1955-04-24 - 7:30 p.m.
Remember me Journal. It's Bobbie Sue Dicks. Today in gym class, Miss. Schneider 
thought it would be a good idea if we all practised our jazz dance 
routines. As an aspiring writer, Journal, I had always attached jazz music to images of smoky bars and doped up kids making out and snapping their fingers. But when the music came on there was Miss Schneider teetering around like a pear. I new then and there that the world of proffessional dance wasn't something I was going to grasp under her tutelage. I quickly raised my hand and announced that while trying to master my box step I had twisted my ankle and would require an immediate visit to the nurse's office. Miss Schneider looked at me skeptically until I managed to muster up a few tears and gracefully limped out the door. To keep up my cover I limped all the way outside where I was greeted by the roar of a fierce engine. There, idling in front of the school was none other than the BeeHives.
Reasons why I fear and admire the BeeHives:
Rhonda Shadburn. Rhonda Shadburn has the biggest hair in school. She was the first girl in school to get her period. She was in grade four. She hides a flip knife in her beehive and if anyone looks at her funny she pulls it out and hisses at them. Her nick name is cat scratch.
Donna Smith. Rumour has it that Donna Smith had an affair with the typing teacher. He has this huge handlebar moustache. She never came to class but managed to walk away with an A. Now that I think about it, Journal, she gets straight A's in all of her classes even Miss Schneider's gym class. She also has a beehive.
Angie LeCroy. Angie LeCroy wears the same pair of leather pants everyday. Everybody knows her family slaughters their own meat for food. Sometimes when you pass her house you can see huge pigs dangling from hooks in their yard. She drives this great sports car which she put together herself using parts she stole from cars in neighbouring towns. She has a beehive and wears white lipstick that never fades.
It hit me just then and there, Journal. If I could somehow become a Beehive then all my troubles would be over. I just had to come up with a plan to get their attention. I could be tough and would never have to suffer through another one of 
Jenny Dooner's sleepover parties. While I stood there revisioning my future, the bell rang and I walked back inside forgetting all about my limp. The sound of Angie's motor revving, filling up the air behind me. Goodnight Journal. Bobbie Sue Dicks.
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