Suddenly I was reminded of another August 31, when I was either 11 or 12 (something around those pre-teen years) and was about to attend the so-called “Meet & greet your teachers” event, which always took place on the eve of September 1, The Shenanigans Day (aka the first day of school).
Not that I was eager to go: I hated pretty much all the school activities, disliked my peers with minor exceptions (it was mutual: I was regarded as a weirdo and didn’t become a complete outcast only because the most popular folks in my class used my knowledge and fear of being ostracised for their own benefit: I helped them with literature and maths, lol) and was indifferent towards the cult of extravert cheerfulness (“Be ready!”—”Always ready!” and similar bs).
But of course there was *that* boy whom I liked, who had to be there like the rest of us and who—of course!—had no clue about all the courteous stuff going on between us in my head, lol. So, in the depths of my heart I hoped to impress him, but interestingly enough, the question “how?” didn’t bother me as relevant in any case: maybe the mere fact of my presence should have somehow struck him as if something absolutely gobsmacking occurred: I wish I remembered the details of my silly Tom Sawyer-ish fantasies, though.
