The following Wednesday started like anyone could have predicted it would. I woke up too late because I pushed snooze too many times. I didn’t put enough effort into my hair that day to feel confident about it. I ate breakfast worrying about whether that week’s edition of the school paper would be ready in time and put together nicely enough to get by. Silas left the house before I did in his beat up ‘95 green Grand Prix without asking me if I wanted a ride. He hadn’t asked since the first day he got to drive it after dad had it registered. All that was different was when I rushed out the door, expecting to find Marnie checking her phone because I was late again, she wasn’t there.
We walked to school together everyday at 7:37 because I was always two minutes late. And she would wait outside my house or come in and sneak some orange juice while I brushed my teeth.
I glanced down the street and wondered if the impossible had happened: Marnie was late. I knew we had fought yesterday, but that little dispute couldn’t just completely upset the balance of my whole universe.
It had, though.
Just not the way I had expected.
I worriedly shot her text asking if she was mad at me. Where she was. That I was sorry. If she had overslept. Six messages in the span of forty-six seconds.
I refused to start walking to school until I knew what happened to her. If I was going to be late, so be it.
Seconds later I got a response. “Went to school early. Tell ya later.”
Then with a frown and eyebrows pulled together, I reluctantly set off for school by myself, feeling suddenly quite alone.
Ten minutes later I joined the horde of hopeless that filed into East Ellis like a second-rate militia, bumping along and moving tentatively along with the morning rush. The elaborate brickwork outside made the entire building look far too old, even though everyone knew they rebuilt the school at the turn of the century. And whatever architect the district hired had sure sucked the budget dry. Stone floors dyed to look like marble and an abundance of towering, gothic windows that made the place seem less like a prison. The elaborate 1920’s exterior didn’t match the interior. There really is no way to class-up hallways full of gunmetal grey lockers. But it was a valiant effort.
I was determined to find Marnie and assess the situation of our friendship before first bell would ring and I wouldn’t catch sight of her until third period English. But the strangest thing happened.
As I walked toward the east hallway where our lockers stood just two spaces apart, I noticed that the racks that held The East Ellis High Herald had pages in them. That was our chosen method of distribution: several blue metal racks placed near trafficked hallways for wayfaring students to pick up.
I was suddenly very sure of three things:
1. It was Wednesday.
2. I was the president of the Journalism club which produced the herald.
3. It was Wednesday and the herald never comes out on Wednesday and I would know because I was the president of the Journalism club!
Cautiously I moved closer to the metal rack like it would bite me if I got too close. Before I could really read the headline of the pink papers that occupied it, a group of people surrounded them, each grabbing one of their own until it was empty.
No one’s ever that interested in the herald.
Just as quickly as they had come, the group were off and enthralled in whatever papers were posing as school news. My curiosity hiked to a new level. But I moved in slow motion-pivoting to the direction of my locker again. It was then I noticed that all along the halls stood groups of people, bending over normal eight by eleven pieces of light pink copy paper, laughing and deadly interested.
YOU ARE READING
The Ugly Club (On Hold)
Teen Fiction"This is the real and true account of the spring of my junior year. I won't lie to you. I won't try to sway your opinion too much. It's my job to be objective. I just figured someone should know how TUC actually started. Try not to hate us too much...
