In the School Without Classes, Clay is making Mandatory Locker Check while Slutgirl and Meghan are in the Not-So-Secret-Lovers Hideout. Since Ferret apparently transferred, anyone can sit up there with Meghan now. Slutgirl is giving Meghan a blow-by-blow (huh-huh) on Clay trying to open his locker. She says that he doesn't look upset or bothered. She's holding a giant fuzzy purse, a leopard print mini-dress and fuck-me boots. Nope, this girl's image is squeaky clean. Slutgirl notices that Clay is having problems getting into his locker. He's trying to open the wrong one. "Yep, he's hurting," Slutgirl says. Meghan asks to be spared the details. Slutgirl sits down next to her. Meghan monotones, "You know I can't believe a college scholarship, which is supposed to be a good thing, is the reason that I lose him." Oh, wah. It's not like you've got plans for next year, girl. Remember how you were going to backpack across Europe with the boy you were in love with three boys ago? Slutgirl says that it's better that Meghan found out now: "I mean, you guys were doomed from the beginning." Meghan gives Slutgirl a really bitchy glare, but it's hard to notice with this giant purple spotty turtleneck she's wearing. I guess she was so upset about Clay's news that she had to go home and change. Slutgirl is lost in her own fashion faux pas, so she doesn't stop talking. She says that high school relationships always end because someone has to go away and someone stays home. "Hello? Depressing!" Meghan snots. "Hello? Reality?" Slutgirl retorts. "Well, obviously my first mistake was coming to you for sympathy," Meghan brats. Well, girl, I got to tell you, it's a better idea than coming to me. Or the rest of the world. Slutgirl says that Meghan has a couple of months, and that she should just have fun until graduation. Meghan says that "this isn't fun" for her. "Obviously," Slutgirl says. "I'm serious," Meghan interrupts, cueing more piano swirly music. Ladies and Gentlemen, prepare to be moved. Badly. "I've never felt this way before. I feel like Clay and I were meant... to be together, I mean, my day doesn't start until I've talked to Clay or touched him. I, I... sometimes just knowing he's here in the same building makes me happy. How can I give this up?" She curls her lip quite a bit, but don't worry, no tears.

At this point the dueling St. Clares on my television stand walk down over to me and put their tiny hands on mine. "Please stop," they beg me. There are tears in their eyes. "We suffered much pain in our lives. We've been tortured and shunned and taken vows of silence. We cannot handle much more of this schmaltzy crap. Seriously. Please. Turn it off. Turn it off or we'll do something. We're warning you." I pick the ladies up and put them back in their places.