Purpose ❆ Benny Rodriguez

04 | amends

08/28/2015

chapter four ;
AMENDS

♡

PERHAPS HIDING THE threatening notes from my family was not the best idea. All throughout the week and during school hours, all I could think about was the two letters I had received.

　On Friday, everyone was excited for the first week of school to come to an end. Meanwhile, I feared that I would come home to see my house burned down.

　Creative Writing, as usual, was fun. Mr. Jackson quickly learned that the entire class liked scary stories, so he provided us with a prompt, and we branched off from there. With the cool air and the scent of vanilla and another sweet fragrance, the silence and my imagination running free, I felt at ease.

　My peace came to an end when the bell rang. A sigh escaped my lips, and I stood to my feet. I slung my backpack over one shoulder and approached Mr. Jackson, who stood by the door, hands in his pockets.

　I handed my story, which was only two pages long, to the teacher. Before I could leave the classroom, though, he said,

　"Miss Sullivan. Could you stay here for a moment?"

　"Oh, sure." I stopped in my tracks, turning to face Mr. Jackson. As the others turned in their stories and left the classroom, I made my way back inside.

　Leah stopped to speak to me as the remainder of the students filed out. "Hey," she said, "what are you doing?"

　I shrugged. "Mr. Jackson wants me to stay behind."

　"Hmm," she raised her eyebrows. "I wonder what he wants. . . ."

　I chuckled. "I know what you're thinking." Leah wiggled her eyebrows. "That's creepy as hell, no."

　Leah giggled. "Let me know. See ya."

　"Yeah, see you later," I smiled. As if in salute, I pressed my index and middle finger to my forehead – a gesture I had picked up from Chris Brown in his role in Takers.

　Mr. Jackson turned to face me when everyone was gone. "Sorry to keep you behind, but I just thought you should know that I'm really impressed with your work. When did you start writing?"

　"Thank you," I grinned. "And I started writing in the first grade, maybe even younger."

　Mr. Jackson chuckled. "Well, it's no wonder. You're an exquisite writer. So far, I've never been disappointed with what you've turned in to me."

　"I appreciate that. I've always wanted to be a writer, so that means a lot to me."

　"It's only the truth. I'm sure you've heard it from others. Anyway, I know it's early on, but if you do decide to carry out your wishes, and you want to become a writer . . . Well, I know a few people who could make that come true for you."

　My breath hitched in the back of my throat. Before I could respond, Mr. Jackson chuckled and continued.

　"In fact, they're practically my family," Mr. Jackson said. "Upon my wishes, you could do this for a very small price. When you're older, I know people who could publish and edit your work."