Young Writers Society

It was in the middle of the night. I had a project to do for American History class, which involved writing a 6-paged essay on the civil war and whether Abraham Lincoln, or Jefferson Davis, were in the right on their leaderships during the war. I took my hands off the keyboard and rubbed my eyes under my glasses to regain moisture before I could resume.

God. This is going to take forever. This is the most excruciating paper I’ve ever had to do. I turned the page of my textbook and the page of the book Civil War as I skimmed through the right paragraphs. By the time the clock struck twelve, I was already too tired to continued onward.

Honestly, I am an avid enthusiast to the ingeniousness of literature but what my teacher had assigned us to do was just absolute torture.

Suddenly, my phone rang. I checked the caller ID and, on the screen, was a number I did not recognize. I only had four addresses on my contact and it matched none of them. It wasn't Anais, Roberto, or my grandparents, which would make sense since none of them were awake. So, like any rational person, I simply declined the call and went back to working on the essay when the phone rang again. It was the same number. I declined it again. Then it returned a third time.

At that moment, I was beginning to worry. My hands started to shake and my eyes grew wider from anxiety. I didn’t know whether that number was coming from a drunk who is continuously trying to reach his girlfriend and kept hitting the wrong number, an obnoxious salesman trying to sale me fraudulent items, or a stalker attempting to get my information. Then again, the latter was highly unlikely since I didn’t fit the traditional idea of masculinity for me to have a stalker.

Taking a deep breath, I finally gave up and answered the caller. I asked, “Whoever this is, please stop trying to call me! You have the wrong number and if you do not cease your harassment, I’ll be obligated to…”

“…Nothing is what it seems at Corinth high School!”

“What?”

“Don’t trust anyone! Keep your eyes peeled for anything, or anyone, suspicious!”

The caller hung up. Although it was the most unnerving situation I had ever been in, I merely shrugged it off as a simple prank call. Placing a hand through my black hair, I decided to call it a night. I saved my work on my file, turned off the computer, and got ready for bed.

The next morning, I managed to finish my essay on time as I printed the draft and placed it in my backpack. I drove down the street in my jalopy of a Chevrolet, passing by one block before I turned to the side, parking in front of a large house. The side door opened and waltzing in was Anais who plopped into the shotgun seat.

She had long red hair and freckles on her face, emerald eyes, and a well-formed figure. She was dressed in a magenta turtleneck keyhole sweater, white jeans with ripped knee patches, and a pair of black thigh-high boots.

“Morning, Anais,” I greeted. My tone sounded monotonous as I turned to her.

“Morning, Jo!” Anais returned in a hymn.

She threw her satchel into the backseat before she buckled her seatbelt around her abdomen, caressing against her well-endowed bosom, about 36DD as I recall, which was an amazing development for a high school sophomore if I might add. Since Anais didn’t have a car and her house wasn’t too far away from where I lived, I was always the one to pick her up and take her to school, becoming her chauffer in a manner of speaking.

She continued with a nonchalant wave, “Like, did you finish that essay last night? It was totes cray long and I was like so tired, I couldn’t complete it on time.”

“Indeed, I have. It took me all night, but it was worth it to get it off my back,” I answered while still keeping my eyes on the road. I added, “if you want me to help you complete it before history class starts, then I will be happy to do so.” My expression deadpanned as I briefly glanced back at Anais at the end of the sentence.

Her eyes immediately lid up like headlights as she smiled with glee. “Like, really?! You are supes the best!” she wrapped her arms around my neck, causing me to accidentally swerve almost to the curve, but I quickly managed to get myself back on the right side of the road.

Taking a deep breath, I glared at my friend who sheepishly looked away in embarrassment. Then, I stopped right after the traffic light had turned red. That was when are conversation shifted into trivial banter.

“So, have you noticed?” she said in a playfully quizzical manner.

“Notice what?” I repeated.

“Noticed my new boots, Jo! I just bought them yesterday, after school, and they are just so adorbs!”

“Anais. You know I have no interest in discussing about fashion, or what’s trending nowadays. Besides, isn’t the point of being a vegan not to wear clothes made from animal hides?”

“First of all, I’m a pescetarian and these aren’t made from animal skin! They’re made from synthetic materials like polyurethane and stuff! Also, it wouldn’t kill you to improve your wardrobe! I mean, come on, Jo Kazama! Ever since we were kids, you’ve always worn clothes with stupid cartoon pictures, which is so ridic!” she pointed out in a scolding manner.

“Does that come in handy when you’re doing your ‘fashionista work’?” I inquired in a passive tone.

Despite her annoying complaint, she wasn’t wrong. My attire wasn’t what people would call “in style”. A red shirt with a Naruto logo on the front, blue Levi’s jeans, and gray sneakers; not everyone would wear such a pattern of clothing everyday, except for the sneakers, which were acceptable. When the light finally turned green, I hit the gas and proceeded forward at the correct speed limit.

“Well, if you don’t have an opinion on my shoes, then how about my sweater, huh?” she questioned.

I turned and my eyes quickly widened. She crushed her chest between her arms and puffed out her chest, expanding her cleavage while having a sly smile on her face. I quickly looked away with a flushed face, as Anais just laughed hysterically like a 5-year-old after playing peek-a-boo. Her teasing demeanor had always annoyed me to a lesser extent, but it didn’t make me angry. It made me think: how could someone as beautiful as her possess so much mischieviousness?

“Hey, what’s going on over there?” Anais crawled over on my side before she pointed out the window. I stopped and looked over to see a large crowd of people huddling around St. Augustine’s Lake. It pegged my interest. So, I parked the car and Anais and I got out to take a look, but what we discovered brought shivers down out spines.

We watched as firemen and paramedics were shuffling through the waters in the lake, hooking the line to something under the surface as the tow truck started pulling out whatever had submerged. It looked to be a green beetle that seemed to have suffered heavy damage with the front crushed and the body covered in scratches and bumps as a result of the impact from the collision it made. At first, I assumed a reckless driver who was either drinking, or texting on his or her phone caused his or her own demise. However, when the firemen pried the roof open with the Jaws of Life and dragged the body out, my face turned white as my eyes widened and my breathing started to grow heavily in apprehension.

“Oh my god…is that Mr. Kafka?!” Anais gasped.

I adjusted my frames and squinted my eyes, giving me a better look at the body’s characteristics. The body had been submerged in the lake water for hours and was bloated from water retention, but it was still recognizable. He had short black hair and pale skin, wearing a typical white dress shirt, gray slacks, and loafers.

Letting out a grimacing tone, I turned to Anais who was waiting for my response. I looked at her with somber eyes and nodded, “Yes…it is.”

She covered her mouth with one hand and wrapped the other around mine. Tears started falling from her eyes as she hiccupped.

My facial expression didn’t change, nor did it contort in angst, but my breathing did increase and my hands did tremble. Then I started recalling the message from last night: “Nothing is what it seems in Corinth.” Which made me start to think that something else might be going on. Mr. Kafka had been our English teacher for three years and he was a very cautious man when it came to daily activities. Hell, he would even wear gloves in fear of receiving a paper cut due to the fact he suffered from hemophilia. Then again, this could have been just an accident, couldn’t it?