SparkNotes

"Lemonaaade! Get your freshly squeezed lemonade! Come on, sir, it's only fifty cents! Erm, I'm deeply sorry, Madam."

Lemonade stands. We've all seen them: poorly constructed wooden tables set up on the sidewalk, complete with a full pitcher of "lemonade," bags of lemons, sacks of sugar, a few quarters, and, of course, two seemingly adorable kids whose sales pitch includes lines like: "C'mon, tubby, you know you want it," and "Think of the children!" But these familiar old summer moneymakers have gotten a bit stale. I'd like to suggest that enterprising Sparklers create new stands, better stands, stands that are a bit...out of the ordinary:

Remember Thagsana? Of course you do! She's BACK in full effect. Yay! —SparkNotes editors

Ahh, summer, the light at the end of every student's tunnel. After nearly a year of staying up late to finish semi-pointless schoolwork, ignoring a teacher's wave in the halls in an effort to avoid the mortifying "her-teacher-is-her-best-friend" label, and putting up with gag-inducing cafeteria specials such as "Crunchy Tuna Surprise," summer has never felt so good. That is, of course, unless you're sitting in summer school. [Cue the horror music.]

Instead of frolicking amongst the flowers while singing Grease's "Summer Nights," summer-schoolers enjoy a...different lifestyle than that of out-of-schoolers. By different, I mean different in all senses:

You already know my first day of high school got off to a bad start. Here’s what happened next: just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, my teacher said, “Thagsana, you can’t sit down without introducing yourself to the class!” Then, noticing the sudden enlargement of my eyes, she added: “You can hold my hand if you’d like!”

I was beginning to think that Ms. Antidepressant was trying to ruin my life.

On their first day of ninth grade, all students are considered "The New Kid." In my case, the newness was especially intense, for two reasons: 1. My parents had decided to extend my summer vacation, because “your grandparents could really use the company,” so I missed the first few weeks of freshman year, and 2. I was the only student from my elementary school attending this high school. I would have been nervous on my first day of high school even if it hadn't gone horribly wrong right from the first second.

Whether you’re a “Minor Niner” or “Superior Senior,” a day of high school is never complete without a visit from Mr. Humiliation. Before you know it,
he’s kicking your butt and you’re crashing to the floor—literally.

Last week, I was running to my first class: Biology. As usual, I was late. I walked down the line of desks, meeting the gaze of my irritated teacher and jeering classmates, and quickly took my seat. Immediately, I felt a cold sensation shoot up through my legs. As a result of sitting down in a rush, I’d plopped down on the steel bar, the one that attaches the chair to the desk, instead of on the chair itself. For reasons unknown, the bar was facing towards me, instead of away from me. And the desk was backed up against the wall.

I scanned the room in hopes of finding a less problematic seat, but met the eyes of my fuming teacher instead. Apparently, my stance was disrupting the class. Awkwardly, I climbed into the desk, one foot at a time, and was instantly bound to the seat by the steel bar. I had put myself into chair jail.