But you know who was feeling no pressure that day? My best friend, Hank Martin. The goon of a kid was nearly six feet tall and his size fourteen, black Chucky T’s made his feet look like giant canoes. The ripped jeans he wore almost every day rode up above his ankles and when kids made fun of him, he’d pull his pants up even higher and say, “Flood’s coming, thank God I’ve got these life boats!” Of course, he didn’t even try in school, and he still got good grades. Tell me that doesn’t make you mad.

Our math teacher, Mrs. Apostolu, had this thing where you didn’t have to take the final if you had an A average in the class. He had a B+ average, but only because he got too many points off for showing up late. Impostolu (that’s what I called her because her class was impossible) was the strictest person on the planet. She took points off if you farted.

Really, I mean it. One day we were taking a quiz; it was really quiet in the class, and then Johnny McGreevy blasted one.

The class went wild. Of course, Johnny immediately owned up to it because that’s the type of kid he was.

He shot his hand right up and said matter-of-factly, “That was me.”

You just gotta respect that.

Page 7