Power-thirsty bitches

Today, our senior class, all 252 of us, has assembled into the shape of a 2011 on the football field. No, our senior class does not organize activities like flash mobs, red rover, or duck-duck-goose. Although we totally should. It's time for that aerial photograph with the senior class in the shape of the year they are graduating.

(This kind of formation. Ewww stock photo, I know)

Football coaches are parading around shouting orders and addressing members of the student body as, "Hey you--in the green shirt! Move! To the side!" (I think there are like nine football couches at our school, all who walk around on stout legs and only know how to shout)
All the students idly stand around and gossip. They all stand with a hunched backs and talk with their mouths open wide enough that gum falls out. I wish the distance photograph could get these kind of details.

(This is a sampling of my senior class. How...upstanding...)

The principal stands over us, like Zeus, in this tree house looking thing. For all my writing finesse, that's the best way I can describe it. I have no idea what purpose it has, other than a girl lost her virginity there on homecoming night. So, the principal is glaring and waiting for the senior class to slowly assemble itself into the number 2011. When we are in place, the principal grabs at the air and looks around confused. He was reaching for an invisible camera that he never procured, before hoisting himself into a tree house. Of course, it wasn't his stupidity...it was mine.
Without searching for me in the crowd he bellows out my name, "Carmella Mingo!"
I think I was delicately touching a pimple on my chin when the entire student body turned to me. I stepped out of the formation.
"Where's your camera?" Zeus shouted from the sky.

The principal meant the yearbook staff camera. I, representing the yearbook staff, had no idea I was fucking responsible.
"The batteries are dead," I shouted.
The principal precariously climbed down from the tree house, and beckoned for me. I walk forward, passing the entire student body. My friend and fellow yearbook staffer, Alice, joined me.
He barked at me in two short breaths, "what batteries? Where is it? Can we charge it?"
"It's a rechargeable battery, and the camera doesn't have a wide enough lens to cover the aerial photograph," I said seriously, while trying to contain a smile. Alice had a similarly hidden smile.
Before the principal left in a huff and puff he turned to both of us and said, "This. is. about. to. turn. into. an. utter. disaster."

It was absolutely fabulous. Alice and I turned to each other and shared the same look.
"Do you feel so powerful, all of a sudden?" I asked.
"Oh my god, I do! It's like the principal needs us to fix his problems."
I nod. "And we can't even satisfy him."
"I feel like I could run a mile."
"I feel like the bitch behind the scenes. Or the spy. Yes, a spy."
"We're power thirsty bitches."
We gave each other a high five, and returned to the student formation.

Sometimes I want to blog about my exciting life (I have fantasies of being a superhero like Lisa Ling or Martin Luther King Jr.), but this was the highlight of my day.