I have a secret. I know things. Lots of things. Like I know that my math teacher, Mr. Bugg, is going to pick his nose and wipe a boogie on the back of his smiley face tie when he turns around to write on the board. And I know that Lacey, who sits next to me, is hoping that Jon, who sits behind me, asks her to our eighth-grade school dance.
(Happy Birthday, Buffy!)