To Be, or Not to Be
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of an imaginative mind must be in want of a good wife.
“Things I’d like in a girl,” Jeremy wrote down in his notepad, as he dwelled into the question, which I really had no interest in.
To imagine the statistical probability of meeting the one meant for you, if there is such a thing, is almost an inverse googolplex, I thought to myself.  As the number googol was a rather large number, one with a hundred zeros following to be exact, the inverse of this rather large number would be rather close to zero.
You see, the mathematical definition of ‘probability’ is the occurrence of a ‘match’ divided by the number of potential possibilities.  Given that the population of English-speaking countries (USA, UK, Canada, Australia, Ireland, New Zealand, India, Philippines, and South Africa) is at any one time 1.4 billion (and growing), because the typical ratio of male to female is approximately 1.06, the world population of women is approximately 680 million.  Given a male would target females with a standard deviation of age five years older or younger; this would refer to a range of the female population within a range of 10 years.  Assuming that at any one time 15% of the population will be within this age range, the concatenated population still equals a whopping 100 million.  As an example of a comparison, the probability of winning a lottery is usually around one to 65 million.  In other words, finding ‘the one’ is potentially twice as hard as winning the lottery.
To find just one girl to spend the remaining forty to eighty years of a boy’s life at the mere age of twenty is just an unbelievable idea, but yet something that the market performs to do, nearly just as effectively as the job market.
Despite there are more men than women, I thought, it is so much more difficult for a girl to find a good boy, than vice versa.
Anyway, it is unanimously agreed in statistics that a sample size of root (two) of the population, can be considered representative of the population.  Although only a sample size of 10,000 English-speaking teenage girls is required, this is still maybe a more difficult investigation to complete as first thought.
Have you noticed however, that even if, a thousand girls had passed one by, maybe only a dozen or so have the “it” factor?  Maybe then, jotting down the attributions of girls I liked, I could find common traits I liked.
“Kiera Knightly,” Jeremy said.
“Super anorexic with no personality?”  I remarked.
“Awesome British accent and skinny”
Boys certainly overrate dating Ms Knightly.  Her personality, I had seen from many movies, was rather unsatisfying.  However, maybe this was their imagination, capable of the concoction of the shopping for selective genetic features.
“Cameron Diaz, perfect smile and funny.”
More like slutty.  Despite Ms Diaz had an unbelievably cool smile, a overly dazzling personality that would keep boys laughing for hours, it wasn’t too long ago that she released a semi-nude porn.  Maybe the idea would be a girl like that would even replace cable.
“Anne Hathaway, dark straight hair.”
“What about Sophie?”  I asked.
You see, Sophie Winzar was Jeremy’s best friend, who sported blonde hair.
“There’s something I just like about the slutty bad girl look for dark brunette hair,” he replied.
He had explained it to me before.  Being brunette myself, I found the remark offensive when he first told me.  But he explained it was not a slut in actuality, but those who dress and pretend to be like it.
In fact, I remembered when Jeremy made the remark to an Uncle at Church who worked as the Marketing Manager at the Walt Disney Company, who told him his wife overheard the conversation, and wanted to give Jeremy a good slap.
“Leeza Beytell, dark tanned skin, says what she believes.”
“Sophie Winzar”, he finally finished with.
As Jeremy’s best friend, I thought he would probably include her.
He told me the back-story nearly a million times.  He must have the memory span of a fish, five seconds, or so, because he repeats himself quite a bit.
Anyway, he was friends with this young lass initially because he thought she was rather ‘hot’ (whatever that means), but then he meets another girl, and talks to this girl he used to like (but no longer do) about the new girl that he now likes.  Then later they act as if they never had thoughts of each other, but both of you deep down have that awkward moment between each other?
He actually liked her for many reasons, if not simply for the fact that they get along like magic.  Maybe there is this unspoken law where one gets along with one’s friend only because they find some of her attributes most important in a potential partner.
“Jeremy,” I then thought, “can’t shut up, hyperactive, imaginative, energetic, and crazy”.
Back to Sophie, she was a bit of a klutz, pretty nice and positive, but I knew most important of all to him, Godly.
Jeremy made it a tradition to talk about his Sophie story as often as possible.  It was in the computer room at school.  He was ultra-hyperactive that day and decided that he wanted to get girl attention.  I think it must be some sort of social interaction between groups of young boys, where the boys have some sort of untold of competition to grab the attention of the girl.  Apparently, he was far too embarrassed just to go up and talk to Sophie randomly, so he ditched a pencil from one side of the room to the other.  Ducking immediately down, he almost expected her to come over to my side of the room shortly thereafter to complain of the dangerousness of his actions.  This never resulted, however.  Later asking her what she thought about it, she actually told me she never knew of it.
Thinking that she knew he threw a pencil and ignored it, he talked to my friends about how amazingly hot she was (though he never actually saw her face; only saw the back of her head).
As she was leaving the room, he said a quick “bye” and she responded with “bye” as well.
As random as it would seem, she came back bursting into the room thirty seconds later, came up to his computer, and asked him if I knew where “Queen Victoria Hospital” was.
Discovering they were later in similar classes, he was from then forth friends.

Princess from the Undead
“Where’s my novel Princess of the Undead?”  I thought to myself scurrying through a pile of books that I had taken out of my bag, which seemed to be somewhat comparable to the height, and shape, of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
“Have you lost something”, Mandy calls from the desk beside me.
“Yes”, I exclaimed, “my social life”.
It was English, and I was in year twelve, and approaching the end of the year: the forever-dreaded SAT’s were coming up soon.  I don’t know why SAT stood for Schools Admissions Test, since for every normal student, excluding book worms, which I couldn’t properly provide representation for, stood for something more like the Sick and Twisted.
There was probably no subject I hated with a passion more than English.  Our teacher, Ms. Mattiske, was, I guess, fairly nice, but a rather hard marker.  Moreover, to reiterate what I mean by “hard marker”, if you were to score above eighty-five percent, which was an A, you would be William Shakespeare.
“So hydrogen and oxygen are getting a drink, and gold walks in, and they go ‘Au, get out of the bar’”, Jeremy says walking pass the front of my desk and through the side to the seat behind me, “Because, you know, Au is the atomic symbol for gold”, Jeremy clarifies.
“Ah, ha, ha”, Mandy taunts.
“Someone’s looking towards the SAT”, I say in a rather rhetorical tone.
“Oh, look who woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning”, Jeremy laughs.
“You know what Miley”, Mandy says, “A lot of people think these SAT questions are difficult; Not me.”
“No?”  I gasp.
“No”, she replies, “These questions all have answers”.

As the Bell Rings
The bell rang.
It was English, the subject I hated with a passion.  I mean, for crying aloud, who needs to write 300-word long essays, when my MSN log is comparably 300 pages long?  It’s not as if we can’t spell, unlike third world children from Africa.  I mean, I see the point in ESL, but English, give me a break.  Moreover, as fate would have it – not long after daydreaming, that is exactly what I was off to do: have a break.
I quickly grabbed my books, and ran out of classroom, trying to hold down my skirt to prevent an embarrassing situation, whilst trying to clutch on to my books.
“No running Miley”, Ms Hilton shouted.  I acted as if I didn’t hear.  Terrorland would have no grip on me.  In ten seconds, I had already ran out of the classroom, run through the corridor, through the second floor veranda, down the staircase on to first floor, through the ground floor veranda, down the second staircase on to the bitumen, and into the canteen to get the best canteen line position.  It’s not as if I could wait until the return of Jesus to get my lunch.
“Mileyl!”  I hear somebody scream from behind me.  I turned around, and realized it was Jeremy.
“Oh hi Jeremy”, I said, excitedly.  Was I too obvious?  Did I sound too desperate for friends?  Maybe he’d think I was a loser?  What did he think of me?  Would he think I’m an ugly duckling?  Maybe even fat?  You see, we were in grade ten, and it was everybody’s first year of being a senior, and nobody at the school knew each other.  We didn’t meet much people in week one, far it was only filled with wondrous tours of our school to be.
“Hi Miley”, Jeremy replies, seemingly overwhelmed by the first week of school, “how’s school going?”
“It’s going good,” I shrugged.  It sure didn’t sound so in my voice.
“Let’s go and get some recess”, he says, smiling, realizing things weren’t going as well for me as I’d hoped.  I guess you could say I am that emotional type of girl.  I never got into the hand-cutting thing because I mean, what do you get out of it?  However, I’d always secretly go into the toilets and have cries in between lessons; despite I don’t think anybody knew.
“Sure”, I said, “Actually I’ve got to put my books into my locker; can you please save me a place in the line?”  No.  What was I doing?  I had just opened myself to the chance of being rejected.  What if Jeremy were to reject my request?  What if when I got back the others in the line didn’t let me in with Jeremy and told me not to push in?  This surely wasn’t my day.
“Yeah that’s fine”, he said gleefully.
It didn’t take me long to return, and I slipped into the line next to Jeremy with no problems, Sometimes, I just wonder how much we worry about things that never come to pass – it’s almost like our happiness depends on the acceptance of others.
The teacher counted the next five in.  You see, our school canteen was quite small, and to prevent theft, the canteen only allows around twelve or so odd people in there at once.  I then tried to predict whether the teacher would let us in, for the number the teacher let in wasn’t always five.  It was arbitrary, and often depended on the benevolence of the teacher.  Bad teacher and it would seem the entrance pass would always extend to the person just before you; good teacher and you would always seem to be the last person to be allowed in the canteen.
It was a grumpy looking blonde woman, who looked like the serious sort of person.  She looked like the sort of person who may have been good looking when she was younger (but probably still quite serious); but still not the sort you could imagine being married to an ordinary man.  However, to define an ordinary man in his forties is impossible.  I just can’t see how any woman could find them attractive.
“Okay, next five”, the teacher utters in a rather whisky tone, counting the next five.  It seemed like me and Jeremy was so dose to the front that this would be both our turns.  We quickly scurried forward.  Jeremy takes one-step past the teacher with no problem, with me tailing him.  No problem.  He takes another one.  He is clearly past the teacher, but then the unthinkable occurs.  The teachers hand drops right in front of me.
“That’s it, Miss”, she says.  I couldn’t believe it.  My newfound friend and I would be separated, like Romeo and Juliet in Romeo & Juliet, or Mr. Darcy and Miss. Bennett in Pride & Prejudice.  Unbelievable!  How could an education system, which vows to teach children, attempt to destroy the social psychology of young teens by ripping one from another?
A tear left my eye, and I dropped my head, so that my light brunette hair covered my face.  I had spent hours on my makeup but I knew my tears would ruin all of the work I had put in.  My mascara wasn’t waterproof, and nor was my eyeliner.  I rubbed my eyes with my palms, trying to cover my eyes so nobody would see me in tears.  Suddenly I felt a tug on my hands.  I didn’t want to know who it was, for nobody could make it better.  Who knew me or wanted me at school anyway?  Lifting my head slightly, realized it was Jeremy.
”But…’’  I said, trying to figure out why he wasn’t in the canteen, such as whether the evil teacher had asked him to come back out whilst I was crying.
“Its okay”, he says, I’m here for you”.  That was all needed to hear.  I put my arms over him and rested my head on his shoulder.
“You can go in as well”, the teacher says, rolling her eyes backward.  Maybe she wasn’t as mean after all.
Jeremy had come to me and had rescued me and I was grateful.  We have been great friends since.  The canteen was one of our favorite places to hang out at school, as they stocked the yummiest muffins in the whole of Franklin, which won first place in the Tennessee State Fair, dubbed the “Moo Shu Muffins”, Isn’t that such a hilarious name?  I have no idea why it was named after the little dragon from Mulan, but they are some delicious muffins.
Mandy was my other dose friend.  I had first met her in math’s class.  She’s one really smart cookie, but she’s also extremely pretty.  She’s a brown-haired person, but her hair’s a lot darker than mine.  In addition, my eyes are a lot more grey and blue than her greener eyes.  Probably the only similarity is our ceramic straight hair that rolls down to our back.
I had met her back in Week 1 however.  Like her.  I’d always liked math’s, since I was good at it, and I usually got on with the teachers, they’d let us talk in class whilst doing work, and once I’d had finished my work, the teachers let us do things we liked, such as making paper airplanes, and playing with our tech decks.
My classroom was in the A-Block, which was near the front of the school.  It was still quite early in the morning, early in the week, and despite it was a little windy outside, the sun was up, and shone through the window, illuminating the reasonably sized room naturally.  The room had an old school blackboard, and was painted all white.  There was a door to the front left of the room, which seemed to be a doorway to the classroom next door.
I was running late.  The lesson said “10:00am” but it was already 10:06am.  It was the first lesson of mathematics at the new school, and I’d be late?  What would the teacher think of me?  I’d have to make up an excuse.  I guess it really wasn’t my fault, for I had no idea where or what “A2″ was.  You see, in Junior High, we didn’t go around to different rooms for lessons – all of the lessons were in the one room, with the one teacher.  How was I supposed to know “A2″ meant A-Block, Room 27 I had to prepare my extensive speech in my mind, which I would present to the class, like the Abraham Lincoln’s address to the United States Congress?
Moreover, there it was “A2″ in large print on a piece of white plastic nailed to the door.  I peeked through the door to see my embarrassment.  I saw most of the seats filled with students, so I was a little worried.  However, the teacher didn’t seem to be there.
“Move it little girl”, I heard from behind me, as they pushed me to the side.  It was some fat kid.  Gosh, why can’t people these days get some manners?  I walked in after him, a little worried.  The seats seemed to be all filled up.  Moreover, it seemed like it would be harder to get a seat than it would be in a game of musical chairs.
The fat kid walked up to the back, and not wanting to sit next to him, and not seeing many free seats around anyway, I walked in a perpendicular direction across the front of the classroom.  I hoped the entire class didn’t see me, for I only wanted a seat.  At least I wouldn’t have to do my Lincoln speech.
“Hey, sit here”, I hear a voice.  Had I known somebody from the school?  I quickly turned to see whoever made the remark.
“Hi there, there’s nobody sitting here, do you want to sit here?” she says, whilst moving her bag off the chair to her right.  She was pretty; amazingly pretty actually; the sort of girl that every person would like.  She seemed nice, but also a bit of a rebel.
“Sure”, I reply, unsure why a girl as pretty and popular as her would be interested in me.
“I’m Mandy”, she says.
“Hi, I’m Mileyl/, I reply smiling.
“So Miley, what’s up?”
“Not much, you know – school”, I reply.
The door in front of us suddenly swings open; and a little clean-shaven man, with glasses the size of his face, in his mid fifties walks out.
“Hi class”, he says.  The whole room silences.
“My name is Mr. Mercury and I will be taking t his Year 10 math’s class.”
After explaining to us the details of the first chapter of Year 10 mathematics – moderately difficult arithmetic, we are given time to work.  The chatter in the room increases, and people start moving around, “Ouch”.  I said quietly, reacting to something that hit my head.  What was it?  In addition, who could have a grudge on me already, I thought to myself.  Looking down at the ground, it was half a rubber, somebody threw at me.  Turning around, the fatty from earlier laughs.
“What’s your problem?” he exclaims
I quickly look forward, knowing that I will burst out into tears any
second and my newfound friend will discover I am a newfound freak.  Crying was the last thing I could do to introduce myself to Mandy.  After all, I had been given the opportunity to become friends with the hottest, most popular girl on the planet -I couldn’t let an eraser sacrifice all that.
My eyes began to swell with tears.  Miss Popular was sure to desert me.  She’d probably think I’m a crybaby, a wimpy whore, a sobbing slut.
“Hey, what’s wrong”, I hear as Mandy pulls my left hand away from my red eyes.
“Nothing”, I say.
The fatty, who threw the eraser at me, and his friends, are now all laughing.
“Look fatty”, Mandy turns around saying, “stop being a prick, and find something useful like losing some weight on America’s Biggest loser, rather than being a girl basher.”  I couldn’t believe it.  Mandy actually stuck up for me.
“Here you go Miley”, she says, handing over a few tissues, “everything’s okay”.
“Thank you Mandy”, I stutter.
I surely couldn’t find a better friend.  Literally love at first sight; and we have been BFF’s ever since.
As if that wasn’t cool enough, Mandy and Jeremy are best of friends, and should I say, I reckon, more than just friends do.  I’ve always thought Jeremy was hot, but since we’re so close, he’s like my brother, and I’m just happy that he and Mandy have it going on.

Save Me the Embarrassment
Save me the embarrassment.
“Mom”, I exclaimed, “You’re not coming with me in that”.  It’s not like one day I grew up, and wanted to discard my parents.  No.  It’s just that they don’t understand me.  My Dinosaur mother just didn’t go through what I’m going through, and to have your mom dressed in daggy clothes was the last thing a fifteen-year-old girl needed.
“Bad news”, dad enters into the room declaring.
“I’m adopted”, I taunted.
“It looks like we may need to sell some of our belongings to cover the rent for the house”, dad continues.  I started to begin to envision  all of the things I had come to store up over my teen years, and what  sort of prioritization I could afford in discarding my somewhat less- needed items.
“This is the worse I’ve ever been treated in life”, I exclaim thundering out of the lounge, into the study.
“Wait until you get married”, mom exclaims.
“Miles, can we talk?” dad says.
“God, what?”  I shout, pulling my right earplug out of my ear.
“Forgot, dad should leave message on daughter’s MySpace rather than addressing her”, he mutters quietly to himself.
“Oi”, I scream, as the revving on my annoying little brother’s Playstation blots out all of the noise in the house, “stop playing your stupid little car games”.
It’s not so much that I was an angst or hormonal teenager, or maybe it was, but if everyone around me could shut up and stop annoying me, maybe I wouldn’t be a pissed off so-called “typical” teenager.  After all, its thanks a lot to the Industrial Revolution that young people were displaced, causing the social construction of the categorization of “adolescence”.
“Listen, I know I said I was going to buy you the new iPhone 3G”, dad continues, “but it seems like we are a bit tight on the budget, so…”
“I was going to show it to all my friends so they wouldn’t think we’re that pov”, I interrupted, “Nice one dad – Thanks!”  I exclaim.
Mom was finally ready to head out.  Not entirely, what you’d call exquisite or elegant, but at least endurable.
You see, we were going out shopping, and I had always fretted about shopping with my mother.  Boys all know that girls one day turn out like their mothers, and imagine if a boy saw me with my mom.  God, such depressive deliberation should not even come into the mind of a teen.
Anyway, the ride was great for it was a bright sunny day, and we were heading out to Chapel St Mall, which was the biggest, brightest, and best shopping precinct in town.
“You look a bit emo today”, mom said as her eyes met mine, which received a tremendously ample application of black outliner this morning.
“Emo?”  I taunt, “More like emo-mazing”.
Soon, we arrived at Chapel St Mall, and had found a free car park close by.
“One small step for Miley”, I said stepping out of the car, “But one large step for Mankind”, I chuckled, feeling fictitiously fantastic, but unsure as to whether what I had just said actually made any sense.
As I was about to race into the Atlantis of Shopping Malls, through the car park, before actually distancing five odd meters from our car, I find myself lying on the bitumen after knocking into a rather pale girl.
“I’m sorry”, I quickly declare, trying to get myself off the ground and wiping my dusty hands on my skirt.  The girl also lifts herself off the ground slowly.
“I’m –“
“Sara?”  I interrupted.  I had seen her several times at school before, but I had never really talked with her for she was from a different cliché than me.
“Oh no”, my mom cries out from behind, staring into her phone.
“What?”  I sneered, “You just received an SMS from a space zombie from Pluto asking you to return to Planet Too-Too?”
“Miley, I’m really sorry about this, but it looks like I will need to head off to work for an unexpected meeting which seems to involve a presentation to one of our biggest clients so I’m going to need to head off – have fun with uh–”.
“Sara”, she says finishing off mom’s sentence.
I vowed to myself for the last time that if I were ever to become a mother, I’d be a real mom; one who actually cared more about the title of parent than the one on her business card.
Anyway, introduce yourself to Sara the Book Worm.  Head honcho of the Pacific Coast High Book Club.  I hated books with a passion, and in particular, the King and Queen of book land: the “book worms”.  Sara wasn’t exactly ugly.  She was hot, minus the braces; the fashion, hair and make-up, and maybe the fragrance…
“And I have this massive dream where Jeremy Shum, who gets za ladies…”
“Shut up Jeremy,” she said butt in before I could finish my sentence, “you so do not”.
“Why does everybody say that,” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she giggled.
“Anyway, I was wondering

What did the pen say to the pencil?
What’s your point?

My Rock Star Dream
“Snap”, went the camera.
We were in the middle of nowhere.  Not merely “nowhere” in the sense of “I don’t know where we are” nowhere, but “nowhere” as in “we’re in some place with no iPod’s, no iPhone’s, no IM, and oh my God-no MySpace” nowhere.  It’s not that we didn’t have one; it was because there was no place to recharge it.  Talk about ancient culture!  Coincidently, the ancient building located in this ancient land of Freakville was dubbed by the mysteriously looking tour guide, who can I say looked like the lead character from Italian Job, the new version, as the “Ancient Ruin” – how original!
“Thank God we’re out of this fat ugly white building,” I remarked as my group of mates and I tottered out of the building that seemed to be located in the middle of nowhere.  I had no idea where we were – and even why we were where we were.  After all, what sort of reasonable explanation could be provided for a group of teenybopper girls to be dispositioned into the middle of nowhere?
It all started with “him” – but doesn’t it always?  “Prince”, “the one”, “boyfriend”, “hottie”, even “super hottie”, if you like.  However, this was no normal story.  Not one you’d hear from the likes of Jane Austen or even C.S. Lewis.  No.  When Man, or should I say Woman, digs deep into the soul and reveals her true worries, excitement, sadness, and happiness – and expresses it in the hallowed form of written narrative, it should be much more romantic, much more mysterious, much more fantastic, and much more comedic than all fictional novels combined.
Well, before we get back to the very genesis of the story, who doesn’t agree with me that it’d be radical to be the next Hilary Duff?  I mean, for God sakes, she’s the biggest teen pop star on the planet.  With over thirteen million albums sold worldwide, the first one which went triple-platinum, as well as a perfume line, a string of successful Hollywood movies; in her personified every teen’s dream.
Everything was perfect; well that was what I originally thought, until, during my voyage into pop stardom, unexpectedly ended up in the middle of the site where NASA faked the moon landing.  And no, that scene was not a pretty picture, painted with tropical stylistic dents to a pit of sand, which could be seen as far East as it could be seen West, that was untouched by mankind in the last million years.  No, the more useful adjective to describe such horror was more like, a fat ugly building chucked on top of the sand to cover how ugly the place was!  Words probably aren’t the best to express the ugly.  They never were; the English language was created to express the bold and the beautiful, the elegant and the enchanted; not some fat ugly building which looked more like an Ancient Mental Hospital than any cool archaeological site.
I mean, don’t you think it ever occurs to Mr. Ancient Businessman that us kids would actually like to access MSN out here in No Man’s land?  I don’t actually know whether the fact he didn’t think of that freaks me out more, or the fact that he actually owns this ancient chuckle of nonsense.  I mean, if there were a Forbes Magazine of Top 25 Ugly Places, this would be one of them.
If I’m not being Punk’d, I must be kidding myself.  Maybe it was a joke.  Maybe Ashton Kutcher would pop out of nowhere with camera operators and scream “You’re Punk’d”.
Thank my friend Mandy for getting me here.  She’s my “BFF”.  It’s short for “Best Friend Forever”.  Where did she book this ticket from anyway?  www.boreustodeath.com?  If there were a public phone, yet alone a phone, I would have dialed 1800-IM-BORED to declare a State of Emergency to get me out of there immediately.
Back to me: My name’s Miley, I’m 15, I attend, or should I say attended Pacific Coast High.  When I grow up, I want to become a superstar: the world’s biggest superstar, Miley Duff.  However, that’s not my real name.  My real name’s Miley Stewart.  I was just a normal kid growing up at a normal high school.  My interests are surfing and skating, shopping and, well, boys, but mostly just thinking about them.
Like I was saying, there was always “the one”, or should I say “the one whom my heart loves”.  You’re probably thinking, why the distinction?  My favorite bible passage is in Song of Solomon.  You won’t believe there is such a romantic passage until the read it!
“I found him whom my soul loveth; I held him, and would not let him go.”  (Song of Solomon 3:4)
I did rather spin that passage though, the words “until I brought him to the place where my mother (and father) conceived me” out.  I thought, just a bit to the point, Einstein.
Anyway, how romantic is the passage?  I love Song of Solomon.  Especially during reading time in class, I remember that my friend and me would always get out the Bible, and giggle whilst reading Songs of Solomon.
Anyway, back to “this guy”.  His name is Troy.  The name just makes me tremble, Troy Bolton.  I guess I’m a bit shy, so I haven’t really talked to him, but let me tell you, I’m sure he’s into me.  Well, I guess you now understand what I mean when I say “the guy”.  I’m talking about in terms of “I think” he’s my future husband, rather than “he’s actually the guy”.  I’m sure that God wants us together.  Us teens today, we put the “Oh” in optimistic.
However, just think about it.  God created Adam, and He was in full relationship with Adam, yet He said, “It is not good” that man is lonely Genesis 2:18, if you want to read about it, and created Eve.  Therefore, God is the god of love, literally, Valentine Day’s Cupid.
Anyway, Troy was cool, but my circle of friends who I actually talked to day-to-day and hung around at school was another topic.  You see, Troy and I were in different social clichés.  He was the cool sporty kid, and me – I was in more of the naughty group.
My BFF was Mandy, but she was four years older than I was and didn’t attend PCH.
“Do you believe in God,” this kid said out of nowhere.
I jumped.
Not so much because I’m confused as to the question, but more so because in the computer room at my school, nobody talks.  I quickly turned sideways to meet his eyes.
“Yes”, I reply, thinking for a second after recovering from the jolt.
“Well God sure was a show off creating you,” he says, with a massive smirk on his face.
I smiled and giggled tenderly.  I mean, come on!  How bad boy is it to try a pickup line on a girl, yet alone a girl you don’t know, from the computer room.  In addition, it broke ice, I guess; but little did I know I had only uncovered the tip of the iceberg that would be, Special Agent Shum.

TO SELENA GOMEZ
WITH LOVE

SPECIAL AGENT SHUM

SPECIAL AGENT SHUM
DISNEY CHANNEL UNORIGINAL MOVIE

JEREMY H. SHUM

THE JEREMY SHUM INVENT COMPANY
Los Angeles, California

Special Agent Shum
Disney Channel Unoriginal Movie
Copyright © 2010

All rights reserved.  No part of the copyrighted material of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means-electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise-with the prior written permission of the publisher.

Names listed in this book are actual artifacts of our society and persons who exist or have existed.  Intellectual property of the story used under fair use provision of the Copyright Act 1976, relating to parody and satire.  Story is fictional, and no implication is made of factual representation.  Actuality is purely coincidental and unintended.

Published by The Jeremy Shum Invent Company
1/19 Northwest Boulevard
Beverly Hills, California 90210

Printed in Australia

ISBN-13: 978-0-7642-0388-6
ISBN-10: 0-7642-0388-6

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Shum, Jeremy, 1989
Foreword
Word Count: 34/49 pages (exc covers)
There is nothing quite as exhilarating as authoring a fictional story, sharing my imagination with my many readers.  This would not be possible if it were not for the many dedicated fans of my work, which has now seen my creative content now become a reality.
I remember when market reception initially dealt a debilitating throw to the Special Agent Shum (“SAS”) series, which saw an absolute wipe out of market value.  However, after repositioning the series from a plain educational series, to an emphasis on the novel entertainment attributes, the product line has regained stat.  I am glad whether the market value loss should be attributed to the GFC (global financial crisis) of the late 2000’s, is now moot.
As we progress through the Special Agent Shum television series, I have felt indebted to the viewers to provide a prequel to the story.  Although the initial intention was to have this done on screen, when the script was written for the back-story of Special Agent Shum, I felt that it would make it even more special having it released exclusively as a novel.  That the SAS television series has been very hard to contain from illegal online distribution has also been a concern.  Of course, it is understood that if a product were available free online, there exist little incentive to buy an exact replicate.  I hope this novel can thus be enjoyed by truly dedicated fans.
Many fans would already know that Special Agent Shum is an educational children’s fictional teenage comedy television series, which is set in the ridicule that is known as the corporate war between the executives of children’s entertainment providers Nickelodeon and Disney Channel.  The program explores high school level mathematics, physics, chemistry, and biology in an entertaining method.  The television program is distributed by the studio in high definition 1920×1080, recorded at 25fps PAL standard in MPEG-2 Transport Stream format.  The program is subsequently encoded into MPEG-4 H.264 format, with AAC 384kbps audio.
Building on the success of the 2005 breakout of the Radio Disney countdown show Miley5! Weekly, The Jeremy Shum Invent Company was exploring different opportunities to address the philanthropic question of providing low-cost education to poverty-stricken areas.  Following four years of research and development, and extensive market research, The Jeremy Shum Invent Company released a pilot version of Special Agent Shum.  Following a string of studio rejections of the screenwriter’s submissions, the project was on the verge of being dumped, before a major investor suggested repositioning the brand as an entertainment product.
C.S. Lewis once stated that when he was young, he was very much into reading fiction – but then he grew out of it when he hit his teenage years.  However, when he hit his senior years, he really “grew up”, and once again rediscovered the joy of reading.
Particularly with the invention of new mediums such as high definition (cinematic quality) television that is now, going three-dimensional, old mediums such as novels now have to battle and highlight their competitive advantage.  In this book, I hope that you rediscover the joy of reading.  As many critics have emphasized, if there is one book to love or loathe, it would be this one.  Love because of its creativity; or loathe because of its fancifulness.  As with all products however, I know better about consumer reaction than total statistical market reception.
I will leave you to decide whether this novel excites your taste buds, or stimulates further disgust for the fictional genre of novel that crosses parallel our universe.  However, I would like to raise one deliberation I believe we can both agree with.  One of the reasons why Special Agent Shum was developed was to respond to the unfair disproportional access to education between the world we live in, and the third world.  If it is not for your liking of my work of art, I hope that we can at least work together to bring real change to the world.  With my personal guarantee to reinvest a large proportion of the profits of this book to this cause, I salute you for your decision to buy this book.
Imagination, in my opinion, is the prerequisite for good engineering.  The most famous scientific fiction story is probably that which is credited to have led to the invention of the submarine.  There is an obvious correlation between innovative political, economic, social, and technological policies, and gross domestic product.  Not only can this rationale be seen to be empirically true, but also deductively true.  It logically follows that where imagination is abundant, so too will business success.
I think there could be nothing as satisfying as writing a story from a girl’s perspective.  I can find no better way to build great empathy for others, than placing myself in their shoes with imagination, and I found this exhilarating in this title.  Everything social relating to girls is covered in this book or at least so much that I could think of!  Everything from dealing with slovenly men hitting on you, to all the things girls deal with relating to peer-pressure, to be placed smack bang in the middle of an adventurous story, and working out strategies I would take to go forward is true bliss.
If only my wife could read and learn from my work of art!
Until we find a cure for cancer – Godspeed, my friend.

Jeremy H. Shum
Contents
Foreword    5
Contents    8
Chapter 1:    My Rock Star Dream    9
Chapter 2:    As the Bell Rings    13
Chapter 3:    Save Me the Embarrassment    19
Chapter 4:    Princess from the Undead    22
Chapter 5:    To Be, or Not to Be    24
Chapter 6:    My Future Decided    28
Chapter 7:    Wizards with Selena Gomez    32

My Rock Star Dream
“Snap”, went the camera.
We were in the middle of nowhere.  Not merely “nowhere” in the sense of “I don’t know where we are” nowhere, but “nowhere” as in “we’re in some place with no iPod’s, no iPhone’s, no IM, and oh my God-no MySpace” nowhere.  It’s not that we didn’t have one; it was because there was no place to recharge it.  Talk about ancient culture!  Coincidently, the ancient building located in this ancient land of Freakville was dubbed by the mysteriously looking tour guide, who can I say looked like the lead character from Italian Job, the new version, as the “Ancient Ruin” – how original!
“Thank God we’re out of this fat ugly white building,” I remarked as my group of mates and I tottered out of the building that seemed to be located in the middle of nowhere.  I had no idea where we were – and even why we were where we were.  After all, what sort of reasonable explanation could be provided for a group of teenybopper girls to be dispositioned into the middle of nowhere?
It all started with “him” – but doesn’t it always?  “Prince”, “the one”, “boyfriend”, “hottie”, even “super hottie”, if you like.  However, this was no normal story.  Not one you’d hear from the likes of Jane Austen or even C.S. Lewis.  No.  When Man, or should I say Woman, digs deep into the soul and reveals her true worries, excitement, sadness, and happiness – and expresses it in the hallowed form of written narrative, it should be much more romantic, much more mysterious, much more fantastic, and much more comedic than all fictional novels combined.
Well, before we get back to the very genesis of the story, who doesn’t agree with me that it’d be radical to be the next Hilary Duff?  I mean, for God sakes, she’s the biggest teen pop star on the planet.  With over thirteen million albums sold worldwide, the first one which went triple-platinum, as well as a perfume line, a string of successful Hollywood movies; in her personified every teen’s dream.
Everything was perfect; well that was what I originally thought, until, during my voyage into pop stardom, unexpectedly ended up in the middle of the site where NASA faked the moon landing.  And no, that scene was not a pretty picture, painted with tropical stylistic dents to a pit of sand, which could be seen as far East as it could be seen West, that was untouched by mankind in the last million years.  No, the more useful adjective to describe such horror was more like, a fat ugly building chucked on top of the sand to cover how ugly the place was!  Words probably aren’t the best to express the ugly.  They never were; the English language was created to express the bold and the beautiful, the elegant and the enchanted; not some fat ugly building which looked more like an Ancient Mental Hospital than any cool archaeological site.
I mean, don’t you think it ever occurs to Mr. Ancient Businessman that us kids would actually like to access MSN out here in No Man’s land?  I don’t actually know whether the fact he didn’t think of that freaks me out more, or the fact that he actually owns this ancient chuckle of nonsense.  I mean, if there were a Forbes Magazine of Top 25 Ugly Places, this would be one of them.
If I’m not being Punk’d, I must be kidding myself.  Maybe it was a joke.  Maybe Ashton Kutcher would pop out of nowhere with camera operators and scream “You’re Punk’d”.
Thank my friend Mandy for getting me here.  She’s my “BFF”.  It’s short for “Best Friend Forever”.  Where did she book this ticket from anyway?  www.boreustodeath.com?  If there were a public phone, yet alone a phone, I would have dialed 1800-IM-BORED to declare a State of Emergency to get me out of there immediately.
Back to me: My name’s Miley, I’m 15, I attend, or should I say attended Pacific Coast High.  When I grow up, I want to become a superstar: the world’s biggest superstar, Miley Duff.  However, that’s not my real name.  My real name’s Miley Stewart.  I was just a normal kid growing up at a normal high school.  My interests are surfing and skating, shopping and, well, boys, but mostly just thinking about them.
Like I was saying, there was always “the one”, or should I say “the one whom my heart loves”.  You’re probably thinking, why the distinction?  My favorite bible passage is in Song of Solomon.  You won’t believe there is such a romantic passage until the read it!
“I found him whom my soul loveth; I held him, and would not let him go.”  (Song of Solomon 3:4)
I did rather spin that passage though, the words “until I brought him to the place where my mother (and father) conceived me” out.  I thought, just a bit to the point, Einstein.
Anyway, how romantic is the passage?  I love Song of Solomon.  Especially during reading time in class, I remember that my friend and me would always get out the Bible, and giggle whilst reading Songs of Solomon.
Anyway, back to “this guy”.  His name is Troy.  The name just makes me tremble, Troy Bolton.  I guess I’m a bit shy, so I haven’t really talked to him, but let me tell you, I’m sure he’s into me.  Well, I guess you now understand what I mean when I say “the guy”.  I’m talking about in terms of “I think” he’s my future husband, rather than “he’s actually the guy”.  I’m sure that God wants us together.  Us teens today, we put the “Oh” in optimistic.
However, just think about it.  God created Adam, and He was in full relationship with Adam, yet He said, “It is not good” that man is lonely Genesis 2:18, if you want to read about it, and created Eve.  Therefore, God is the god of love, literally, Valentine Day’s Cupid.
Anyway, Troy was cool, but my circle of friends who I actually talked to day-to-day and hung around at school was another topic.  You see, Troy and I were in different social clichés.  He was the cool sporty kid, and me – I was in more of the naughty group.
My BFF was Mandy, but she was four years older than I was and didn’t attend PCH.
“Do you believe in God,” this kid said out of nowhere.
I jumped.
Not so much because I’m confused as to the question, but more so because in the computer room at my school, nobody talks.  I quickly turned sideways to meet his eyes.
“Yes”, I reply, thinking for a second after recovering from the jolt.
“Well God sure was a show off creating you,” he says, with a massive smirk on his face.
I smiled and giggled tenderly.  I mean, come on!  How bad boy is it to try a pickup line on a girl, yet alone a girl you don’t know, from the computer room.  In addition, it broke ice, I guess; but little did I know I had only uncovered the tip of the iceberg that would be, Special Agent Shum.
As the Bell Rings
The bell rang.
It was English, the subject I hated with a passion.  I mean, for crying aloud, who needs to write 300-word long essays, when my MSN log is comparably 300 pages long?  It’s not as if we can’t spell, unlike third world children from Africa.  I mean, I see the point in ESL, but English, give me a break.  Moreover, as fate would have it – not long after daydreaming, that is exactly what I was off to do: have a break.
I quickly grabbed my books, and ran out of classroom, trying to hold down my skirt to prevent an embarrassing situation, whilst trying to clutch on to my books.
“No running Miley”, Ms Hilton shouted.  I acted as if I didn’t hear.  Terrorland would have no grip on me.  In ten seconds, I had already ran out of the classroom, run through the corridor, through the second floor veranda, down the staircase on to first floor, through the ground floor veranda, down the second staircase on to the bitumen, and into the canteen to get the best canteen line position.  It’s not as if I could wait until the return of Jesus to get my lunch.
“Mileyl!”  I hear somebody scream from behind me.  I turned around, and realized it was Jeremy.
“Oh hi Jeremy”, I said, excitedly.  Was I too obvious?  Did I sound too desperate for friends?  Maybe he’d think I was a loser?  What did he think of me?  Would he think I’m an ugly duckling?  Maybe even fat?  You see, we were in grade ten, and it was everybody’s first year of being a senior, and nobody at the school knew each other.  We didn’t meet much people in week one, far it was only filled with wondrous tours of our school to be.
“Hi Miley”, Jeremy replies, seemingly overwhelmed by the first week of school, “how’s school going?”
“It’s going good,” I shrugged.  It sure didn’t sound so in my voice.
“Let’s go and get some recess”, he says, smiling, realizing things weren’t going as well for me as I’d hoped.  I guess you could say I am that emotional type of girl.  I never got into the hand-cutting thing because I mean, what do you get out of it?  However, I’d always secretly go into the toilets and have cries in between lessons; despite I don’t think anybody knew.
“Sure”, I said, “Actually I’ve got to put my books into my locker; can you please save me a place in the line?”  No.  What was I doing?  I had just opened myself to the chance of being rejected.  What if Jeremy were to reject my request?  What if when I got back the others in the line didn’t let me in with Jeremy and told me not to push in?  This surely wasn’t my day.
“Yeah that’s fine”, he said gleefully.
It didn’t take me long to return, and I slipped into the line next to Jeremy with no problems, Sometimes, I just wonder how much we worry about things that never come to pass – it’s almost like our happiness depends on the acceptance of others.
The teacher counted the next five in.  You see, our school canteen was quite small, and to prevent theft, the canteen only allows around twelve or so odd people in there at once.  I then tried to predict whether the teacher would let us in, for the number the teacher let in wasn’t always five.  It was arbitrary, and often depended on the benevolence of the teacher.  Bad teacher and it would seem the entrance pass would always extend to the person just before you; good teacher and you would always seem to be the last person to be allowed in the canteen.
It was a grumpy looking blonde woman, who looked like the serious sort of person.  She looked like the sort of person who may have been good looking when she was younger (but probably still quite serious); but still not the sort you could imagine being married to an ordinary man.  However, to define an ordinary man in his forties is impossible.  I just can’t see how any woman could find them attractive.
“Okay, next five”, the teacher utters in a rather whisky tone, counting the next five.  It seemed like me and Jeremy was so dose to the front that this would be both our turns.  We quickly scurried forward.  Jeremy takes one-step past the teacher with no problem, with me tailing him.  No problem.  He takes another one.  He is clearly past the teacher, but then the unthinkable occurs.  The teachers hand drops right in front of me.
“That’s it, Miss”, she says.  I couldn’t believe it.  My newfound friend and I would be separated, like Romeo and Juliet in Romeo & Juliet, or Mr. Darcy and Miss. Bennett in Pride & Prejudice.  Unbelievable!  How could an education system, which vows to teach children, attempt to destroy the social psychology of young teens by ripping one from another?
A tear left my eye, and I dropped my head, so that my light brunette hair covered my face.  I had spent hours on my makeup but I knew my tears would ruin all of the work I had put in.  My mascara wasn’t waterproof, and nor was my eyeliner.  I rubbed my eyes with my palms, trying to cover my eyes so nobody would see me in tears.  Suddenly I felt a tug on my hands.  I didn’t want to know who it was, for nobody could make it better.  Who knew me or wanted me at school anyway?  Lifting my head slightly, realized it was Jeremy.
”But…’’  I said, trying to figure out why he wasn’t in the canteen, such as whether the evil teacher had asked him to come back out whilst I was crying.
“Its okay”, he says, I’m here for you”.  That was all needed to hear.  I put my arms over him and rested my head on his shoulder.
“You can go in as well”, the teacher says, rolling her eyes backward.  Maybe she wasn’t as mean after all.
Jeremy had come to me and had rescued me and I was grateful.  We have been great friends since.  The canteen was one of our favorite places to hang out at school, as they stocked the yummiest muffins in the whole of Franklin, which won first place in the Tennessee State Fair, dubbed the “Moo Shu Muffins”, Isn’t that such a hilarious name?  I have no idea why it was named after the little dragon from Mulan, but they are some delicious muffins.
Mandy was my other dose friend.  I had first met her in math’s class.  She’s one really smart cookie, but she’s also extremely pretty.  She’s a brown-haired person, but her hair’s a lot darker than mine.  In addition, my eyes are a lot more grey and blue than her greener eyes.  Probably the only similarity is our ceramic straight hair that rolls down to our back.
I had met her back in Week 1 however.  Like her.  I’d always liked math’s, since I was good at it, and I usually got on with the teachers, they’d let us talk in class whilst doing work, and once I’d had finished my work, the teachers let us do things we liked, such as making paper airplanes, and playing with our tech decks.
My classroom was in the A-Block, which was near the front of the school.  It was still quite early in the morning, early in the week, and despite it was a little windy outside, the sun was up, and shone through the window, illuminating the reasonably sized room naturally.  The room had an old school blackboard, and was painted all white.  There was a door to the front left of the room, which seemed to be a doorway to the classroom next door.
I was running late.  The lesson said “10:00am” but it was already 10:06am.  It was the first lesson of mathematics at the new school, and I’d be late?  What would the teacher think of me?  I’d have to make up an excuse.  I guess it really wasn’t my fault, for I had no idea where or what “A2″ was.  You see, in Junior High, we didn’t go around to different rooms for lessons – all of the lessons were in the one room, with the one teacher.  How was I supposed to know “A2″ meant A-Block, Room 27 I had to prepare my extensive speech in my mind, which I would present to the class, like the Abraham Lincoln’s address to the United States Congress?
Moreover, there it was “A2″ in large print on a piece of white plastic nailed to the door.  I peeked through the door to see my embarrassment.  I saw most of the seats filled with students, so I was a little worried.  However, the teacher didn’t seem to be there.
“Move it little girl”, I heard from behind me, as they pushed me to the side.  It was some fat kid.  Gosh, why can’t people these days get some manners?  I walked in after him, a little worried.  The seats seemed to be all filled up.  Moreover, it seemed like it would be harder to get a seat than it would be in a game of musical chairs.
The fat kid walked up to the back, and not wanting to sit next to him, and not seeing many free seats around anyway, I walked in a perpendicular direction across the front of the classroom.  I hoped the entire class didn’t see me, for I only wanted a seat.  At least I wouldn’t have to do my Lincoln speech.
“Hey, sit here”, I hear a voice.  Had I known somebody from the school?  I quickly turned to see whoever made the remark.
“Hi there, there’s nobody sitting here, do you want to sit here?” she says, whilst moving her bag off the chair to her right.  She was pretty; amazingly pretty actually; the sort of girl that every person would like.  She seemed nice, but also a bit of a rebel.
“Sure”, I reply, unsure why a girl as pretty and popular as her would be interested in me.
“I’m Mandy”, she says.
“Hi, I’m Mileyl/, I reply smiling.
“So Miley, what’s up?”
“Not much, you know – school”, I reply.
The door in front of us suddenly swings open; and a little clean-shaven man, with glasses the size of his face, in his mid fifties walks out.
“Hi class”, he says.  The whole room silences.
“My name is Mr. Mercury and I will be taking t his Year 10 math’s class.”
After explaining to us the details of the first chapter of Year 10 mathematics – moderately difficult arithmetic, we are given time to work.  The chatter in the room increases, and people start moving around, “Ouch”.  I said quietly, reacting to something that hit my head.  What was it?  In addition, who could have a grudge on me already, I thought to myself.  Looking down at the ground, it was half a rubber, somebody threw at me.  Turning around, the fatty from earlier laughs.
“What’s your problem?” he exclaims
I quickly look forward, knowing that I will burst out into tears any
second and my newfound friend will discover I am a newfound freak.  Crying was the last thing I could do to introduce myself to Mandy.  After all, I had been given the opportunity to become friends with the hottest, most popular girl on the planet -I couldn’t let an eraser sacrifice all that.
My eyes began to swell with tears.  Miss Popular was sure to desert me.  She’d probably think I’m a crybaby, a wimpy whore, a sobbing slut.
“Hey, what’s wrong”, I hear as Mandy pulls my left hand away from my red eyes.
“Nothing”, I say.
The fatty, who threw the eraser at me, and his friends, are now all laughing.
“Look fatty”, Mandy turns around saying, “stop being a prick, and find something useful like losing some weight on America’s Biggest loser, rather than being a girl basher.”  I couldn’t believe it.  Mandy actually stuck up for me.
“Here you go Miley”, she says, handing over a few tissues, “everything’s okay”.
“Thank you Mandy”, I stutter.
I surely couldn’t find a better friend.  Literally love at first sight; and we have been BFF’s ever since.
As if that wasn’t cool enough, Mandy and Jeremy are best of friends, and should I say, I reckon, more than just friends do.  I’ve always thought Jeremy was hot, but since we’re so close, he’s like my brother, and I’m just happy that he and Mandy have it going on.

Save Me the Embarrassment
Save me the embarrassment.
“Mom”, I exclaimed, “You’re not coming with me in that”.  It’s not like one day I grew up, and wanted to discard my parents.  No.  It’s just that they don’t understand me.  My Dinosaur mother just didn’t go through what I’m going through, and to have your mom dressed in daggy clothes was the last thing a fifteen-year-old girl needed.
“Bad news”, dad enters into the room declaring.
“I’m adopted”, I taunted.
“It looks like we may need to sell some of our belongings to cover the rent for the house”, dad continues.  I started to begin to envision  all of the things I had come to store up over my teen years, and what  sort of prioritization I could afford in discarding my somewhat less- needed items.
“This is the worse I’ve ever been treated in life”, I exclaim thundering out of the lounge, into the study.
“Wait until you get married”, mom exclaims.
“Miles, can we talk?” dad says.
“God, what?”  I shout, pulling my right earplug out of my ear.
“Forgot, dad should leave message on daughter’s MySpace rather than addressing her”, he mutters quietly to himself.
“Oi”, I scream, as the revving on my annoying little brother’s Playstation blots out all of the noise in the house, “stop playing your stupid little car games”.
It’s not so much that I was an angst or hormonal teenager, or maybe it was, but if everyone around me could shut up and stop annoying me, maybe I wouldn’t be a pissed off so-called “typical” teenager.  After all, its thanks a lot to the Industrial Revolution that young people were displaced, causing the social construction of the categorization of “adolescence”.
“Listen, I know I said I was going to buy you the new iPhone 3G”, dad continues, “but it seems like we are a bit tight on the budget, so…”
“I was going to show it to all my friends so they wouldn’t think we’re that pov”, I interrupted, “Nice one dad – Thanks!”  I exclaim.
Mom was finally ready to head out.  Not entirely, what you’d call exquisite or elegant, but at least endurable.
You see, we were going out shopping, and I had always fretted about shopping with my mother.  Boys all know that girls one day turn out like their mothers, and imagine if a boy saw me with my mom.  God, such depressive deliberation should not even come into the mind of a teen.
Anyway, the ride was great for it was a bright sunny day, and we were heading out to Chapel St Mall, which was the biggest, brightest, and best shopping precinct in town.
“You look a bit emo today”, mom said as her eyes met mine, which received a tremendously ample application of black outliner this morning.
“Emo?”  I taunt, “More like emo-mazing”.
Soon, we arrived at Chapel St Mall, and had found a free car park close by.
“One small step for Miley”, I said stepping out of the car, “But one large step for Mankind”, I chuckled, feeling fictitiously fantastic, but unsure as to whether what I had just said actually made any sense.
As I was about to race into the Atlantis of Shopping Malls, through the car park, before actually distancing five odd meters from our car, I find myself lying on the bitumen after knocking into a rather pale girl.
“I’m sorry”, I quickly declare, trying to get myself off the ground and wiping my dusty hands on my skirt.  The girl also lifts herself off the ground slowly.
“I’m –“
“Sara?”  I interrupted.  I had seen her several times at school before, but I had never really talked with her for she was from a different cliché than me.
“Oh no”, my mom cries out from behind, staring into her phone.
“What?”  I sneered, “You just received an SMS from a space zombie from Pluto asking you to return to Planet Too-Too?”
“Miley, I’m really sorry about this, but it looks like I will need to head off to work for an unexpected meeting which seems to involve a presentation to one of our biggest clients so I’m going to need to head off – have fun with uh–”.
“Sara”, she says finishing off mom’s sentence.
I vowed to myself for the last time that if I were ever to become a mother, I’d be a real mom; one who actually cared more about the title of parent than the one on her business card.
Anyway, introduce yourself to Sara the Book Worm.  Head honcho of the Pacific Coast High Book Club.  I hated books with a passion, and in particular, the King and Queen of book land: the “book worms”.  Sara wasn’t exactly ugly.  She was hot, minus the braces; the fashion, hair and make-up, and maybe the fragrance…
“And I have this massive dream where Jeremy Shum, who gets za ladies…”
“Shut up Jeremy,” she said butt in before I could finish my sentence, “you so do not”.
“Why does everybody say that,” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she giggled.
“Anyway, I was wondering

What did the pen say to the pencil?
What’s your point?
Princess from the Undead
“Where’s my novel Princess of the Undead?”  I thought to myself scurrying through a pile of books that I had taken out of my bag, which seemed to be somewhat comparable to the height, and shape, of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
“Have you lost something”, Mandy calls from the desk beside me.
“Yes”, I exclaimed, “my social life”.
It was English, and I was in year twelve, and approaching the end of the year: the forever-dreaded SAT’s were coming up soon.  I don’t know why SAT stood for Schools Admissions Test, since for every normal student, excluding book worms, which I couldn’t properly provide representation for, stood for something more like the Sick and Twisted.
There was probably no subject I hated with a passion more than English.  Our teacher, Ms. Mattiske, was, I guess, fairly nice, but a rather hard marker.  Moreover, to reiterate what I mean by “hard marker”, if you were to score above eighty-five percent, which was an A, you would be William Shakespeare.
“So hydrogen and oxygen are getting a drink, and gold walks in, and they go ‘Au, get out of the bar’”, Jeremy says walking pass the front of my desk and through the side to the seat behind me, “Because, you know, Au is the atomic symbol for gold”, Jeremy clarifies.
“Ah, ha, ha”, Mandy taunts.
“Someone’s looking towards the SAT”, I say in a rather rhetorical tone.
“Oh, look who woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning”, Jeremy laughs.
“You know what Miley”, Mandy says, “A lot of people think these SAT questions are difficult; Not me.”
“No?”  I gasp.
“No”, she replies, “These questions all have answers”.
To Be, or Not to Be
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of an imaginative mind must be in want of a good wife.
“Things I’d like in a girl,” Jeremy wrote down in his notepad, as he dwelled into the question, which I really had no interest in.
To imagine the statistical probability of meeting the one meant for you, if there is such a thing, is almost an inverse googolplex, I thought to myself.  As the number googol was a rather large number, one with a hundred zeros following to be exact, the inverse of this rather large number would be rather close to zero.
You see, the mathematical definition of ‘probability’ is the occurrence of a ‘match’ divided by the number of potential possibilities.  Given that the population of English-speaking countries (USA, UK, Canada, Australia, Ireland, New Zealand, India, Philippines, and South Africa) is at any one time 1.4 billion (and growing), because the typical ratio of male to female is approximately 1.06, the world population of women is approximately 680 million.  Given a male would target females with a standard deviation of age five years older or younger; this would refer to a range of the female population within a range of 10 years.  Assuming that at any one time 15% of the population will be within this age range, the concatenated population still equals a whopping 100 million.  As an example of a comparison, the probability of winning a lottery is usually around one to 65 million.  In other words, finding ‘the one’ is potentially twice as hard as winning the lottery.
To find just one girl to spend the remaining forty to eighty years of a boy’s life at the mere age of twenty is just an unbelievable idea, but yet something that the market performs to do, nearly just as effectively as the job market.
Despite there are more men than women, I thought, it is so much more difficult for a girl to find a good boy, than vice versa.
Anyway, it is unanimously agreed in statistics that a sample size of root (two) of the population, can be considered representative of the population.  Although only a sample size of 10,000 English-speaking teenage girls is required, this is still maybe a more difficult investigation to complete as first thought.
Have you noticed however, that even if, a thousand girls had passed one by, maybe only a dozen or so have the “it” factor?  Maybe then, jotting down the attributions of girls I liked, I could find common traits I liked.
“Kiera Knightly,” Jeremy said.
“Super anorexic with no personality?”  I remarked.
“Awesome British accent and skinny”
Boys certainly overrate dating Ms Knightly.  Her personality, I had seen from many movies, was rather unsatisfying.  However, maybe this was their imagination, capable of the concoction of the shopping for selective genetic features.
“Cameron Diaz, perfect smile and funny.”
More like slutty.  Despite Ms Diaz had an unbelievably cool smile, a overly dazzling personality that would keep boys laughing for hours, it wasn’t too long ago that she released a semi-nude porn.  Maybe the idea would be a girl like that would even replace cable.
“Anne Hathaway, dark straight hair.”
“What about Sophie?”  I asked.
You see, Sophie Winzar was Jeremy’s best friend, who sported blonde hair.
“There’s something I just like about the slutty bad girl look for dark brunette hair,” he replied.
He had explained it to me before.  Being brunette myself, I found the remark offensive when he first told me.  But he explained it was not a slut in actuality, but those who dress and pretend to be like it.
In fact, I remembered when Jeremy made the remark to an Uncle at Church who worked as the Marketing Manager at the Walt Disney Company, who told him his wife overheard the conversation, and wanted to give Jeremy a good slap.
“Leeza Beytell, dark tanned skin, says what she believes.”
“Sophie Winzar”, he finally finished with.
As Jeremy’s best friend, I thought he would probably include her.
He told me the back-story nearly a million times.  He must have the memory span of a fish, five seconds, or so, because he repeats himself quite a bit.
Anyway, he was friends with this young lass initially because he thought she was rather ‘hot’ (whatever that means), but then he meets another girl, and talks to this girl he used to like (but no longer do) about the new girl that he now likes.  Then later they act as if they never had thoughts of each other, but both of you deep down have that awkward moment between each other?
He actually liked her for many reasons, if not simply for the fact that they get along like magic.  Maybe there is this unspoken law where one gets along with one’s friend only because they find some of her attributes most important in a potential partner.
“Jeremy,” I then thought, “can’t shut up, hyperactive, imaginative, energetic, and crazy”.
Back to Sophie, she was a bit of a klutz, pretty nice and positive, but I knew most important of all to him, Godly.
Jeremy made it a tradition to talk about his Sophie story as often as possible.  It was in the computer room at school.  He was ultra-hyperactive that day and decided that he wanted to get girl attention.  I think it must be some sort of social interaction between groups of young boys, where the boys have some sort of untold of competition to grab the attention of the girl.  Apparently, he was far too embarrassed just to go up and talk to Sophie randomly, so he ditched a pencil from one side of the room to the other.  Ducking immediately down, he almost expected her to come over to my side of the room shortly thereafter to complain of the dangerousness of his actions.  This never resulted, however.  Later asking her what she thought about it, she actually told me she never knew of it.
Thinking that she knew he threw a pencil and ignored it, he talked to my friends about how amazingly hot she was (though he never actually saw her face; only saw the back of her head).
As she was leaving the room, he said a quick “bye” and she responded with “bye” as well.
As random as it would seem, she came back bursting into the room thirty seconds later, came up to his computer, and asked him if I knew where “Queen Victoria Hospital” was.
Discovering they were later in similar classes, he was from then forth friends.

My Future Decided
There is always this “moment” where everything in life is decided.  Maybe it was in year twelve, maybe it had to be years later, maybe it was an event under your control, maybe not; but there is a time in your life where the whole course of your life is decided.
It is surely an interesting observation, that in life, sometimes, the most effective strategic moves we can make are those that we do not intend to happen.  We just go on living life, entering doors that open, leaving behind the ones that have closed, and your dreams just come true.
It is commonly said that there are two guarantees in life: (1) taxes, and (2) death.  Despite the blatant omission of other probable choices such as contractual warrantees, and acts of God, why does society fret the Armageddon of these two matters more than any other?  Although little can be said for underlying reasons for societal psychology, perhaps the question of fear can be quickly overcome if only one found the perfect antidote: education.
Taxes are administered to literally every aspect of society.  Even Capital Gains, is taxed today.  However, nobody put it better than Benjamin Franklin who observed that nobody can “take” what man has emptied into his head.  Knowledge learnt, is the tree of life that humankind has been searching for indefinitely: non-taxable!
Further, knowledge is free from death.  As one generation passes the knowledge to the next, knowledge transcends time and thus from death!
The Chinese mastered the politics of education before any other civilization.  Education is only as effective as the numbers who study for it, and although realized the national good was expensive, knew very well that ignorance would be even more expensive.
Early schools though, saw the dual objective of study.  As we move into a knowledge-based economy, there is a lie being spread that education is only for making a living.  No, early schools knew that education was also for living, and classes such as etiquette, ethics, theology, and philosophy were readily abound.
Having reached a mid-life crisis realization of lost fundamentals of the early schools, many institutions are scavenging back into history to find other pedagogical treasures they may have lost.
For this very reason, medical schools have recently reverted from the 1900’s teaching-based structure back to the learning-based paradigm of the Athenian period.  Problem-based learning now accounts for a much larger majority of the substantive course; and practical training is now a requirement.
We are just relearning what we forgot though: it is not what is taught; it is what is remembered, transferred, and used – that is, what is learnt.
After I graduated from high school, I went on to study medicine (MBBS) at Harvard University, and then a PhD in Engineering from the UCLA (University of California at Los Angeles).
After a few years of tutoring at my University, I was accepted as a lecturer at the University of College London (in England), teaching medical engineering.  In due time, I had progressed through the ranks of assistant professor, to associate professor, to full professor.
During my work in forensics, I had a fantastic opportunity that arose within the field of defense.  Eventually, I became a secret agent at MI5, eventually rising to special agent.  I was then forth known as Special Agent Shum to my closest friends.
Recently, The Walt Disney Company looked at corporate expansion into England, and as the federal defense agency in England, the MI5 was put on their case.  After a few failed attempts by existing personnel to foil the corporate battle between Disney and Nickelodeon, I was called on to the scene.
Even before you step into Disneyland, you are greeted with an unusual looking train that takes you from reality into the dreaminess that is known as Disney.  Secluded and with no more remnants of the surrounding plains, the noise of the five o’clock traffic of a major city has now changed into the teen pop jingle that is Disney.  With all acting as reasoning actors in the Economy that is Disney, the King With No Overalls is all too abound, with kids too encapsulated by its glory to realize the reality: that it’s all unreal.  What is being sold is in fact not happiness, but only hope.  However, maybe hope is happiness; even the chief happiness?
Unwary of the war that is waged outside the Fortresses of Disneyland, warlords fight in the intellectual battle of hope and reality.  Disney executives launch a box office bomb propagandizing that hope is a prerequisite for “dreams come true”; and realism maniacs complain to the United Nations’ International Court of Justice of unfair play, unreasonableness, and misleading conduct.
Whilst the ideological corporate war is waging, our homes deal with the same battle civilly.  Older citizens, who have been victimized by the naivety that is hope, know all too well the fever that is known as disappointment.  The more the child is drugged, the worse their fever will be, until eventually, they wake up to reality, too paralyzed to ever hope again.  At least this was their story, factual to the tip.
Whereas there are 5.1 billion people on earth at this very moment, a Gallup Poll found that less than 3% have access to the world’s riches.  Statistically then, most will never realize their dreams, and will only be greeted by the slow compromise and surrender of their fondest hopes.
As economists and actuaries make this dispiriting realization, parents just know better than to expose their children to the two-faced joker that all too disappointingly smacked them in the face.
On the deathbed of many of the world’s most successful, analysts have often asked what their strategies for success were.  Whether it is success in chemistry, physics, physiology, or literacy, the answer is always the same: they believed in something when no one did, they hoped.
Without these dreamers, we would never have seen the victories that are known as Lincoln, Edison, Teresa, Disney, and Wilberforce.  Martin Luther once stated, “Everything (important) that is done in the world is done by hope”.
If only society came to a holistic understanding of accomplishment that moved away from “me” to “us”.  To me, a thousand mining failures is worth the one that hits gold – and the winner has an obligation to celebrate his success with the thousand failures; just as the thousand failures have an obligation to keep as a good sport, hold that upper chin, and share in the victory of the winner: for he too, has won.
Once we gain a holistic view of success, I think that Man will realize that their greatest fear is not that they are weak and undesired, but that they are powerful beyond their imagination, and never had a jurisdictional right to constrain the Image of God.

Wizards with Selena Gomez
“Battle utosis,” Selena Gomez remarks as she blows open a slot appearing out of a clothes stack.
Immediately,
“Please don’t hurt me,” I begged Selena Gomez falling front down with my knees bent and my head facing the ground, my hands covering my ears.
However, maybe this wasn’t such a great place to start the story.  You see, moments ago this is what happened:
As I was simply strolling down Waverly Lane, I was ushered by two men in a suit, who stated that the Director of MI5 wanted to see me.

“How do you like me being you,” Demi Lovato replies.
Selena Gomez was visiting England as a part of her Wizards tour, and Dr Nick the evil scientist was planning to put her under a new magic spell.
“Your job,” the Director remarks, “is to try to defend Selena Gomez when she comes for her Wizards tour in England”.

“I wonder what this is,” Selena Gomez questioned, holding on to my notepad, which had her name etched on the side, with a love heart surrounding the text.

Although he has to be away from home for weeks in a row, nobody suspects anything because he becomes visiting professor and speaks at a wide number of leading Universities including:
Princeton University
Stanford University
University of California at Berkeley
University of Columbia
Oxford University
Massachusetts Institute of Technology
I can’t decide who is prettier though, Demi Lovato or Selena Gomez.  I mean, I asked all of my friends, and they think both sound awesome.

JEREMY SHUM, President of The Jeremy Shum Invent Company, is alma matter of the Universities of Adelaide and South Australia in the areas of commerce, law, and engineering.  However, a committed optical engineer, Mr. Shum spends much of his time writing acclaimed fiction of the imaginative engineering genre.

I am totally bazonks at the new price of SPECIAL AGENT SHUM (produced by The Jeremy Shum Invent Company) I was looking at Physics Year 12 (Part 1) because it will set me back $47. THIS IS TOO EXPENSIVE FOR KIDS!!!! If there are two parts, This will mean a year’s education for me may cost around $94 or so dollars each subject. For five subjects in year 12, this is a whooping $470!!!! I don’t know why they handing out FREE copies to the third world and charging so much!!!!! I think it is sort of racist to charge white people more than black people.

WHY CANT EDUCATIONAL PRODUCTS COST $15-$30, but instead it costs $47 per DVD gosh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I know that some ppl say that DVD videos from other people cost $200 and even up to $10,000 – but i just think, ITS ALL OVER PRICED!!!!!!!!!
Thats same with private school education too. $10K is WAY overpriced.

I am really excited because it stars Jeremy Shum as well as Demi Lovato, Selena Gomez, Jonas Brothers, Alyson Stoner, Vanessa Hudgens, Ashley Tisdale, Zac Efron, Miley CYrus, Debby Ryan, Mandy Jiroux, Corbin Bleu, Moises Arias, Alyson Michalka, Ashlee Simpson, Lindsay Lohan, and Hayden Penetierre!!!!!!!!!!!!! I dont think there has been an Inventco production that has been AS UNIQUE for like educational area. I am going to try and pre-order as soon as possible i can get my parents credit card details.

I also that the movie is PRODUCED and DIRECTED by doctors etc etc etc and of course the Law / Engineering / Commerce (Accounting) Jeremy Shum bahahaha lol. (omg he’s so hot)

I bet you tons of ppl are going to insult it as being rated PG particularly if its targetting teenagers from 13 to 19. Foul mouth Jeremy Shum hahaha lol, skinny little slut. Ahh, some of those internet reviews are SO HILAAAAAAAAAAAARious lol!!!!!!!!!!!!

The cover looks awesum too!!!!!!!!!!!
It has already been leaked on to the internet but in text format I include young peoples

http://i50.tinypic.com/33lp0lw.jpg

——————–

Mathematics and science will be fun as you learn through this imaginative all-singing and all-dancing electrifying presentation of The Jeremy Shum Invent Company.  This exclusive DVD explores the prequel in an exclusive beginning.

When Prof Jeremy Shum is on to a trip to the United Kingdom to lecture at the University of Cambridge in Medical Engineering, he is hired by MI5 to be made SPECIAL AGENT to stop the evil force that is know as Nickelodeon, which is out to destroy Selena Gomez & The Scene’s Summer Tour.

Packed with hip music, hip dance moves, and special features, you will sing, dance, and rock over and over again.

DVD SPECIAL FEATURES: Congratulations on making an investment in your children’s future, in something that can’t be taken away from them, and will stay with them forever.

BACKSTAGE INVENTCO

• Prequel to Secret Agent Shum

• Interview with Jeremy Shum

PHYSICS YEAR 12 (PART 1)
• Vectors and Scalars

• Projectile Motion

• Centripetal Motion

• And more!
Children who succeed in mathematics and sciences benefit from this for the rest of their lives. Conversely, children who fall behind in math’s and science lose confidence, and causes students to stop trying.

This programing uses proven pedagogy, via step-by-step examples, including detailed voice and diagram explanation.

If your child’s scores do not improve within six months of adopting this video series (and working through every exercise in a prescribed text book which includes answers), in our view, the product has been a total and complete failure.

FROM THE JEREMY SHUM INVENT COMPANY A DISNEY CHANNEL UNORIGINAL MOVIE
“SPECIAL AGENT SHUM” STARING JEREMY SHUM  DEMI LOVATO  SELENA GOMEZ  JONAS BROTHERS
ALYSON STONER  VANESSA HUDGENS  ASHLEY TISDALE  ZAC EFRON  MILEY CYRUS   DEBBY RYAN
MANDY JIROUX  CORBIN BLEU  MOISES ARIAS  ALYSON MICHALKA  ASHLEE SIMPSON
LINDSAY LOHAN  HAYDEN PANETIERRE WRITTEN BY HOWARD D. FONG EDITED BY DAVID LANCASTER
PHOTOGRAPHY SOPHIE WINZAR PRODUCED BY DR. K. C. SHUM. DIRECTOR BY DR. EDWARD C. CHENG

WIDE SCREEN 16:9
Feature Languages: ENGLISH
Feature Running Time: Approx. 120 Mins
Any queries regarding this product please e-mail The Jeremy Shum Invent Company Customer Service Hotline at
customer-info@jeremyshuminvent.com
Parental guidance
WARNING: This DVD is sold on the condition it is not offered for sale or hire outside the United States. The film (including the soundtrack) comprised in this DVD is licensed for home use only. All other rights are reserved. Any unauthorized copying, editing, exhibition, renting, exchanging, hiring, lending, public performance, diffusion, and/or broadcast of the DVD or any part thereof is strictly prohibited.

www.jeremyshuminvent.com
Inventco SPECIAL AGENT SHUM PHYSICS YEAR 12 (PART 1) [PG]
The Jeremy Shum Invent Company presents SPECIAL AGENT SHUM [PG] Mild sexual references and coarse language
Physics Year 12 (Part 1)