Five Worst Enemies, an Elevator, and an Unfortunately Timed Power Outage - Part 1

My name is Athena Panousis, and my current life’s ambition is to throw myself off a cliff.

Why, might you ask? Well, let’s just say that if there’s one thing that can convert a bookish, intelligent, straight-A 12-year-old schoolgirl into insanity, it’s being in the presence of Landen Marshall for thirty seconds.

Okay, now take those thirty seconds and multiply them by ninety, and now you have a full forty-five minute class period in the presence of Landen Marshall. That, my friend, is what I’m currently being forced to endure.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m actually doing pretty well. Despite what I said before, I have not slapped, insulted, or argued with Landen during this class period so far. I think I should get a Nobel Peace Prize for that; not many people can tolerate him for even one minute.

Alright, alright, I know what you’re thinking. “Whoa, this girl is probably a hotheaded, pessimistic, ‘troubled’ teenager with serious anger management issues. How could this Landen boy possibly be so annoying that it takes effort for her not to slap, insult, or argue with him?”

If that’s what you’re thinking, then you have most certainly not met Landen Marshall.

For some reason, all throughout 6^th Grade and this year, 7^th Grade, the teachers have thought it a brilliant idea to constantly place him either next to me or, even worse, in a group project with me. My sister says that it’s probably because the teachers think that I can keep him quiet, but my theory is that they want to have a laugh at our constant bickering. Either way, guess who I’m stuck sitting with for 8^th Period Social Studies? That’s right; it’s our favorite man Landen!

Throughout this room, there are so many better people who Ms. Roland could place me with. There’s Natalie Andrews, or Julia Lloyd, or this guy named Peter Halpen…

Ah, Peter. Peter, Peter, Peter. Dark hair, amber eyes, skin pale as paper. That guy annoys me to death.

I’ve had a crush on him from the moment his eyes first met mine two years ago.

In case you’re wondering, no, I am not that girl who sits there all day fantasizing about some good-looking jock who is way out of her league and writes in her diary about how much she loves him. And I don’t stalk him either. Trust me, some of the more insane girls in my grade actually stalk the guys who they like. At one point, the stalking got so bad in my grade that some of the guys threatened to file a restraining order. Poor souls...anyway, if you like reading about that kind of girl, I wholeheartedly encourage you to pick up a copy of Twilight right away.

Peter’s just…he’s just cute, okay?

I gaze at Peter, though every now and then I glance at Ms. Roland to make it look like I’m paying attention. He’s not paying attention either; in fact, he’s actually doing the Macarena, a goofy grin upon his face. I love that grin, how fun-loving he is, how he’s always goofing around and just being a nuisance in general…

I feel a tap on my shoulder. “Hey, Weenie-Athenie! Hey, hey, Weenie Athenie! Who are you staring at? Huh? Who are you –“

“Shut up!” I hiss at the pest seated next to me.

Remember how I mentioned that Peter is a nuisance? Well, please note that being a nuisance is not necessarily a good thing, especially in Landen’s case.

“Ooh, Weenie Athenie’s in loooove!” he giggles. Yes, giggles. That kid is as manly as a five-year-old girl.

I feel my cheeks flush bright red. “Actually, I am. I’m in love with the concept of throwing you off a cliff!”

“Miss Roland!” Landen whines, shooting his hand in the air.

I internally groan. Sometimes I forget that Landen is one of the biggest tattletales I’ve ever met, and also the principal’s son. Yeah, look how that’s benefited him in the popularity food chain.

I swear I catch Ms. Roland roll her eyes. It’s pretty obvious that Landen has not won the Needle Mountains Middle School Teachers’ Favorite Student award. “What is it, Landen?”

“Athena’s being mean!” he whines, resembling a two-year-old in both looks and maturity. “She says she wants to throw me off a cliff!”

“You go girl,” Jesse Snowyowl mutters from across the room, earning a few laughs.

Ms. Roland sighs. “Athena , please don’t provoke him.”

“Sorry, Miss Roland,” I reply with half-hearted regret. I bless Landen with one of my famous icy glares, to which he giggles again. How I long to just slap that kid, or throw him off a cliff, and then run him over with a bus for good measure.

I assure you, I am most certainly not a hateful person. Landen just bends peoples’ minds in strange ways...

She continues to go on about the upcoming test, even though she’s obviously dying to get out of here, too.

I can feel a sort of energy passing through the room, an unspoken tension waiting to be broken. Everyone is on the edge of their seats, either glancing around with anticipation or staring intently at the clock. I know that feeling; it’s that rush of adrenaline you get when you realize that the final bell is about to ring, and it’s the last day before the weekend.

I glance up at the clock. Sure enough, it’s 2:49; the final bell rings at 2:50. I’ll have to go to Drama Team rehearsal for two hours right after this, but it’s better than sitting next to Landen.

I gaze longingly at the thinnest hand on the clock as it creeps closer and closer to the 60-second mark...

7…6…5…4…3…2…1…

“BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!”

Immediately, there’s a stampede of kids running out of the classroom. Even though there are only 10 kids in my Social Studies class, they create quite an impressive commotion, all trying to squeeze through the door, dying to get out of school and go home and sleep away the exhaustion of a week’s worth of mid-term exams.

Over the past two years of being in middle school, I’ve figured out that it’s wisest to wait a few minutes to avoid the after-school rush hour in the hallways. People have sprained bones in the stampede, and one kid even got a minor concussion. Even more dangerous are the eighth graders, who think they have so much swag that they can literally walk all over us “young ‘uns”, as they like to call us. As usual, I lean back in a chair and pull out a book to pass the time.

“Oh, look who it is,” teases an all-too-familiar voice before I can even open my copy of The Hunger Games. “Athena  Freaking Panousis.”

I smirk as I turn around, meeting his amber eyes. “What do you want, Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater?” I blush slightly, like I often do when I make eye contact with him.

Peter raises his eyebrows, his lip curling into a smirk. “What do you want, Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater?” he mocks in a falsetto voice.

“Shut it, Halpen,” I snap, turning around and exiting the room, unable to keep from grinning.

“Right back at you, Panousis,” Peter calls.

Did I mention that, despite the fact that I like him, Peter and I are worst enemies?

It’s strange; I can’t stand Peter, yet I can’t stop thinking about him, and I take whatever opportunity I can get to walk by him or sit in his general proximity, and my stomach flip-flops whenever I talk to him. Our rivalry is known throughout the grade, and people like to watch our arguments during class. We insult each other all the time, and whenever we’re placed in a group project together, we fight constantly because both of us want to be the leader. Whenever we’re seated next to each other in class, he always draws on my paper or throws my pens around or kicks my backpack. Sometimes I’ll be sitting there, completely silent, and he’ll blurt out “Shut up, Panousis! I’m trying to focus!” or “Panousis, stop being a public nuisance!” In turn, I mock him, trip him when he walks by, and constantly remind him of how he’s “all brawn, no brains”.

Okay, fine, he’s actually one of the wittiest people I know, but I have to find something to tease him about.

Really, it’s the perfect example of a love-hate relationship.

Smiling to myself, I manage to squeeze through the crowds of the 270 students in the middle school without getting trampled and find my way to Locker 66.

“Hey guys,” I say to Jackie and Melissa nearby.

“Hey,” Jackie replies. “Ready for Drama Team rehearsal? Ms. Nomad said we’re working on Romeo and Juliet today, and you know what that means!”

I groan. This year, for our most important state competition, we’re performing Romeo and Juliet. I’m cast as Mercutio, who sword-fights Tybalt in a very long fighting scene and eventually is stabbed by Tybalt. And guess who plays Tybalt? Our good friend Landen Marshall!

I have no idea what in Ms. Nomad’s right mind made her cast Landen as Tybalt. You see, Landen is this scrawny little boy who looks like he’s in 3^rd Grade, not to mention he’s basically half my size. It’s not going to look very realistic when a sly, 5’4-tall girl gets stabbed by a rather dimwitted little boy who probably will never hit 5’0 and has the muscle mass of a stick. Sure, I’m probably the least athletic of all the girls in my grade, and I’m so weak that the best I can do is a 10-minute mile, but Landen ranks below even me.

“Well, at least I get to repeatedly taunt him, and my character is far more cunning than his,” I reply.

“True,” Melissa notes. “But we’re going to take a picture of Landen stabbing you, and then we’re gonna put it in the first page of the yearbook, and you will be known forever as the girl who was murdered by a boy half her size.”

I roll my eyes while I grab my script out of my locker. “Yes, and then we’ll get a nice shot of you kissing Ryan…”

Jackie and I laugh. Melissa is cast as Juliet and Ryan (Peter’s best friend) is Romeo. Everyone knows that Melissa and Ryan are so alike that they’ll probably end up getting married someday, so everyone suspects that Ms. Nomad casted them as lovers on purpose.

“You coming?” Jackie asks, beckoning me forward.

“Nah, you guys go ahead. I gotta switch out my books.”

“’Kay, see you there.” Melissa and Jackie head to the door.

I place the books I need for homework into my backpack, then I say bye to some of my other friends and head to the end of the atrium hall.

At the end of the atrium hall is both a door and an elevator. The door leads to a flight of stairs to the bottom floor, where the Fine Arts building is. That building contains the band room, the instrument storage room, the orchestra room, the massive costume closet, and the studio, which is where I’m headed. However, you can also take the elevator, which leads directly to the Fine Arts building.

The elevator is practically as old as time itself, and it’s a well-known fact that that thing is as slow as Landen when he runs the mile in P.E., and trust me, that is slow. However, some people take the elevator when the stairs are too crowded and they want to avoid getting trampled by the 8^th Graders. We’re not even supposed to use it, because it’s only for handicapped people in wheelchairs, but no one cares, and the teachers don’t care, either. In fact, I doubt they even notice that we use it.

I watch people racing down the stairs and shoving the door open. The stairs also lead to a shortcut to the gym and the track, so everyone who has sports practice is using the stairs now, along with the Drama Team kids. I might as well use the elevator.

As I turn to the elevator, I find that the doors are already open. Melanie Michaelson, the richest, snobbiest, most “popular” girl in the grade, is standing there in her blue and white volleyball uniform. It looks like she’s pulled her shorts up to her waist and yanked the neckline of her shirt down almost to the point of ripping it. Her dark brown hair is straightened to perfection, with bright blonde highlights that are obviously artificial.

I purse my lips. She and her group are known as “The Royal Posse”, because they think they’re better than everyone just because their parents are rich. People consider them the Upper Class of the Popularity Ladder, yet no one even talks to them. However, I think I can stand a single trip on the elevator with Melanie. I enter the elevator and press the ‘Hold Open’ button.

“Hey,” I say casually, trying to get rid of the awkward silence.

Melanie shoots me a disgusted look, as if I’m a filthy rat who has dared to breathe her air. “Why are you here?”

“I’m so sorry, did you reserve this elevator?” I mutter.

Suddenly, I spot a mane of jet black hair in the crowd, and my heart leaps (yes, I did just say that). He pushes toward the elevator with strong arms, until finally he stumbles in clumsily.

“Oh, it’s her,” Peter raises his eyebrows at me. “I mean, it.”

I stick my tongue out at him teasingly.

“Ew, you’re so gross!” Melanie spits.

“Shut up,” Peter snaps.

Melanie scoffs. “Ex-ca-use me?” she huffs, one hand on her hip.

I raise my eyebrows. “Well, if you’ll ‘ex-ca-use’ me, last time I checked, the word ‘excuse’ only had two syllables.”

Peter bursts out laughing, and he holds out his hand for a high-five. I nearly jump up and shout “SCORE!” but I keep up my sly smirk. I high-five him as hard as I can, and a crack resounds throughout the elevator.

I hold my hand to his for a split second longer than one usually would while high-fiving.

“That was uncalled for!” Melanie snaps.

I hold up my hands as if she’s holding a gun to my chest. “Whoa, relax, I’m just joking around!”

“Well, no one thinks you’re funny,” Melanie states, pulling out lip gloss and daintily applying it.

I snort. “Pardon me,” I say sarcastically. “I forgot that when the guy next to you starts laughing, it means that you’re not funny.”

“Wait!” A wail resounds through the hallway, cutting off Melanie’s probably-nasty retort as the elevator doors start to close. I slam my hand on the ‘Hold open’ button only to find that I just made a huge mistake.

Landen is racing toward the elevator as fast as he can on his scrawny little legs.

“Close the doors! Close the doors!” Peter yelps urgently. Peter hates Landen as much as I do.

I pound on the ‘Close’ button, but alas, everyone knows that that button is broken. All three of us let out a simultaneous wail of “NOOOOO!” as Landen bursts into the elevator, giggling like an insane little girl.

Peter sighs. “Hey man,” he says wearily. Despite the fact that Landen is the most annoying little prat in the world, Peter still tries to be nice to him sometimes, which is quite an amazing feat. However, Peter’s patience only lasts for so long. Even he cracks after an overdose of Landen.

I’m snapped out of my reverie when Landen giggles again. “Oh look, it’s Weenie Athenie! Hey, who were you staring at during Social Studies?”

“I wasn’t staring, I was simply spaced out, like everyone else was,” I retort through gritted teeth. I don’t want to freak out in front of Peter.

“Well, you were staring toward the right side of the room…hey, wait a minute! That’s where Peter sits!”

It takes all of my willpower not to strangle that kid. Don’t get me wrong - I am not a hot-headed person. But Landen makes everyone have anger management issues.

Landen starts cackling. “Athena ’s in love! Athena ’s in love! The almighty, independent, feminist, future-politician Athena  Panousis who is so proud of being single is in love with Peter Halpen!”

“Grow up, Landen!” I roll my eyes, trying my best to stay calm and not give Landen the satisfaction of annoying me.

“Wait, wait! I’m coming!” someone shrieks.

A blonde-headed figure decked out in a blue and silver basketball uniform jogs into the elevator, brushing a blonde strand of hair behind her ear with far too much bravado. Christelle Senegal is not quite as unbearable as Landen, but she comes quite close, which is pretty hard to do. Ever seen a chick flick about a middle school girl who is really, really desperate to get in with the snob crowd? That girl is Christelle Senegal exactly. She is obsessed with designer clothes, her hair, and her shoes, and she acts as if the whole universe is centered around her. Christelle is obnoxious and talks at 100 miles per hour, and she can be very catty. Trust me, I know from experience.  There’s a reason why the grade has secretly dubbed her “Prissy Chrissy”.

With her Narcissistic attitude and castle house, you’d think Christelle would be in with The Royal Posse, but those girls think she’s too desperate, so they don’t let her join their group.

“Ugh, ew I– Oh my God, hi Melanie!” Christelle gushes with sickening sweetness as she notices her. I roll my eyes. Everyone knows that she sucks up to Melanie and practically worships her. “Your hair looks so good today!”

“Yeah, I know,” Melanie wrinkles her nose and glances around. Members of The Royal Posse hate to be caught dead with wannabes like Christelle.

Christelle huffs prissily as the doors shut, trying to imitate Melanie to the best of her ability. “Oh my God, like my hair is so messed up now.” She snaps her fingers twice, just like The Royal Posse always does when they’re ordering people around, and points toward her head. “Athena , fix it.”

I roll my eyes. Believe it or not, me and Christelle used to be friends. That was when I was new to the school last year. However, since this is a K-12 school, most people had the curse of enduring her since Kindergarten, and they warned me about her. So I was never stupid enough to trust her with any secrets, but I hung out with her and sat with her at lunch. Then she started treating me like a servant – ordering me around, snatching my stuff without asking, even accusing me of things to get attention. In the beginning of this year, we fought so much that we ended up in Ms. Marshall’s office. I don’t know who would want to be friends with someone like that, but I most certainly don’t.

I look her straight in the eye. She has huge yellow eyes that resemble those of a cat’s. “Fix what, your attitude? If so, I highly doubt that’s possible.”

Christelle gasps the exact same way that Melanie gasped when I insulted her. “That was so mean!”

My glare darkens, and I make sure my bright blue eyes look as icy as possible. “Really?” I hiss. “Who’s the one that made fun of my clothes, copied off my answers in French class, turned some of my best friends against me, and treated me like crap all throughout the beginning of Seventh Grade?”

We stay silent, almost nose to nose, pure loathing passing between our glares.

“Um…okay then!” Peter says uncomfortably. “How ‘bout we all have a nice conversation and try not to kill each other?”

Peter touches my arm, and all my anger seems to fade away, replaced by a bubbly feeling. Christelle and I step away from each other. He touched me…he touched me…

Wow. That was really cliché.

“Hey, did anyone press the ‘1’ button?” Melanie asks.

Landen reaches over and presses the button to get to the first floor.

A feeling of relief rushes through me. I only have to endure a minute more of this crowd, and then I can just get to Drama Team rehearsal…

A loud boom suddenly resounds, making the elevator vibrate. I jump a little, Peter stays still, but Landen, Christelle, and Melanie all scream in unison.

“HEY!” I yell. They finally settle down, though Christelle is still hyperventilating dramatically. “Thank you. It’s just a burst of thunder, really. Once we get off the elevator, which will be really soon, we can all go about our business. Peter, me, and Landen can go to Drama Team, Christelle can go to basketball, and Melanie  can go to volleyball. There’s no need to freak out, ‘cause we’ll all be okay. A thunderstorm can’t hurt us.”

Just as I finish my lousy attempt at an inspirational speech, the light overhead begins to flicker. “Guys, what’s happening?” Landen squeaks.

“It’ll be okay,” I reply. “I don’t know, maybe it’s a problem with the –“

The lights blink out, leaving us in pitch black, and the whirring of the elevator stops. I can no longer feel the movement of the elevator.

“Power,” I finish.

“G-guys?” Christelle gulps. “I think…I think the power’s out…”

Melanie  gasps. “Which means…”

“We’re trapped,” Peter states.

I can hear the girls and Landen all take a deep breath. “No, don’t scream!” I say, trying to keep my composure.“We can get through this. First, does anyone have a flare?”

“A what?”

“A flare,” I reiterate. “A flare is a red stick that can be lit with matches, and it shoots up a red spark that creates a loud boom.”

“Yes, Athena , I keep one in my back pocket,” Peter replies sarcastically. “And if we used a flare, we would all die a horrible, painful death.”

I roll my eyes. “Hey, I’m just trying to be optimistic. Okay, well does anyone have an iPhone with a flashlight or a glow stick app on it? I mean, it’s pitch black in here.”

“Here,” Peter says. A rectangular light appears, and I watch as Peter’s thumb unlocks the phone and selects the colored glow stick app, choosing the changing-colors setting. He sets the phone down, and now I can see everyone’s faces, which are bathed in colored light. I find that Peter is standing next to my left, with Landen to his left, then Christelle, and Melanie in the corner. “That’s better. I think we might as well sit down and get comfy, because we might be in here for a looooooong time.”

Another boom of thunder cracks, shaking the elevator. I can hear the rain pelting on the walls outside.

“Remember guys, stay calm, we’re not stuck,” I say. I plop down, still beside Peter. “Alright, then – Hey, wait a minute! Peter, hold your phone up to the panel with the buttons!”

“What’s the magic word?” he asks.

“Just do it!”

Peter raises his eyebrows. “That’s creepy. The magic word was Nike.”

He illuminates the panel, and sure enough, there’s a button with a bell symbol above it. “There! That’s in case you’re trapped in the elevator and you need to call the operators!”

“Well what are you waiting for?! Press it!” Landen says.

I slam my hand on the button, waiting for something to happen. Nothing does. I press it again and again, more and more rapidly, but still there’s no beep or operator’s voice.

“Peter, can you call someone?” I ask hopefully.

“Whoa, great idea, I never would have thought of that myself!”

“Call someone!” I snap.

“Sheesh, alright alright,” Peter tries to call his mom, only to slam down the phone in frustration. “There’s no service,” he groans. “Verizon sucks. Anyone else have a phone with them?”

We shake our heads. I have my phone, but the battery is dead, and even if it wasn’t dead, I highly doubt we have phone service in an elevator in the middle of a thunderstorm.

“Wait, I have one!” Christelle shouts. That figures. Her hands are glued to her phone. “Let me just - EAK!”

The phone slides out of her hand and lands on the floor, landing with a crunch that makes me cringe.

Christelle’s eyes widen. “My...my phone...” She bends down and touches it tentatively, as if it’s a person that needs CPR. She lifts it up and shrieks. The screen is shattered into a million pieces. Christelle tries desperately to turn it on, but the phone is unresponsive. She stares at it for a minute, then bursts into tears.

“My phone!” she wails. “That was my iPhone 5! I got it the day it came out!”

Peter and I exchange a glance, suppressing a snicker. It sucks to have your phone break, but Christelle is acting as if she just killed her own baby. For Pete’s sake, why didn’t she just put a case on the stupid phone?

Suddenly, a horrible thought crosses my mind. “Wait...so none of us have phones...so we can’t contact anyone...”

“Then let’s do the only thing we can do,” Melanie says gravely. “Yell as loud as we can.”

“That wouldn’t work,” Landen replies dejectedly. “The elevator is stuck between two floors. Even if people heard us, there’d be no way to get us out.”

I sink down onto the floor again in defeat. “Okay, we’re stuck.”

A/N: I hope you enjoyed Part 1! I had to split this story into two parts because it exceeded the maximum word length. Thanks for reading! 

Do you want to see the chemistry between Peter and Athena play out? Are you curious as to whether this unfortunate fivesome will eat each other alive? Are you dying to know how the kids will escape...that is, if they escape? If that's you, check out Part 2!