She Probably Needed to Be Sedated

The story begins when there was a science project assignment during my middle school years. For the aforementioned assignment, one was to construct a poster with the topic being one of the elements from the periodic table. Our goal was to then present the element akin to how a salesmen presents a product. I recall my teacher stated "Sell the sizzle, not the steak." Years later, I still have no idea what he meant by that. I ended up showing up to presentation day with no poster to show for. When I got called up to present, I thought fast and grabbed a random poster from the pile of submissions. As a preface, I was student body president at my middle school, so I was well versed at lying in front of peers and staff members. Sold so much sizzle on that poster that I got full marks for the project. Until the end of the day rolled around and another kid happened to present the same poster. Then came an issue of priority controversy, with me at first coming out on top. I ended up fessing up so I landed in detention.
So in my state of scholastic confinement, I was tasked with the menial activity of writing an essay outlining the faults that led me to this point. A riveting exercise I assure you. At the conclusion of detention, one was to then share what one wrote with the fellow adolescent troublemakers. It was incredibly exciting, I assure you. About as exciting as the prospect of headbutting a desk repeatedly until unconsciousness gratefully took me away. Which is almost what transpired amidst listening to my delinquent peers stumbling through their essays much akin to a car with no wheels traveling a dirt road. That is until a most exotic juvenile troublemaker took center classroom.
She rocked neon green hair, a scowl, and an acoustic guitar. Most of all, her aura was overpoweringly full of swagger. I was not the only one to take notice. All eyes were glued to Punk Girl (PG) as she stared down at the floor and tuned her guitar. Then she coughed slightly, took a deep breath as she strummed a note, and then belted out profanity riddled rant against public education. All the while her fingers concocted an equally powerful sound that blended into a perfect storm of anger and aggression. Her performance was punctuated by her exiting stage left and leaving the stunned audience' mouths' agape as she strode out while firing a double barreled middle finger salute.

Anyone with a brain stem could tell that girl was trouble. So of course, I sought her out immediately as detention commenced. Like a moth traveling to flame. This moth found his flame at the bus stop smoking a joint and playing Joan Jett's "Bad Reputation." Her attention turned to me as I walked up to her.
With my presence known, I said "Hey, I like your style." She brushed off a bang as she responded,
"I like the way you represent the student body." Touche. Thus our companionship began.
Our time together was a short one. And it ended predictably in a rather violent fashion. It was at one of PG's planned performances at small cafe. I was watching in the audience when my vision was abruptly blocked by another viewer. I asked him politely to move. He refused and dropped some rather inflammatory comments. I took matters into my own hand, socked him hard in the face, dragged him out of the venue, and walked back to my viewing spot. All eyes were on me as I returned. PG looked at me angrier than usual (which is saying something) and then threw her electric guitar at me as she screamed, "That was my brother!"
Needless to say, I did not see much of her again. The bruise from the instrument turned projectile healed but her mark was already made. So the moral of today's story is do all of the work on your homework assignments.