The Dimple Project [Camp NaNoWriMo 2015]

T W E L V E

The director finally gets things organized as he tells them to change the scenes to match the new ones planned for the day. We have to move everything again, so we get up and start pulling it to its new position.

Filming continues as if nothing ever happened.

...

The next day, I ride my bike to school, searching the area for Jeremy before actually entering to my locker. I had successfully avoided him yesterday. I unlock it and pull my notebook out, texting Oliver and telling her to save me a seat in Biology before slamming it shut to find the face I was ignoring behind it. I jump.

"We need to talk," Jeremy says.

"I have to go to class," I reply.

I walk away, my feet dragging the ground. As soon as I get to Biology, my forehead is planted onto the edge of the seat. Still being able to see the feet walk by, a pair of blue tennis shoes enter my view, facing towards me tapping. I can tell that it is Oliver, since I gave her those shoes for her birthday when she said she really wanted to look sport and stylish at the same time. It takes me a while to gather my voice back but when I do speak, it sounds like a dying whale.

"Oliver," I groan. "Oliver, help me."

"Has the coldness finally gotten to you?" She asks as the feet disappear to the desk besides me.

"Oliver," I growled.

"Okay, this must be serious." She tilts her head upwards. "Did your parents disown you?" I shake my head. "It's that time of the month again." I shake my head. "I'm all out of ideas."

Just as I am about to tell her, the announcements come on and I hear peppy students read their scripts about basketball and everything. My face molds in disgust as I listen to their positive tones.

"I'm going to tell you later," I say and lift my head up by doing a mini push up but then failing because my arms are pudding by now.

"Okay," she nods.

Lunch comes like a snail on a hot humid day, slow and tired. Jeremy was trying to get my attention all day but I don't answer and try to ask Ms. April for help. I spent the whole period organizing paint bottles by color and paint brushes by size and brush stroke, not to mention colored pencil by color and oil pastel by set, and crayons by color, and paper into a neat pile, you get the gist. I did everything I could to keep myself busy and him off my tail.

Oliver sits down next to me after we get in line together and I glance carefully throughout the cafeteria for Jeremy. He's not here. I sink lower into my seat. I feel disappointed, even though I ignored him. I don't feel disappointed, though. My brain.

I can't even look at chocolate the same anymore because I actually--I don't want to think about it. There are two sides at war in my head right now and I can't seem to stop them at all.

That's when I hear a crack as cold liquid piles onto my head, drooping down my face a little. I realize what it is by the nasty smell of it--eggs. Oliver gasps, searching the crowd for the culprit but she didn't even try to hide herself. Posse Three, wonderful. Stacy, the controller standing in the middle, feigns shock, but behind her manicured nail fingers, she is laughing.

The cafeteria falls silent, yearning for the fight of a lifetime, the fight they have always been wishing for to happen.

"Sorry! My hand slipped!" Stacy lies. As if an egg mysteriously jumps out of your hand and land on my head three feet away. This isn't humpty dumpty.

"I'm not feeling very nice today, Stacey. Run along before something bad happens," I say.

"Oh really?" She sneers, walking up to me. I was tall, but she beat me who those five inch heels. Her finger went to my forehead, forcing my head to fall back. "I know you set those stairs up for Jasmine to fall, yesterday."