The Boy Recession by Flynn Meaney

Author:Flynn Meaney [MEANEY, FLYNN]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Contemporary, Romance, Humour, Young Adult
ISBN: 031610213X
Publisher: Poppy
Published: 2012-08-07T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17: KELLY

“A World Without Men: Singletons, Sperm Banks, and the Soon-Approaching Man Apocalypse”

“The Boy Recession©” by Aviva Roth, The Julius Journal, December

“Kelly, do you have SAD?” Darcy asks me from across our cafeteria lunch table.

“What? Why?” I ask, looking up from the pasta that I’m pushing around with a plastic fork.

“You seem kind of… blah,” Darcy says. “And your lunch is ninety-eight percent carbs.”

SAD is seasonal affective disorder, a mild depression you can get in the winter if you don’t get enough sunlight. We read about SAD last year in one of Aviva’s Glamour articles—actually, we read about the “SAD diet,” which is supposed to help you fight the urge to eat carbs all day.

“I’m going to get that light box back,” Darcy tells me, jotting a note to herself in the presidential-seal notebook she always carries around. “I’m going to lobby with the administration.”

Last year Julius had this huge fake-sun lamp in one of the exam rooms of the nurse’s office. The school imported it from Sweden or Norway or whatever scarily northern country Björk comes from. They set it up in December and posted this sign-up sheet on the door so we could sign up for fifteen-minute slots of time with the light. That’s how pathetic life is in Whitefish Bay—you have to sign up for a fifteen-minute time slot of fake sunlight. But this year is even more pathetic—we can’t even afford fake sunlight. I guess it was part of the budget cuts.

“Okay, I’ll use you as my case study,” Darcy tells me. “Tell me about your symptoms. And how does it start? What triggers your depression?”

It’s our last week of school before winter break, which is also the darkest week of the year, so I guess technically my mood could be caused by SAD. But I’m pretty sure that events that took place this morning actually triggered my depression.

I was in PMS, and Hunter called me over to use me as an example for his drum lesson. Hunter was showing our kids how to use brushes, instead of sticks, to play the drums. Hunter had me stand in front of his students, and he played my head with the brushes. They actually felt kind of nice in my hair, but they tickled, too. So I was laughing and looking up at Hunter, and all of the kids were laughing, and even Johann was smiling as he watched, when Diva burst in through the door that connects the band room with the stage.

“Hunter,” she announced. “We have rehearsal right now.”

“What?” Hunter stopped playing on my hair and handed the brushes down to one of his kids. “I’m teaching right now.”

“Well, according to your schedule in the guidance office, you have a study hall now,” Diva said. “Mrs. Martin looked it up.”

I hated her so much. I hated her bossy voice and her too-tight pants and how you can always see the outline of her thong. The point of a thong is so people can’t see your underwear, right?

“I don’t have a study hall anymore.

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