Sign Up | Log In

Home | My Home | Discuss | Contact


 


Fast Times at Northern Miami Junior Vocational Ins | Zingiber | 3

 

As Daffy waited for her appointment with the placement counselor, Miss Pell, she fidgeted. All the magazines seemed to be glamor, or gossip, or decorating. Not a copy of Road & Track or Stock Car within a mile, she grumped. Her eyes crossed trying to read a travel mag, so she closed her eyes and thought back on a few weeks before, when her mother had twisted her arm to get her here.

"Mom," Daffy whined, "I don't WANT to go to Northern Miami Vocational. I'm not that kind of girl. That's where all the b..."

"Daffodil Scarlett McLeod, that's quite enough!," her mother said. "You're not learning anything useful or sensible at Sawgrass Community College, and you are NOT going to work at your uncle's garage."

"But it pays good," she complained.

"Not another word, or we go back and see the judge," her mother warned.

Daffy pouted. She'd finished her community service, but her probation terms required her to be working or going to school. And absolutely not to be driving a car.

And since she couldn't finagle her way out of it, here she was at Northern Miami Junior Vocational Institute.

She rolled up the magazine and mumbled sulkily, "...tie me down and paint my eyelashes and put me in ankle-breaker heels..."

"Miss McLeod," a soft voice called. Daffy looked up. "I'm Sandra Pell." She held out a hand, and Daffy reached out to shake it. Miss Pell had a warm, gentle grip. Her smooth fingernails caressed Daffy's wrist. "Charmed," she said. "Won't you come in, sugar, so we can get to know each other?"

Daffy blinked. Miss Pell was a nice looking blonde of maybe thirty wearing a clingy silk pullover and a lambswool sweater, but she talked like Daffy's grandmother inviting her in for pie.

Daffy sweated through the next forty minutes. Miss Pell, in her cane-syrupy voice, quizzed her on her aptitudes, skills, and extracurricular activities, even her wardrobe.

"Well, dear thing," Miss Pell said. "We all have to start somewhere. We'll start you out as a general pre-major."

Daffy looked at Miss Pell's suggested course list. Deportment, Elocution, and Basic Fashion? What a total drag! How was she going to survive here? She'd heard there was an acting major here. Maybe she could get on Stage Crew and at least get to do something with her hands.

Miss Pell wrote something on a slip from a pre-printed pad on her desk. She signed it, tore it off, and gave it to Daffy.

"What's this, Miss Pell?" Daffy asked.

"It's a prescription. Take it to Bakker Hall to get it filled."

"A prescription?" Daffy said. "For what?"

"For a makeover, dear one," Miss Pell said. "You have just enough time to get it done today, or you can do it first thing tomorrow." She took Daffy's hand to see her out, and gave it a little squeeze. "I'll come by a bit later, sugar, and make sure you're settling in with your new roommate," Miss Pell said.

Daffy felt a flash of inner rebellion. But she couldn't make too much of a fuss or her mom would have her back in jail. What to do? Maybe some fellow mis-fit could give her a sense of how to work this place, or at least where to find some fun.

She cleared her throat. "Thanks Miss Pell," she said, and left quickly.

 

Makeover, dorms, or look for kindred souls?

 
 
 

view story map | bookmark thread | report thread

Login or Signup