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As a rule I skip school on Mondays, and this one started out as no exception.
But as editor of the school newspaper, I have responsibilities beyond beauty sleep. If I missed sixth-period journalism class today, we'd miss our appointment with the printer, and May's edition would be online-only.
And since I have on double-secret deep background that the Web's not going to get going until the late 1990s, this is what we in the newspaper biz would call "blowing deadline big time."
Complicating matters further, you can't check into school past third period, and as a truant I refuse to wake up earlier than half-past fourth.
So, to make deadline I had to sneak on campus, which proved deceptively more nuanced than simply sneaking off campus in reverse.
Vice Principal Powell nabbed me with the "Do you have a hall pass?" indictment. I pulled out a blank ad contract I keep on hand for emergencies and said I was out failing to get a hobby store to buy an ad for the next edition.
Smelling fear, he escorted me to class for confirmation.
"He says he was trying to sell an ad," Mr. Powell said, with a strong whiff of sarcasm.
Without missing a beat, my newspaper adviser said, "Curt, I told you not to come back here without selling that ad!"
She covered for me. Cool. That settles it. I'm majoring in journalism at college -- especially if none of the classes meet on Mondays.
But as editor of the school newspaper, I have responsibilities beyond beauty sleep. If I missed sixth-period journalism class today, we'd miss our appointment with the printer, and May's edition would be online-only.
And since I have on double-secret deep background that the Web's not going to get going until the late 1990s, this is what we in the newspaper biz would call "blowing deadline big time."
Complicating matters further, you can't check into school past third period, and as a truant I refuse to wake up earlier than half-past fourth.
So, to make deadline I had to sneak on campus, which proved deceptively more nuanced than simply sneaking off campus in reverse.
Vice Principal Powell nabbed me with the "Do you have a hall pass?" indictment. I pulled out a blank ad contract I keep on hand for emergencies and said I was out failing to get a hobby store to buy an ad for the next edition.
Smelling fear, he escorted me to class for confirmation.
"He says he was trying to sell an ad," Mr. Powell said, with a strong whiff of sarcasm.
Without missing a beat, my newspaper adviser said, "Curt, I told you not to come back here without selling that ad!"
She covered for me. Cool. That settles it. I'm majoring in journalism at college -- especially if none of the classes meet on Mondays.
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