Connor

I know a kid named Connor.

He is a short little thing with blond hair and snazzy glasses. He likes to talk about random, dark, gloomy things. A lot.

One day, while the two of us were sitting in Spanish class, he decided he had something to tell me. Instead of a) waiting for the teacher to finish talking, b) whispering my name discretely, c) writing me a note, or d) all of the above, he decided that tapping my arm about six dozen times until I had to yell at him to stop was a much better idea.

This incident has occurred many a time.

Connor and I are good friends. We talk on the phone. We have classes together.

But, if he continues to tap my arm in a fashion similar to that of a woodpecker, I might have to show him what's what.