Undercover Fangirl

Apologies

Running down the hallway to class, because I am late again, I weave my way through people taking their time to get to class. My creative writing teacher is sure to lecture me on the importance of being on time. As he always says, “writers ate disciplined. Their schedules are strict and time consuming”.

                “Miss Lorde, late again I see.” Professor Hall has his back turned to the door when I sneak in. The rest of the class either ignores me or gives me an eye roll in the direction of Professor Hall.

                I set my bag down on the floor in the middle row of class. The girl next to me, Gemma, gives me a smile. I suppress the desire to scream at my professor, but that wouldn’t be too good for my grade. Creative Writing is the only class that catches my attention. Writing has always been one of my passions as a kid. Once I entered high school, I started to take it more seriously. It was Regan Turner that made me want to write and someday get my novel published. As of now, I have finished one book that I would consider publishing. I finished it at the end of summer. It centers on a girl who is being bullied and falls for the popular guy. Very cliché; but also very realistic.

                “Your next assignment will be a short story. I expect two-thousand words on a topic that is important to you. Here is the catch: it will be a fictional short story. Say if you are interested in aliens, perhaps your character could get swept away in a space ship. Imagine, plot, and develop!”

                My pencil dances across the page as I begin to brainstorm a few topics that I would be interested in writing about. The first topic is track. Thinking of a plot line, I decide to make it a dramatic short story about a girl who becomes paralyzed after a car accident and is not able to participate in the state track meet. She was the all-state champion for long distance for three years until the freak accident.

                The doctor told me that I would never be able to walk again. He said that I would no longer be able to run track; my only passion since I was a young girl. There was no chance that my legs would ever work again. I was bound to the wheelchair for the rest of my life. I was living my biggest nightmare. Nothing could dissipate the dread that I am feeling. Not my mom; not my dad; and not my boyfriend of two years.

                A figure looms over my desk as I continue to write down a beginning for my short story. Professor Hall is breathing rather loudly, taking in my chicken scratch. “Nice work, Miss Lorde. I do suggest that you start it more light hearted.”

                “Start it light hearted? The girl is paralyzed and was told that she would never be able to walk ever again. I don’t mean to be rude, but it just wouldn’t make sense to make the beginning of the story hopeful. There is nothing hopeful about this story.”

                He gapes at me like I just suggested I would throw his beloved cat into the ocean. His lips press in a straight line. This, I know, is not a good sign for me. He is beyond angry. Adding to being late and telling him that he is wrong, has not boded well for me. Flipping to the next page in my notebook, I begin to write another beginning for my story. Professor Hall gives me a pat on the back at my hopeful beginning. I sigh and keep writing until the fifty minutes of class is finally up. Throwing my book bag over my shoulder, I make a mad dash out of the room before he can tell me that my other pieces of writings are too drab or something.

                “Eloise!” Gemma rushes out of the classroom to catch up with me. Her blonde braid bounces off her back as she walks in line with me. “Hall is a total downer.”

                “Tell me about it,” I mutter. “It’s like his main goal is to make sure that I never become successful with my writing. Besides, I thought being a writer is based on what you want to write, not what others think you should write.”