[your highschool yearbook, the page where people sign it]

Every year, Taylor bought a yearbook, and every year on the last day of
school, realized how pointless and vapid an exercise it was. The yearbook
editor kids got to show off what they did proudly to everyone else, and
everyone else got to pretend they really cared. Taylor just shrugged and
drew idly on the pages of the yearbook. One more year, and before that, two
and a half months of not having to see anyone that had anything to do with
the school.

By the end of the period, there were a hundred signatures all saying the
same thing, each one the hollow shell of a friendship that might have been
that died on the vine. "Have a great summer." "Have a fantastic summer!"
"Have a good summer." as if the flood of the same sentiment from every
half-acquaintance who thought they'd come up with something unique to say
was a cosmic irony, just waiting for those participating to get the joke,
but they never did.

The other members of the Disillusioned Students Union, in their usual
understated way managed to clue each other in that they saw the irony in the
cruel excercise they were all participating in. Derek and Dylan scribbled
devil's horns and a goatee over their own photos in every yearbook they
could get their hands on, and while they signed almost everyone's with the
same "Have a great summer", they always put a sort of winking smiley face by
it that made it look like the less than sincere wish it always was.

When it was one of the members of the Disillusioned Students Union, though,
they just said "Same time next week"

"Have a great summer." This time it was signed with a flourish that Taylor
knew for a fact meant something special. Taylor stopped fiddling with the
hem of the tattered jeans and looked up and saw someone smiling shyly back.
Shaking out of the end of school stupor for a moment, Taylor tried to find a
name, then glanced down at the book where the signature was. No help, just
an illegible scrawl. Then back up. Such a familiar face, but Taylor was
pretty sure there wasn't anyone who looked like that in classes this year.
Shaved head, a baggy hoodie and black cargo pants. 

Crap, Taylor thought, and wondered if this person had been there all year.
Probably. Why are they smiling at me now?

"Megan." Taylor frowned for a moment, trying to remember. The only Megan in
school was a tiny girl with long braids and she wasn't here today. Megan leaned
in and whispered "But you can call me Tim if you want to." 

It finally clicked. "Oh!", then Taylor said "Oh. Hi!" 

One of the yearbook kids tried to shove in to sign Taylor's book, like it was a
competition to see who could put their name in the most places before the bell
rang, but Tim pushed back, timidly for a moment, then, realizing that it was
the last day of school, just stood firm and the yearbook kid backed off.

"I know. I shaved my head before school this morning. My mom is PISSED but she
didn't want to have to drive me to school for summer school so she didn't make
me stay home. It's funny. Nobody recognized me today!"

Taylor didn't know why, but grabbed the yearbook from Tim's hands and signed
it. "Let's meet up sometime." and scribbled an email address in the space.

Tim grinned and bounced off, suddenly looking a lot less shy.

The bell finally rang, and Taylor stopped even the pretense of caring about
anyone else and grabbed the ragged backpack on the floor and hurriedly stuffed
the yearbook into it.



The Disillusioned Students Union actually did meet the same time the next week.
The school was closed for summer vacation already, and summer school not ready
to start for a few weeks, the teachers just as eager to be gone as the
students, but since it was perfect June weather anyway, they just sat at the
picnic tables in the school common.

Derek and Dylan, as usual, sat next to each other, sitting on a table and
swinging their legs back and forth. They were filling out, both of them,
like up and coming high school seniors tended to do, and they had the sort
of conventional good looks most commonly seen in a football uniform or
letter jacket. Just like always, though, they managed to subvert it.

The school's green and gold colors were perfectly inverted. Dylan had found
a set of crimson and white jackets at a second hand shop from the college in
the next city over, and had dyed the white a brilliant pink. If you stared
at either of them for very long in bright light, the moment you looked away,
a ghostly image of the green and gold would haunt you for a few minutes
until your eyes caught up with you. The effect was surreal and impossible to
ignore once you noticed it.

If you made it past the hideous display of color, Dylan's finest handiwork
stood out. Where the school's usual mascot, the crest of a Trojan fighter
that every high school lacking imagination used, he had embroidered a
perfect rendition of a condom package. Taylor wondered if anyone had
understood the pun.