• Musical Theatre Class
• Television Production Class
• Putting together a cute outfit to wear to school (example-Forenza off the shoulder sweater, black and white plaid skirt with black knee socks, shiny black shoes).
The daily curriculum - science, history, computer science – was not so much my bag. English class was okay because we read some interesting books that I could watch the movie of. I didn’t understand why I was required to struggle through Geometry, my brain didn’t work that way. I just don’t have that math/science chip.
In ninth grade I was waaaaaay more interested in my first real boyfriend Anthony than focusing on my studies. Anthony had swept me off of my feet and rocked my world after our initial encounter while dancing the “Conga” at Faces Teen Night Club.
Up until I met Anthony I had never gotten anything below a C in my life. Now, getting ready to go into summer vacation, I learned from my Geometry teacher that I was going to be receiving not a C, not a D, but a failing grade – an F, and would need to attend summer school. Obviously I had spent way too much time at Faces and in Anthony’s room “studying” when I should have been working with the Geometry tutor my mom and dad had gotten for me.
When I found out that this was all going down, my brain immediately went where it always did in what I considered to be extreme situations, complete panic mode.
As I saw it I had three options:
• Run away from home.
• Come up with some crazy-elaborate story as to why my Geometry teacher was totally out to get me.
• Fake my own death and change my name and appearance and start the tenth grade as a totally new person.
At this point the third option seemed to be the most reasonable option.
|Anthony had us eating out of his hands.|
Or he ate out of our hands.
Or...whatever, here he is being fed in my pool.
I could simply do what he had been doing to his report card for the past year or so, change my F’s to B’s. But how? This was before I knew how to use a computer, which was obvious by my failing grade in that class as well. How could I do it and make it look believable? It was easy, he assured me. All I needed was a simple black ballpoint pen. He showed me examples of his own doctored work and I have to say, it looked pretty bad. But what other choice did I have? Tell the truth? I was definitely going with the grade change option.
Report cards were passed out, and I got out my Bic pen and with a shaky hand, made two little bumps on the F to turn it into a B. It was done.
I was going to summer school that year anyway, taking a musical theatre class that my parents already knew about, so I could throw the Geometry class in as well and they would never know – brilliant!
|Fresh indeed - in Anthony's sweatshirt.|
Clear as a school bell, I can remember the day my little plan came crashing down around me. I guess at the beginning of the summer my guidance counselor from school had called my house during the day when I was over at my friend Susanne’s house. We were getting ready to go to the beach and start cruising for boys, our usual summer routine. All was well until a phone call came from my mother. She sounded serious.
“Lori, I just got a call from your guidance counselor at school. She said that since you were already taking Geometry at summer school you could also take Computer Science, since you failed that as well. I told her she was wrong, that we have your report card HANGING ON THE REFRIGERATOR and that you had gotten B’s in both of those classes. Is there anything you want to tell me?”
Yes, I had lived with myself with that shit hanging on the refrigerator door and looked at it everyday, several times a day as I was in and out of the fridge. Heck, I was beginning to believe it and feel proud of myself for working so hard!
My reaction, as you could have guessed, was endless bawling and apologizing. I told my parents all I wanted to do was act and sing and not take classes on subjects that I didn’t have any interest in. They didn’t seem to have any interest in hearing that, telling me how disappointed they were in me.
Of course they were, and how could I blame them? The person I could blame was Anthony.
They asked where I came up with the idea to do this and I immediately threw his ass under the bus. “Anthony made me do it!” I cried.
Needless to say I wasn’t allowed to see much of Anthony the remainder of the summer. But I was much too busy anyway, with my homework and my tutors.