"They just use your mind, and they never give you credit, It's enough to drive you, crazy if you let it" -9 to 5, Dolly Parton
"You'll do great, don't even worry about it," said Johnny, trying to reassure Maeve.
"I am. I am worrying about it. What if I don't get in?" she said anxiously.
The members of the gang that were trying to make something of their life by going to school or having a job were piled in Darry's work truck like every morning. Usually mornings with the lot of them were stressful enough, trying to get everyone ready and to work or school on time. The six of them having to squeeze in the truck, (often having to put Steve or Johnny in the truck bed), and holding on as Darry ran stop signs and cut corners. Normally he was all about driving safely, but getting to work on time was something he took seriously. Although today was extra stressful for Maeve.
"You will," Johnny continued.
"But what if I don't?"
"Then it won't be the end of the world. Stop worrying about it. Why do you care about getting on the school newspaper away? You just write boring stuff like the next football game," said Sodapop from the front seat.
For most of her life, Maeve wanted to be a journalist. Not one of those annoying reporters who chase celebrities and can't mind their own business, but someone who writes about things that matter. So, many times, when she heard about things going on in her town or the world, she didn't hear about it in the newspaper. It's covered with sports and celebrities, but not enough coverage on the things that really matter—that people really need to hear.
She may only be 16 and not yet make a big difference, but she could start with her school. She was going to make them write about something other than football and bake sales.
"Because it's something I want to do. I want people to hear the things I have to say," she finally replied, "why do you like working at the DX?"
"Cause I like cars and I like money," Sodapop said simply.
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"...during the Industrial Revolution, many changes were made in the manufacturing of..." Mr. Wilkins trailed on.
Maeve wasn't paying too much attention to her history teacher—instead, she decided to continue worrying about the interview she had with the school news editor after school today. She stared off into space, mindlessly tapping her pencil on her notebook.
"Miss. Hartwell! Could you tell me when exactly the Industrial Revolution took place?" Mr. Wilkins asked her expectantly after realizing she wasn't paying attention.
"Uh, early 1800's?" she said, not feeling entirely confident in her answer.
"Yes, but it lasted for nearly a decade around then. Pay attention, Miss. Hartwell," he corrected before continuing.
She tried to pay attention, but still couldn't dismiss the worry and anticipation for what was to come at 3:00.
It was like this for all of her other classes too—even English, which normally she didn't mind.
"Is everything ok?" Becca asked from the desk next to hers.
"Yeah, it's just—I'm worried I won't be able to get in. I don't know what I'll do if I don't,"
"Don't worry," Becca said reassuringly, "you'll get in, and even if you don't, that doesn't mean you can't be a journalist."
"But if I have no references, how would I ever get a job later on?" Maeve said.
"Well... you play the electric guitar right? You could be a rockstar, join the Rolling Stones."
Maeve giggled. "I'm not that good, but being a rockstar is definitely the backup plan."
"Make sure not to forget about me when you're famous," Becca said jokingly.
"I would never," said Maeve, smiling.
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During lunch that day, Maeve sat at her usual table with Angela, Evie, Becca and a few others. Today's lunch was burgers and she was too hungry to question what the mystery meat actually was before she started eating.
"You know, everyone is saying that Carol is pregnant and that's why she was out that whole week—I seriously doubt it's true though," said Evie, who always somehow managed to know everything about everyone.
"I'm pretty sure she was out because her aunt died. Also, how would nobody notice that she was pregnant before?" Maeve reasoned, dipping her fries in ketchup.
"I mean obviously it's not true, but if she did get pregnant, would it really be that much of a surprise?" Angela said, dropping her voice, leaning towards Maeve, "Everybody knows she's doing half the football team."
Some people nearby glanced at them. Whether that was because she said it a little louder than she should've, or because the four of them were unsuccessfully trying to contain their laughter.
A little while later Evie leaned over, addressing Maeve but keeping her voice loud enough for them all to hear. "Don't look now, but that guy over there," she said nodding in a direction, "in the leather jacket, has been eyeing you for a while now,"
Despite what Evie said the rest of them, including Maeve, very obviously spun around searching for the guy she was talking about.
Maeve quickly found who she was talking about when she saw none other than Scott Cooper sitting at a table with some others. He was looking directly at Maeve with a look of interest, and not being very discreet about it.
"Oh that's Scott Cooper," she said turning back to the group, "I met him the other night at the drive-in. He seemed a little creepy, wanted me to come watch the movie with him in his car," she said, giving them a knowing look.
"I think I've seen him hang with Curly before," said Angela, eyeing him, "he's not bad looking,"
"He's definitely not, but I don't really know him,"
"Well you should try and talk to him, get yourself out there!" said Becca encouragingly. For her talking to boys came easy to her, it was a bit harder for Maeve.
"I don't know," she said contemplating, and looking over at Scott who by now had turned back to his friends, "maybe I will,"
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The end of the day came quicker than Maeve would've liked. The bell gave a shrill ring at the end of seventh period, signaling 3:00.
She grabbed her books and walked out of the dark classroom with everyone else, but instead of going towards the front entrance, she turned in the opposite direction, fighting the crowd of people to get to the newsroom.
When she arrived, she wasn't sure whether or not to knock, before deciding to just walk in.
"Can I help you with something?" Asked a boy sitting at a desk, quickly jotting down something in his notebook.
"Yes—I'm here to apply for the school paper. Is Mr. Attwood here? I was supposed to meet with him," Maeve said tentatively.
"You're here to join the paper?" The boy remarked, letting out a disbelieving laugh.
"Yeah. Is there something wrong with that?" she questioned, not understanding how he could have a problem with her already.
"Just, wouldn't you rather be doing cheerleading or something?" he said in a snarky tone.
"No, I wouldn't," she clapped back, annoyed by his comment, "Look, is Mr. Attwood here or not?"
"Yeah, he's in his office over there," the boy said, pointing to a door on the far side of the room.
Maeve quickly walked in the direction the boy told her, not wanting to continue the conversation with him. She decided to knock on Mr.Attwood's door this time.
"Come in," Said a tired voice through the door. Maeve opened the door, taking a step into the room.
"Can I help you with something," asked Mr. Attwood, barely even looking up from his work.
"Yes—your flier on the bulletin said students wanting to join the paper could come meet with you after school today," she explained.
That made him look up from his work, taking a good look at her. "And you want to join the school paper?" he said slowly, as if making sure she understood.
"Yes, sir,"
He breathed a sigh, annoyed that his work was interrupted.
"Take a seat," he said, motioning to the chair in front of her.
After she sat down, he asked, "did you fill out the application?" In response Maeve handed him the paper and her past essays that she wrote for English class as examples of her work. Not taking too much time to look them over, he set them down on his desk.
"Look, uhm," he started, glancing down at the papers for her name, "Maeve Hartwell."
"Look Miss Hartwell," he continued, "the paper is something that takes time and commitment. It's something we take very seriously—this isn't some fun little club," he said, looking up at her over his glasses.
"I know. Journalism is something I've always wanted to do, and I'd really love the opportunity to be able to write for the paper," she said earnestly, trying to persuade him.
"Well that's nice, but actually being a part of the paper requires hard work and a certain... skill," he said, pausing before the last word.
"I'm willing to work hard—and did you read my essays?" she asked. She'd just met him, and already he didn't think she was good enough? If he had actually read her essays he would see that she did in fact have the "certain skill" it took.
"Well—I," he stammered, "wouldn't you be happier as a cheerleader, or being on the prom committee?" he asked, ignoring her question.
"No. I wouldn't," she said sternly. She was tired of him just brushing her off for what, being a girl?
If I had wanted to be a cheerleader, I would be trying out for cheerleading, she thought, ignoring her lack of athleticism and coordination.
Maeve stared at him with a determined look, until finally he relented.
"Why don't I look over your application and essays, and I'll get back to you. Does that sound good?" he asked, waiting for her confirmation.
"Yes. Thank you," she said, happy with his answer.
"Alright, now I'm sure you'd much rather be somewhere other than here after hours—I know I would," he said, grumbling the last part more quietly.
She got up and walked out of his office and back into the hallway, pausing outside of the door. This was her chance, her opportunity for herself and others to know what she was capable of. Not to mention it would look great on her college transcript and future applications.
As she stood there, smiling, she heard Mr. Attwood open the door to his office. He and the boy she ran into earlier started talking.
"Did that girl really want to join?" the boy asked.
"Yes, she did, and if we don't get any other applicants soon, I may have to let her," Mr. Attwood said in his bored, monotone voice.
"You're seriously considering letting her join? She's... she's a girl!" he said in disbelief. "We already have Miranda, and she's always messing things up."
"Simon, we need another writer—we can barely keep up. A girl is better than no one at all. If you're so concerned about it, find someone else to be a writer," he said, walking back into his office.
Maeve stood there for a moment, contemplating what she just heard. She shouldn't be surprised with the comments he made earlier, but she still was. After the initial shock wore off she started walking away from the classroom and towards the front doors. More than anything now, she was determined to get into the paper and prove to them that she was just as good, if not better.