Non-classifiable
I sit up and stare at the tree. It's coming over? Part of me knows I better get out of there, fast, but my body refuses to move. My brain is saying, "go," but my body's just not getting it.
Sure enough, the tree starts rustling, and I think I'm going to faint now, just check out, when a long skinny leg emerges from the leaves. That leg is followed by another. Both legs are clad in striped socks. Seriously, red-and-black-striped socks.
The legs dangle for a moment and then an entire body drops to the ground. There is nothing else for me to do but scream. I close my eyes, throw back my head and howl.
Clearly, any field trip involving manure is not right for a bunch of fourteen-year-olds.
But manure wasn't even the worst part of the stupid field trip.
The worst part was that the farmer grows pigs. And pigs are also called hogs. And there's this poor guy in our class called Dan Hogg who everybody hated.
I don't know why exactly. Maybe it was his hair. Or his teeth. Or his glasses. Or the fact that he answered Mr. Benvie's questions as if he might actually have a brain. Usually he just tried to sort of disappear, but it never worked. Idiots like Shane Coolen or Tyler March wouldn't take their eyes off him. They wouldn't shut up about him. They wouldn't quit laughing at him.
