| OCR Text |
Show Why We Cry Butch and Fenn Stories 157 some other guys I don't know, and he and I just nod at each other. I make up my mind to find out what is happening with Butch; I'll go down there tonight. After we register, the new students are sent to the cafeteria, the biggest room I've ever seen in a school. We sit at long tables on neat little stools that swing out on metal arms, when they pass out the four page "diagnostic test", it all seems a lot like school, but the questions are fairly silly, such as "Do you like rain?" and "Are you afraid of the dark?" and all you have to do is fill in the yes and no boxes with dark and heavy marks with the pencils they give you. Butch would like this. At the end there are three questions on a sheet which ask you to write short answers. The last question is to describe something you do well, your main talent. I lean forward putting my head on my fist on the table, three inches from where the answer is supposed to go. what do I do well? I want to write "play Wall Ball" - but that would take too much explanation. I actually think my main talent is riding my bike all around,-looking down-from-time-to-time-atr the handlebars and reading my name on the wristband of my old brown baseball mitt. I wonder if Fenn wrote "jacking off". Finally, I just write, "second base", and let it go. Butch would have so much to write on that question; he could really baffle the testers I'll bet. |
