Young Writers Society

“I adored your poem third period!” Mia burst out of a sudden, and Finnley flinched back hard enough to hit his head on the tree he was reclining against. She had said it so loudly and so rapidly that it came out something more like, “Idoredyourpoemthirdperiod!”

“Thanks,” Finnley said, sliding a touch of sarcasm into his tone. It wasn’t the kind of poem others were supposed to ‘adore’. It was deeply personal, and he had only shared it with the class out of necessity.

“No, no, it was actually the best thing I’ve ever heard,” Mia insisted. It was as if she had taken his sarcasm to mean that he didn’t think his own poem was quality. “I mean, seriously. I just took that class to get my last English credit, you know? I always thought poetry was dull stuff but they say Mr. Forbes is a pretty easy grader so I took the class. It’s been pretty much the same old stuff, rhyme and metrics or something like that. But yours was totally different. There was rhyme, but the way you used it was so… so…”

Finnley looked at Mia from out of the corner of his eyes. She was looking at him, wide-eyed and grinning, all enthusiasm and earnestness. No trace of mockery. It was the weirdest thing he had seen yet at this school. “So you came out here just to tell me that?” he asked, aware that he was glossing over her compliments and pretty much everything else she had to say.

The girl looked absolutely miffed. “Well duh,” she said, as if it should be perfectly obvious. “And I wanted to offer my friendship.”

Finnley immediately shook his head, setting down his distasteful lunch. “No. Thank you, but I’m fine. I’m just trying to get through the year.” He winced almost as soon as he said it because Mia’s face became so crestfallen. He hadn’t met many people before who wore their heart on their sleeve quite like that. Still, he stuck to what he had said. He didn’t want any trouble this year, and he didn’t need any friends either. Especially not crazy talkative ones who didn’t appreciate personal space.

“Come on,” she insisted, and Finnley had to sigh at her persistence. “We’re all just trying to get through senior year. Doesn’t mean you can’t have a little help.”

“Fine, you can be my friend,” Finnley said with a wave of his hand, as if declarations of friendship were magic tricks to be performed. If that was the case, he was doing a lousy job of it. “Now will you let me eat my lunch in peace?”

And she really did. She sat a few feet away from him, sprawled in the grass on her stomach, feet kicking through the air, but she didn’t try to question him or talk his ear off anymore. All the same, he gave a little smile of relief when the bell sounded to bring an end to this eternal period.

It seemed Mia was unavoidable, though. Two periods later, they had gym. It wasn’t Finnley’s first choice—far from that—but apparently this school district required some crazy number of PE credits when his last had only required one. Apparently, it was a “compromise” to have Finnley take two semesters of gym his senior year and receive all six credits, so he was stuck here the whole year round.

He hadn’t seen Mia in that class before, but then again, had he really seen anyone in any of his classes? She gave him a little wave as the teacher explained that they would be playing softball and Finnley avoided eye contact. They were quickly set up in teams, and Finnley was pleased to be placed far from Mia. He utterly embarrassed himself by not only failing to hit the ball every time, but failing to catch it at any time or even adequately throw it. Luckily he essentially had a team of ‘no-hitters’, so his failure was only one of many. Despite his efforts not to look for her, out of the corner of his eye Finnley could see Mia hitting the ball out of the field. Evidently, she didn’t have any qualms with sports.

When he didn’t see Mia in the final passing period, he was relieved that she hadn’t noticed him during the period before and followed him out. Strange occurrences and obnoxious people done for the day, Finnley looked forward to going home and recharging in the solitude of his room. He put his poetry folder back in his locker and was closing the door when he saw Mia stopping at her own locker across the hall from him.

She didn’t see him. Not yet, at any rate.

Holding his breath, Finnley eased green-painted locker door closed. And… it didn’t close. He pushed a little harder, pressing his shoulder up against it for leverage. Still nothing. Finnley nervously swallowed and jerked his head around—Mia still wasn’t looking his way, instead taking a large bag of baseball bats from her locker. Finnley pulled in a quick, deep breath and gave his locker a firm kick. It finally slammed into place and he clicked the lock shut as he shouldered his backpack, making tracks for the door.

Behind him, another slam indicated another closed locker. It could’ve been any old locker but—“Finnley Bale!”

Finnley cringed and ducked his head, determined to get out of this prison of a school. “Finnley, I know you can hear me, now turn around!” Mia’s voice was exasperated and her footsteps were right behind him. With a slow sigh, Finnley turned on his heel to face her—the green pine forest was glowing in the sunlight right outside the window, but he couldn’t get there.

“What is it with you?” he asked, though he was too tired to say the words with much bite. “What makes you so insistent to be my friend?”

“What makes you so insistent not to be mine?” Mia countered, and though her eyes gleamed with a hidden grin, she seemed genuinely curious.

Finnley shrugged. “I’m not a people person. You seem to be entirely too much of a people person. Is that good enough for you?”

Mia just threw her head back and laughed, loud and joyful and, in Finnley’s mind, a bit crazy. But not unlikable, he supposed. “Doesn’t that mean,” she said, still grinning, “that we’d probably make great friends?”

Finnley opened his mouth to object, then closed it again. She had made a kind of point. And, by the smug look on her face, she knew she’d made it too. “Alright, look. I’ll make a deal with you,” Mia told him.

“What kind of a deal?”

“You agree to be my friend and I’ll teach you how not to stink at softball.”

Finnley snorted. “What makes you think that I actually want to know how to play softball properly?” he asked.

Mia raised an eyebrow at him and hefted her bag of softball gear in response. “What makes you think I care? Come on now. I know you don’t want to suffer through this gym class the entire year. Make things easier on yourself.” Before Finnley could respond, Mia’s eyes slid to the clock on the wall and widened extraordinarily.

“Got to go,” she exclaimed. Pulling a scrap of paper out of her pocket while simultaneously yanking a pen cap off with her teeth, she jotted something down and thrust it at Finnley. Once the pen cap was safely out of her mouth, she said, “Take this. It’s my number. Call me tonight and we’ll set up a time to meet tomorrow.”

As Mia rushed off down the hall, bag of bats and balls banging behind her, Finnley couldn’t help but yell, “I never agreed to meet you for softball practice!”

“I know!” she hollered back, and he could’ve sworn he heard her laughing again.

The hall was strangely quiet without her raucousness, and Finnley found himself shaking his head as he turned towards the door. Crazy girl, he thought to himself, but he found the idea tinged with fondness. Carefully, he pocketed the slip of paper with her number on it. Maybe he wouldn’t intentionally lose it on the way home after all.