She sat in the back of the classroom methodically eating nickles. One by one she slowly pulled them out of her plush Hello Kitty pencil case and dropped them into her mouth. Her tartan Catholic school "jumper" rode up to her knees slightly above her navy socks.
2. Glass: is it half full or half empty? And if it's half full, what is it half full of? If it's half empty, was it good? Do you need me to top it off for you?
He thought that if he could grab her and shake her during lunch or at recess she would rattle like a cardboard tube of pick up sticks. A strong migrane started to set in; one of many signs that he himself had been shaken to excess as a baby.
3. Are you registered to vote?
Her large brown saucer eyes had changed since the fifth grade. There was a profound transition over the summer. They were now a deep shade of blue. Not the blue of sky nor tar heel blue. The blue of a box of Parliment Lights, or the lable on a Pabst Blue Ribbon. Her new diet had shown in her eyes.
4. If you could be George Bush for an hour, what fun hijinks would you get George into?
They would face off for the position of Treasurer in the 6th grade student council. Her brand new brilliant eyes and a tummy full of nickles versus his quiet lisp and nicotene stained Catholic polo shirt.
5. Is there anything more annoying than politicians running for office? If so, tell me.
When she stood to speak in front of her classmates, her teachers, her constituents, a stream of nickles fell to the ground from her skirt, out of her sleeves, down the front of her blouse. Her eyes blazed yellow. Her fingers bled. She disappeared in front of their eyes.