/b>
With a little bit of confused wandering, I found my American government class. Our teacher, Ms. Schroeder, held up a videotape after the bell rang.
"This movie is about the Twenty Fifth Amendment," she told everyone. "Watch it."
She cut the lights and popped the tape into her VCR. The movie was
Dave.
The bell for lunch beeped just as presidential imitator Dave danced with a giant pair of robotic arms and sang "Louie, Louie." I went to put my new stack of books in my locker.
As unreal as everything else had been, the locker was positively ethereal. It glinted in the sun, vivid neon Mirador green, number 6340. I approached it cautiously, hardly daring to think. By the laws of fate and time, I wasn't supposed to have a locker at a Southern California high school. I was supposed to hang my wet tan overcoat by the umbrella stand in a gray stone tower on Wall Street. I kn ...
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