For the first time in days, I feel myself smile thinking about that memory. She was reading a piece she’d written about the inhumane treatment of cows in slaughter houses, and since I was sitting at the desk right in front of her, I kept making mooing sounds under my breath, so only she could hear me. She continuously stumbled over her words, shooting me dirty looks, until she finally cracked and called me a fat cow who deserved to have his stomach slit and his guts spilled all over the floor. We spent a week in detention together, and I still don’t regret it.
