Okay, people. The best way to understand a classmate, or a co-worker, is by "stepping" into their shoes.
But I'm a dainty size three and Heather McNamara has the feet of a Sasquatch!
He means we act like someone else to see their point of view. For example, I'll be you. *snaps* "Mint me, Candy Girl! Even though you're busy, forget the other customers, 'cause I'm more important! Haha, YAY ME!"
(as Heather M) "Sorry, Heather. I can't right now because I have to tell you a really boring story about one of my weird relatives. Do me a favor and pretend to listen, would you? While I go on and on and on wearing my REALLY UGLY CLOTHES!!!"
(as Heather M) "Oh and let's not forget: Now that I'm back from saving the penguins, I want everyone to drop what they're doing and do it the way that I want it!"
(as Heather D) "And I'm Heather Duke! I'm gonna make you do what I say 'cause I'm tough and can crush you like a grape!" *Heather D glares* I was talking about another Heather Duke....
Oh, I'll do Miss Flemming! (as Miss Flemming) "Well... *messes with hair* I suppoooose I could get you to finish dinner in time to see Veronica Sawyer's show, but that would mean working haaaard...."
*stands up excitedly* "Coach Ripper! Coach Ripper! Can I take this thing that's working perfectly well and do some convoluted thing to it until it breaks?!" *giggles*
JD, I don't think you're supposed to do yourself.
Oh, I thought I was being Kurt..... *sits down*
No, no, no. Kurt's more like this, "OHHHH COACH RIPPERRRRR! OH CAN I HAVE THE DAY OFF 'CAUSE MY CHIIIICKEN HAD CHIIIICKEN POX! DID I MENTION THE FACT THAT I HAVE A CHIIIICKEN?!?!" *Kurt stands angrily*
(as Coach Ripper) "Ohhhhh, very wellllll...... GOOD LUCK WITH THAT! You do that while I just sit in my office talking to my MOMMMY!"
Also Maka reads an excerpt from All The Light We Cannot See, one of the most beautifully-written books I’ve ever read.
She came into his life like this blizzard: raging, honest, and leaving behind all kinds of beauty and wonder.
She hates the winter. It makes her weak.
Winds filled with bits of ashen-cloud-chill and frost batter her living room window. It shakes and bends to the weight of the cold. She paces back and forth, her new novel in hand. An awful draft slips in and out, like the breath of a sleeping snow monster. She hates when she is up against something - like a nor’easter - that she cannot fight off with her own two hands.
Maka slackens her blinds and lets them fall to the sill. It does not block out the noise, but removes the sight of the tiny white crystals slow-building on the sides of the panes.
She attempts to settle on her couch, but remains on the edge of it. She flicks on her flashlight and tries to envelop her mind in her novel, but she finds herself rereading sentences over and over, not fully paying attention.
Then, there is a shatter. The wind finally threw a punch strong enough to break her window. It blows in like a bone-chilling javelin and she is out her door, half-screaming, half-stumbling.