"What's that?" I asked her.
"A book about monkeys with Ebola. It's very poetic. Look, a big room of them just died."
Now, those weren't her exact words; that was more of a summary of everything she said to me that day about it. She's been reading this book for about a month, because the book is kept in the Learning Center and she can't take it home with her.
So, I asked her a couple times, "WHY are you reading that?" and she answers:
"IT'S POETIC! Read this!!" and then she'll go through and find me some really descriptive and flowing passages where it sounded all dark and beautiful, but it was really just describing the amount of disgusting that is monkeys bleeding from their eyes.
Similarly but actually not at all except for the fact that it takes place at a high school, last night, I spent the break during an orchestra rehearsal pretending to discover ghosts, snakes, snake-wolves, vampires, and monsters, then calling Ghost Busters to protect us, with an eighth grader who's just so freaking cute that I had to play along.