Young Writers Society

August 30 • Friday

(6:51 pm)

"'You're unique... Just like everyone else.' I hear this phrase tossed around a lot, used to make people feel worthless. I don't think they get it.

"It's true, of course. You, the individual reading this message, are unique. You're your own person. And so is every other person reading this message. But that's not a bad thing- you know the people around you. You know that person you're jealous of, that person you feel sorry for, that person no one dares talk to. Guess what? You're all unique. Isn't it incredible? There's something there, something binding all of you together. Despite your differences, you're all unique, you all have strengths and weaknesses. Our differences should bring us together, not tear us apart.

"There are so many problems we don't know about, so many things about ourselves that affect others and we don't even notice. I've seen the results of differences gone too far. No good thing can come of it, just remember that.

"-F-"

Finnley posted his latest update just as his mom called him downstairs for dinner. Since she was all alone, he tried to help out, and they had settled on each cooking every other day. His feet slapped softly against the creaking wooden stairs as he headed towards the warm glow of the kitchen. His mom sat at one side of the table, beaming. On the table sat a steaming pile of thin pasta with shrimp.

"Oh Mom," Finnley said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "You really didn't have to do that-"

"I wanted to!" she exclaimed. Shrimp in pasta was one of Finnley's favorite meals, but it wasn't exactly cheap. He knew how much his mom worked, and he had yet to get a job in this new town. Finnley frowned. Yes, he would have to get on that soon. "You deserve it- You finally made a friend, didn't you? Sit down, sit down! And tell me all about it."

Finnley half smiled and pulled out his chair. His mom scooped some of the pasta onto her plate and his and leaned forward attentively. It hadn't seemed much like making a friend at the time, but Finnley supposed he wouldn't be rid of her anytime soon...

It has happened at lunch, but technically all started during third period, in Finnley's poetry class. They had been told to write a poem every day that fit with within a set theme. For the past two weeks, they had been writing about seasons, because that was easiest for most people.

Mr. Forbes was a wonderful teacher, but that day he had handed back all of their poems, graded. That wasn't the problem, as Finnley had gotten high marks, but the class was informed that at the end of each two week period, they would be reading their best poem aloud to the class. Mr. Forbes had marked which of each of their poems he personally thought was the best. As Finnley stared at his poems, his heart began to thud in his throat. These poems- they were personal- it was all very well for a teacher to read them, he graded dozens a day and was just a kind poetry teacher. But... Aloud, and in front of the class? He knotted his hands together quietly in his lap.

When his name was called, Finnley stood as straight as he could before the assembled students, the paper taught between his worried fingers. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Her eyes were the blue-grey

Of raindrops in the spring-

Just as all the flowers

Each drop falls on grow,

So too do the people

She cries for in the silence

Of the rosebuds.

Her laugh light a flame,

Like the bright summer sun-

Everyone would turn

Their faces towards her,

Heavenwards,

She was the rainbow to

Everyone's storm.

Her hair was burnished Autumn,

Glowing with the

Fast fading light of the

Setting fall sun-

The leaves would tangle in it

As her hot breath

Kissed the chilly air.

She was gone like winter,

Like a ghost,

She faded to white and she

Melted into the snow

From whence she had come

And it was her own mouth

That blew out the flame."

There was the usual snapping, and Mr. Forbes offered his delight alongside some constructive criticism. Finnley breathed out slowly and sat down again. He thought it was over.

Lunch came at sixth period, and he stood in line with a tray as usual. School lunches were cheaper, and he couldn't stand the thought of his mother insisting on personally packing one each early morning. It was still hot outside, but he often ate on the lawn anyway because it was a break from the crowded and noisy lunchroom.

As he made for the door to exit, something red streaked from his right side to a screaming stop right in front of him. Finnley blinked, taken aback, at the girl in front of him.

"And just where do you think you're going?" she demanded, one hand on her hip and the other pointed accusingly at him. She wore a short red dress and sneakers, and her long black hair was tied back in a ponytail. When Finnley didn't respond right away, she narrowed her eyes and stepped closer.

"I-I'm just going to eat my lunch outside!" he gasped.

"Well, if that's all," the girl shrugged, stepping aside. Finnley thought he might've nodded, then slipped outside. He walked towards the tree he liked to eat under, and the girl followed him. "You think you're getting away that easily? Too late! You're noticed, Finnley."

He turned around and gaped at the girl in red. "What?"

She tossed her ponytail over her shoulder. "Well, I mean, I was taking that poetry class just for the credit, kind of dull, you know? But then you, you read your poem- and well, you can guess what my reaction was." Finnley really couldn't. "Well! First of all, I totally didn't understand it, but it was fantastic! And second, we are going to be friends now."

"Friends?" Finnley repeated. He was shy, but normally he could manage basic social interactions with some degree of intelligence and civility. He wouldn't count this as basic- this girl was confusing him so much. He looked around, but there seemed to be no escape, and certainly no one else she could be taking to.

"Yes, friends," she said briskly. "You know, I notice a lot. I see you slipping around the school, trying not to be noticed. But you're new. I thought you might be one of those weirdos who are out of their minds, but you seem down to earth and pretty intelligent, by your grades at least. Anyway, everyone at this school has long since rejected my friendship-" here she sniffed in a delicate sort of way, "-so I thought that, seeing as we're so different, we could help each other a bit. You know, friends."

Finnley was still a little dumbstruck, and she certainly seemed a bit on the crazy side herself, but there was something about her... He nodded, just a bit, and smiled.

Beaming, the girl in scarlet stuck out her hand. "Hi Finnley. I'm Mia."

Note: I didn't think much about Finnley's poem, I was just writing what I thought might fit, so I'm open to any advice on that!