Inanimate
Episode 1.
In which the doorbell has a seizure
“Ding-dong. Ding ding dong. Ding ding ding ding ding ding dong dong ding-dong!”
I
tossed about uncomfortably in my sleep, trying to shut out the incessant
ringing.
“Arianne,
please make him shut up!” cried Caleb.
“Mmf,”
I said into my pillow, which tried to squirm out of the way, mumbling something
about how inconsiderate I was being, blowing my nasty overnight breath right
into her face. “Listen,” I began,
lifting my head up to address Caleb without bothering to open my eyes. “I don’t feel like getting out of bed right
now. It’s Saturday morning for Pete’s
sake! Why don’t you ask Superball if
he’ll go and talk to that neurotic thing.”
“Ask
Superball this, ask Superball that!” snarled Superball. “Just because I’m not immobile like some unmentionable couch potatoes around here ….”
Caleb retorted, “I resent that! Did you hear that, Arianne? Did you hear that? Make him shut up, too, while you’re at it!”
I
couldn’t get any more rest, so I sat straight up in my bed, rubbing my eyes.
“You
guys are just lame,” I said, flopping onto the floor.
“Uch!
ouch! owie!” yelped the carpet fiber clones in unison. “Be gentle!
We’re very sensitive carpet fibers, you know!”
I shot them a nasty glare. “You guys wanna be vacuumed today or something?” The threat sufficed, I noticed to my satisfaction. Down I strolled to the source of the sound.
Chirpy
wore the same crazed expression as usual, his big open mouth of a doorbell
button popping in and out ad infinitum.
“Chirpy,
it’s freaking six A.M. Could you try
cutting it out for once?”
“Ding
ding ding dong!” he chimed. “Ding dong
ding dong dong.”
“I’m
only giving you one more chance!”
“Ding
dong ding dong!”
Annoyed,
I pulled out a roll of duct tape and sealed the button in, causing a constant
hum that was nevertheless preferable to uncontrollable ding-dongs that were
driving everyone in the house nuts. I
stumbled up the stairs, grumbling to myself.
“Oh,
thank goodness, Arianne,” said Caleb as I pushed him open to return to my room.
“I’ll
buy you earplugs next time I go to Wal-Mart,” I muttered, drifting back to
sleep atop my pillow, which was now admonishing me about letting my hairs
carelessly dribble into her mouth.
Lazily, I flipped her upside-down and resumed the bit of beauty sleep
that remained.
“Renée,”
I said, pushing down on the obstinate laptop, “if you don’t go in, I’m going to
have to leave you at home while I go to school.”
“And
you think that bothers me?”
“AND
I’ll turn off your firewall.”
“You
wouldn’t dare!” she said nervously.
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Repeating
it don’t make it any more true,” I sang, giving another push. “Have you been eating a lot of croquettes
lately or something?”
“No~,”
said Renée defensively, “just a few too many scrumptuous pâtisseries.”
“As
a laptop, you should be watching your weight.
I think you’re approaching a milk jug in mass.”
“Mon
Dieu! You’re kidding, right?”
“Indeed
not,” I said morosely, zipping up the backpack, only now noticing that I had
not unplugged my headphones from Renée’s port.
“Ohforthesakeofallthat’sholyunplugitfirst!!”
she shouted as the zipper caught on the cord, which, as we all know, functions
as a nerve when not properly disconnected.
I
apologized immediately, unzipping the bag and removing the headphones.
“C’mon,
let’s go to school.” I only received a
muffled grunt as a reply.
The
bus ride there was boring until Jeena hopped on.
“Hey,
‘sup Arianne?” she greeted.
“
‘Sup,” I answered unenthusiastically.
“Chirpy
again?” she guessed.
I
nodded. “Yeah, that about sums it
up. I’m thinking it might be a
mechanical problem.”
“Or
a mental one,” Jeena offered.
“Oh,
please!” I protested. “Anyway, it
should all be fixed now, or at least I hope so. I have enough to worry about as it is, honestly.”
“Yeah,
like the math test we have fifth period.”
“Hm? What math test?” I asked mindlessly.
“Um,
Arianne,” said Jeena, her eyes betraying a profound emotion that seemed to
bridge pity with a plump helping of ‘wow, you’re a dumbass.’
“Wait,
MATH TEST?!” I positively screamed, causing the person behind me in the bus to
boot the seat abruptly, nearly creating a dent in my spine.
“Erm,
not that I studied, either,” said Jeena.
I
glared at her, saying, “Not helping.”
“It’s
after lunch. You have plenty of time to
cram.”
“I
guess so.”
So
it came to be fourth period, just before lunch. It was Civics class, but I had a lot of trigonometry to worry
about at the moment. Putting up a
shield of random Civics papers, I cracked open my Trig book to page one
hundred-twenty to review the law of cosines: c-squared equals a-squared plus
b-squared minus two a-b cosine C. That
seemed simple enough, as long as I kept all the signs straight. But what if I didn’t apply it correctly?
I
flipped the page to see if there were tips on when to use the equation when all
of a sudden, I felt a gust of wind tickle my right ear.
“Eh?”
I said, mildly startled.
“Oh,
it’s just me,” reported a crumpled-up piece of notebook paper lying on the
ground in the aisle next to me.
“Are
you okay?” I asked.
“Arianne!”
called a distant voice.
“Hold
on, I need to figure out what happened.”
Turning a bit more in my seat, I could now see that the paper had clearly
been thrown. “Okay, I think you look
like you’re in fine shape. Just let me
go and get you off the filthy ground.”
I
got out of my seat and retrieved the piece of paper.
“Arianne!”
Unfolding
it, I realized that it was completely blank.
My investigation was yielding important findings: the owner had thrown
it without the intent of sending a message, and also without the impulse of
frustration at having written something incorrectly.
“There,
there, you’ll be fine,” I said, attempting to smooth out its wrinkles.
“Argh! No!
I’m not fine at all! Look at
me! I look like I’m an old hag now!”
cried the leaf of paper.
“It’s
nothing that a bit of wrinkle cream couldn’t solve,” I said soothingly,
continuing to smooth out the wrinkles.
“ARIANNE!” The shout had grown unbearably shrill.
“Yes?”
I asked, looking up from my desk. The
teacher seemed to be angry.
“Stop
being a petulant adolescent. Throw out
that piece of paper immediately and stop talking to yourself.”
“Oh
no, that’s fine. I don’t mind taking
care of it. And I’m not talking to
myself, ma’am, just to the paper.”
“If
you don’t quit being fresh, I’ll give you detention!” she threatened
“Um,
I wouldn’t like that,” I said.
“Then
good, get your eyes front, put away whatever book you’ve unwisely chosen to
open in my classroom, and start learning some economics for a change.”
“