone and yelled for five minutes straight for absolutely no reason? That's Mrs. G, 24/7. Why she yells at us? We don't know what we're doing. Why we don't know what we're doing? She changes it every rehearsal, and then doesn't explain it. AT ALL. So, we're all frustrated and sucky because we have no idea what to do.

3) She's... odd.
All right, this is a church play. A bunch of little old, Godly ladies are gonna come see us. Mrs. G always says, "There's a way to have fun, but it has to be wholesome and Godly!" Um... I'm pretty sure, having grown up in the Christian church, that Godly women don't go around rubbing their boobs in men's faces... Yet, somehow, that's what we're doing. She compares it to the naked statues the Romans and Greeks did. All in the sake of art! Last time I checked, art didn't mean practically sitting in dude's laps and seducing them. That's stupid. Christianity's main thing is abstinence. Yeah, Mrs. G, great portrayal of sèx until marriage, that is! I don't care if we're fùcking Egyptian whôres! Really? Middle school girls practically giving high school guys lap dances? Sometimes I want to whip my belt off, wrap it around her fat old neck and yank it until her entire big head rolls off....

4) Last rehearsal is tomorrow, people....
Well. The show starts Friday. It goes through Sunday. One more rehearsal. People are paying fifteen dollars for this, or something crazy like that. Right about now, this show isn't worth the gum on the bottom of my shoe.

5) She just pisses me off.
All right. This is how insane she is. She gave me a mini skirt too wear for the Go Go scene, right? I wear it today for the scene, and after we dance, she takes me aside. "GraceAnne... Isn't that a bit short and tight?" she whispers. "You gave me this to wear," I say, trying to conceal my impatience. She huffs and replies, "Please! I wouldn't have done that! We don't want skirts flying up and all the boys looking!" Please look back to item number three. Yes, all that and she's concerned about guys seeing what's under my mini skirt. (It happens to be silver leggings, by the way, not a thóng or anything.)

All this goes to say... If anyone wants to come to Greenville, bring a pitchfork and torches. I'll meet you there to mob Mrs. G. Agreed? Good.

Yeah, I'm pissed.

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