High school musical

I am in what seems to be a high school laid out in the shape of an H, having a hard time navigating it, despite my crude understanding of its layout. Amber is there, but she's on her own schedule. We meet in the hall and exchange quick updates before shuffling off to our next classes.

I enter a classroom and take a seat. The class — subjectless, as far as I can tell — is being team taught by two women — Mrs. Hudson from West Hardin and someone else I recognized but whose identity, since waking, has evaporated. They are horrible teachers. All we do in during the class period it watch lame movies. The first is a cartoony morality play type thing, about which the entire class hoots because it's so bad.

This kid named Chris Irons is sitting beside me, uncomfortably close, but we are sitting in a circle and somehow, over the course of the movie, I don't realize that he is getting closer and staring down my shirt (the brown empire waste one), with his head practically resting on my shoulder. I notice this and reflexively smack the shit out of his face, sending a whip-crack reverberating throughout the room. People who didn't see my lightning-fast reflexes are all, "What was that?!?"

"Sorry dude, but that's not cool," I tell Chris. He seems sufficiently embarrassed.

I am getting increasing annoyed because no one is paying attention to the stupid movie and everyone's being rowdy and disrespectful to the teachers (even if they are totally incompetent). There are some girls up front that are tossing around these Chinese New Year flying top toys that hover into the class. I catch a couple and toss them to one of the teachers, and she puts them inside a big box of confiscated toys.

Mrs. Hudson dims the lights and puts on the next movie. She sits in a desk near me and turns to the kid behind her and says, "This one's a little Jewy."

I am geninely shocked and ask her to repeat herself. She does, without flinching.

I can't sit through the next movie because the class is so annoyingly rowdy. I turn to the door and see my family there, leaning in, watching the goings-on. I gather up my books, walk over to where both teachers are now sitting, ask them if we have any homework ("No, just relax, get settled in!") and walk out, relieved to get away from the immature nutjobs around me.

My family has gone to sit at a picnic-style table in a common area of the school. They must be waiting for me. I dread talking to them about the ridiculous class experience I just had; I suspect that my dad will say "that's why women don't make good teachers; they're not authoritative enough" or something to that effect.

I'm listening to my iPod and a Lucero song is on while I duck into the bathroom to collect myself. I'm looking in the mirror, studying my face, when Phil calls (or, more accurately, beams his thought transmission into my head, because I don't recall actually talking on the phone) from somewhere and says that he recorded what Ben Nichols (Lucero's lead singer) said last night and today he's putting it to music. Or something.

I wake up with "Hate and Jealousy" in my head.