• Talk Like A Pirate Day.
    Spirit Week.
    Halloween, of course.
    Any other major holiday, of course.

    These are all days which occasion wearing ridiculous costumes to school. But perhaps the most cherished of these days is one which is shared annually between only myself and my best friend; Goth Day.

    Last year's goth day had been a hit success. Sporting full black makeup, nail polish, clothes and spiked hair, the two of us traversed the hallways reciting poetry. We vowed to never break a straight face, save for ducking around a corner to lapse into giggling fits. We loved the spotlight, teachers wondering what had happened to their dependable here's-an-apple-for-you-ma'am-type star students.

    How could we make it better? A year of new ideas later we pulled it off again, this time bearing temporary tattoos and faux piercings. We had also discovered the enchanting world of tarot cards, and declared this a perfect opportunity to share some of our fresh cosmic knowledge. But why shouldn't we continue the fun even when separated for classes?

    A word about my math class. The teacher, a flaky forty-something more interested in hunting stories than trigonometry. My friends, a rowdy group of boys. Behind me sits my mortal enemy Brittney, spoiled, stylish, unsuspecting.

    We're in the midst of the usual mid-class tangent about gun laws and I feel the time is ripe to get out my candle. There are snickers as people sitting around me watch in suspense. Teacher has yet to notice anything, absorbed by his thrilling story. Out come the tarot cards, and the sound of shuffling is what finally grabs his attention.

    "WHAT ARE YOU DOING??!" He runs over, grabs the candle and runs out into the hall. Once he's blown it out he re-enters. No one knows why he went into the hall. He's not happy, and he doesn't think my act is very cute.

    "Put those cards away."
    I stare.
    "I said put the cards away." He thinks he sounds dangerous. This is the equivalent of hearing lawn gnome threaten to steal one of your socks.

    Staring still, I answer him slowly. "I'll put the cards away. If... I can have your soul."

    Brittney, somehow believing that I'm serious, stands up indignantly and storms from the room, followed shortly by two of her cohorts. The rest of the room is in stitches from laughter, and the teacher looks like he's choking on my stolen sock. Or was that from anger?

    Rather gracefully I thought, we continued class as if nothing had happened. I left that afternoon feeling smug, knowing I had made high school delinquent history by stealing my teacher's soul.

    Little did I know that my father would receive a phone call at work, I would come close to suspension, and I would be forced to make a public apology for my ridiculousness.

    Despite all this, I'm fortunate in that the school principal shares my mischievous streak. And I suspect, my disdain for a certain math teacher. The story ends happily, with my graduating on time and in good standing. And of course, my own little bit of infamy.