EXCERPT: I Hate You, Fuller James

“Food fight!” someone shouted behind me.

You’ve got to be kidding me, I thought as I scrambled to close my Calculus book. Hands fumbling, I tucked my calculator safely into my backpack, but by the time I’d turned around to grab my notebook, it was too late. Ranch- soaked lettuce splattered across my meticulous notes on differentiation and the homework assignment I’d started a few minutes ago. I ripped out the page and balled it up. Now I’d have to copy someone else’s notes and redo the first five math problems.