Casey Barnes Eponymous - By E.A. Rigg Page 0,22

know.” Catherine’s voice rose like one of those television preachers with microphones affixed to their heads. “But if we reference other primary sources from the time period then it would really make an impact on Mrs. Edwards. She’s a notoriously tough grader, you know.”

Sukh frowned. “I see.”

Casey wondered if putting cold medicine in Catherine’s water bottle would serve to tranquilize her. “Do you know of any clear cough syrups?” she asked Sukh.

“Didn’t Mrs. Edwards say it would be okay to present this project in dialogue format?” he asked, “Wouldn’t that be a little less work?”

“Everyone will be doing dialogues,” Catherine said, “We have to be different. I want a hundred on this and I heard that she only gives out one hundred per class.”

Casey rolled her eyes. “And I heard that knowledge of the plot of Beowulf has zero relevance to achievement in life.”

Catherine glared and began to detail which parts of the story everyone should take. A moment later, when she said they should use different fonts for each group member and began to analyze which font would be the most appropriate for each person, Casey closed her eyes and put her head in her hands.

“Casey! You need to hear this.”

Casey shook her head and looked up. She cleared her throat. “I have a better idea for this project.”

“Oh do you?” Catherine said.

“Yes,” Casey replied, “Beowulf…as Elvis.” Sukh sat up straighter in his chair.

“Excuse me?” Catherine snapped.

“Sikh’s Elvis--”

“Sukh, Casey, Sukh.”

“Right,” Casey continued, “I’m Priscilla, and you get to be the Colonel. You battle with Elvis over creative license to the death. He, of course, wins. But in the long run, when he’s like five hundred pounds and eating his last fried Mars bar in seclusion before disappearing from the face of the earth, even if there are some very in the know people who believe he’s in Rachel--”

“Rachel?” Sukh asked.

“Nevada,” Casey said, “Area 51, where they keep the aliens. Point being, Colonel wins, in the end.”

“What does any of this have to do with Beowulf?” Catherine asked.

“Who the hell knows?” Casey said, “I didn’t understand a word of that piece of sh--” Mrs. Edwards walked to the project group next to them. Casey made quotation marks with her hand. “Literature. But everyone understands Elvis.”

Catherine just stared for a moment. “I…I…NO. No no no.”

Sukh smiled. “I don’t think the Elvis idea is so bad.” Catherine and Casey looked at him. “You can draw parallel between the Colonel and Grendel,” he continued, “Priscilla Presley can be mother of Grendel.”

“Exactly!” Casey said.

“But,” Catherine sputtered.

“The report you propose,” Sukh continued, “is the same report everyone will do. It’s the same report we hear since the beginning of our academic career. Why not do something different? We can even add live music.”

Casey sat up in her chair.

“I play the bass, you know,” Sukh added.

“I didn’t know,” she said. Sukh nodded enthusiastically. Casey beamed. “We can totally add live music!”

“A, how do you say?” he said, “A rock opera! That’s it!”

“Awesome!”

Catherine’s eyes widened in horror. The bell rang to end class. “Hasta mañana,” Casey said, “Don’t forget to wear your blue suede shoes.” Sukh smiled. Catherine ran to Mrs. Edwards’ desk.

By the time she arrived at the talent show meeting, Casey was two hundred percent convinced that high school was no more than an obstacle course set up to separate those in life who would one day pretend to enjoy pushing paper and corralling screaming children from those who were incapable of faking such matters. The latter’s bad experiences in high school would then instigate a disregard for social mores that would enable them to endure smirks at family reunions when they showed off their yin and yang tattoos as well as cause them to start their own internet destinations and comic book companies.

She slumped in and collapsed behind Leigh. “Come on guys! Shut up! We have to get stuff done!” the girl in front shrilled.

“She should try a cattle prod,” Casey said.

Leigh looked at her earnestly. “How are you holding up?”

“What, you didn’t hear the ambulance at lunchtime? They managed to pump my stomach free of all the Dexatrim and painkillers that I read would make me more appealing to a guy like you-know-who. But unfortunately they can’t do much about the ‘AD’ tattoo on my torso. It’s fine, though. I mean all I have to do is keep dating bucks with initials AD for the rest of my life and I’m all good.”

Leigh sighed. “Try chocolate.” A guy in the back of the