Young Writers Society

"Well, then," Mr. Anderson said, eying me warily. He continued, " Um... free period today. Remember, iPods are allowed for today, and phones. So, I'm going to let y'all go... do whatever!"

He hurried back behind his desk, and the classroom broke into a warm buzz. "Did you hear about Maria?"

"... but that's only what I heard."

"Oh. My god. WHERE did you get that necklace?" and other sentences of the sort were being spewed out rapidly, making my ears seem to vibrate.

I glanced at a reseated Tatianna chattering to David Ontario, who was nodding and interjecting," Oh, yeah, I heard,", "Naw, it looks fine,", and "Yeah, definitely," every thirty seconds or so, though he looked thoroughly lost. I smiled to myself, turning my thoughts to other things (read: SETH FLETCHER, SETH FLETCHER, SETH FLETCHER.)

I guess I should clear a few things up: a) Seth and I are friends. JUST friends. Always have been, always will be. So there. B) Seth is cute. There's no around it, so I'm not going to try and find one. He has shaggy black hair that brushes his ears and falls a little bit into his cobalt blue eyes. He's tall and fair skinned, with an aura that seems to say, "Duuuuude....I just heard the FUNNIEST thing ever!".

He's just as hilarious as Nero, and is twice as sweet, going out of his way to help people any time he can. I can't say I have a crush on him, but him saying you look good... well, it's enough to make a statue blush. I, personally, didn't think I was much to look at- for Seth, anyways. With plain chocolate brown hair that fell a little past my shoulders, regular fair skin, and blue-gray eyes, I didn't think Seth would think that, I, of all people, looked good. The girls that catch his attention regularly are the ones with thick, glossy hair, warm hazel eyes, and flawless skin. I can't say I have all of that.

Darren Gomez walked in and plunked in the desk between mine and Nadia's. No one said anything; it was the last day of school, and nearly all rules had been dismissed for the day. I resisted the urge to ruffle his huge dark brown curls. They were so..... ruffle-able. Nadia, however, did not resist the urge to to tousle his hair. He flashed her a quick smile, which she returned. I turned back around to face the front and heaved a sigh. I didn't have anything like what Nadia and Darren had, nor was I sure I wanted to. In a decision that took little to no time to make, I switched the currently playing playlist from "Ultimate Playlist" to "Songs to Be Sad or Angry To". And yes, I actually do have a playlist called that. I turned the volume nearly to the maximum, nodding my head with eyebrows furrowed. Chrissa Le, my tenderhearted friend from theater, tapped my shoulder politely. Slightly annoyed, I plucked out an earbud.

"Yes?" I said, fighting back a yawn.

"Um, I just wanted to know if you were coming to the Performing Arts After Party. Seth is going to be there!" she said, plucking at the sleeve of her sweater.

For a second my mood brightened, but at the tone Chrissa used with her second sentence, I could feel my cheeks burning. "I'm going, but why would it matter if Seth was there?!" I said, trying not to roar. Chrissa giggled.

"You know why. 'Kay, bye!" she said, her voice squeaky.

After she had gone to talk to Passion (my other friend who took great pride in her name), I muttered,"No, I don't." Then, with a burst of realization, I gasped, "Chrissa Le! I do not- you- gah!" I stormed over to her and smacked her shoulder.

"If I liked him, I'd tell you! Well, actually I wouldn't, but I'd tell Rose and you'd get it out of her!" I said, trying to keep the splutters to a minimum. Chrissa's smile vanished.

"Aw, you don't? Dang it. I really thought you did. Well, anyway, it's good to know you're coming." I loathed the disappointment in her voice. I angrily stormed over and tried to sit in the seat behind Rose. I say 'tried' because the seat already had an occupant: Nero.

"Hey! Seat taken!" he shouted. I thumped the side of his head, and grimaced at the feel of the water he had used to style his jet black hair. I then flicked his light brown temple, shoved him back into the seat with an eye roll, threw up my hands and exploded, "What is this? National everybody act all gushy except for the one person who doesn't have a gushy buddy and then refuse that person the right to cry to her best friend because she was previously available but is now occupied with a boy who doesn't know how much of a jerk he can be sometimes... day?" I ended slightly panting.

"Okay, I feel better now," I said cheerfully. (I have no idea why everyone stared at me then...)

Nadia stood, gathering her things (with a puppy-eyed Darren behind her, I might add), and declared,"I'm off to the library. Come with?" I nodded, forgetting the unfairness of crushes, or lack thereof.

With my books on my hip, I marched out to the door with Nadia, yelling back to Mr. Anderson, "Going to the library!" to which we received a sort of acknowledging grunt. I yawned and followed Nadia out of the door. The second we were out, we looked at each other, grinned, and both began loudly singing the theme from Mission Impossible, leaping and twisting through the halls. We reached the first corner and slammed ourselves against the super smooth wall, our free arms flung out. We proceeded like this until we reached the hallway the library was on.

Mrs. Sanders, who was opening the door, managed to see us. She shook her head. "Reading up before I close down, are you? Alright. Come on, in you go," the librarian said, ushering us in. "For advisory, are you-"

"Staying in? Naw. Me and the crew have some activities to attend to." I said. Behind me, Nadia grinned almost evilly.

"Well, I'm not going to question your judgment-"

"But you really should," Nadia interjected.

Mrs. Sanders shot her a look, but said nothing. She had known us for long enough to put up with our interruptions. "-but you're welcome any time. Even if you're being chased and have to have a hideout."

I gave a sheepish smile. That had happened about a month ago, when I had been sought after by nearly every yearbook reporter after I had gotten a more than perfect score on my writing SFA. Mrs. Sanders retreated behind her desk and busied herself with the computer. I dashed over and accumulated a stack of thick books which I placed by the overstuffed armchair next to Nadia's. Mrs. Sanders eyed it skeptically.

I quickly assured her, "I'll be back throughout the day." Mrs. Sanders nodded. And so Nadia and I set ourselves to reading nonstop. From time to time, as was a tradition of ours, we stopped the other and read aloud passages we liked. They were normally funny, but sometimes were wordy and eloquent, or action packed, or thoughtful. Whenever that happened, Mrs. Sanders would toss (more like pelt, really) us candy. I was devastated (kind of) when the bell rang. But I shrugged it off quickly.

Time to have some fun.