Confessions of a Teenage Caffeine Addict

5 // Blue Eyes, Tattoos & Belts

Y. That perfect letter. The wishbone. The fork in the road. The empty wineglass.

The question we ask ourselves over and over. —Marjorie Celona

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KATIE

DECEMBER // WEEK 2

I hated Wednesdays, precisely because my AP Calculus teacher, Mrs. Caldwell gives incredibly hard, weekly quizzes. They're a friendly reminder that school is for learning and not slacking off, like the whole class would if we didn't have weekly quizzes. Mrs. Caldwell was an evil genius. This Wednesday, however, turned out to be worse than most. I walked out of my Calc class after handing in my test, breathing a sigh of freedom, only to be ambushed by Mr. Crowley, the Dean of Athletics. I instinctively hunched my shoulders forward and tried not to flinch—like I did when I was touched by every guy my mother brought home. The Dean took no notice of my tensing up and pulled me a little closer. You could say that he was definitely the hands on kind of teacher.

"Hi, Katie," Mr. Crowley began, his arm feeling like 400 tons of cement on my shoulders. I felt like Atlas, holding up the world.

"Hi, Mr. Crowley, how are you?" I asked somewhat meekly, like a mouse whose hole was being guarded by a Saber tooth tiger.

"Doing great, thanks." He answered quickly, not bothering to ask me how I was. He continued to walk me down the hallway. It was clear he could care less how I was doing. He wanted something. "So, Katie, what are you doing next week?" I opened my mouth to reply but nothing came out. I suppose he took that as a sign of me having no plans. "How would you like to film the boy's hockey game?" he pressed, acting like it was a privilege for me or something.

"Uhh, Mr. Crowley, I don't think that's such a good idea." I mumbled staring at the dirty, scuffed tile floor. It was always a mystery to me why the floors were white. The color is supposed to represent goodness and purity... innocence, as Principle Agley likes to put it. The idea is to connect our school with 'goodness' and 'purity.' Purity my ass. They just make it harder for the janitors to clean. Besides, I think the principle would be quick to take back his words and drench the school in black if he knew how innocent his students really were.

"Sure it's a good idea, Katie!" Mr. Crowley exclaimed. My words clearly went in one ear and zoomed right out the other. "Most kids would jump at this opportunity!"

"Then why don't you ask one of them?" I grumbled, resisting the urge to cross my arms. "There's like 2000 other kids in this damned prison you call high school!

"You watch your language, Miss Hawthorne!" He raised his voice, before continuing in a softer, more controlled manner like he hadn't just yelled at me. "As a student of King High who is not participating in a winter sport, you have a responsibility to support your school." He used his lecture voice. "Come to think of it, you don't participate in any sports." Mr. Crowley tried to sound surprised, but we both know that he had probably memorized my file like a private investigator before coming to see me. I'll be you that he knows me like the back of his hand.

"That's because you cut the only decent sport there ever was. I raised my voice and shoved his flabby arm off my shoulder. I stopped walking and glaring vehemently at him.

"And that would be?" he asked clueless, trying to make it sound like he had no idea what used to be my life.

"Track, Mr. Crowley," I sighed closing my eyes. "You cut the track program." The only thing worth coming to school, worth waking up in the morning for... was gone. "There are three hundred clubs here, Mr. Crowley, and you took away the best one. So no, I will not be filming the hockey game next week." I was heated now, but reality snuck up behind me like a little kid on the playground and shoved me off the swings. I fell hard, regaining my quiet composure.