Jo
MY LEGS FEEL like blocks of lead as I stand in front of the bulletin board in the hallway. The Beatles does a great work of blocking out the loud chatter of passing students by blasting a hard chorus in my ears as my thumbs fiddle with the straps of my schoolbag while my eyes trace the continuous array of words on one of the many decorated papers pinned to the blue, hard surface.
Articles! Articles! Articles!
Turn in your articles to the news department today. We accept all kinds of short stories, poems, creative non-fiction, and the likes that cut across diverse topics. Remember, the one with the best article gets a special place at the FRONT PAGE of Lakeville weekly.
You have a voice. Pen it down. We are ready to listen.
There's an abridged sample of the winner of this week's article right next to it and I shuffle on my feet a bit. The words are immaculate. Each line bleeding into the next with a special twist of perfection around each sentence. Right beneath the ellipses that signify that the rest is in the school paper, the writer's name- Sara Marie Hotchkin- appears in block letters, right next to a sprawled signature.
The face of the mousy haired girl from my English class immediately engraves itself in my brain. Her hand is always up and erect in the air even before the rest of the question is asked. For a brief moment, I imagine her penning down her thoughts into a journal and skipping all the way to the newspaper department to turn them in.
I take out a piece of paper from the book that was lodged under my armpit and stare at my handwriting. I stare at the extra long crossing of all my ts and the mediocrity of my words. If birds could talk is underlined twice as the title above the body of the poem and with one last look at Sara's article in front of me, I rip mine into shreds.
Piece of crap.
I close my eyes for a second as I dispose the tiny pieces of my work into the trash and open them again after I've turned away from the board. I take a deep breath and turn up the volume of the mix to max, reveling in the transition to another song.
I pick up my steps and turn towards a corner before heading straight to one of a few of the empty classrooms in this wing. The Debate Club sign that is plastered against the door glares at me as I approach. The sides of the paper are crinkled with a brownish tint. A new addition that I haven't noticed before, sits underneath the name of the club.
Come, let us ARGUE together!
A little smile makes it way to my lips as I twist the door knob. That scrawny handwriting definitely belongs to Mrs Lenderman.
Compared to the different clubs in Lakeville High, debate club isâat least to meâconsidered a minority with only seven students in total. And I'm the mother Hen, aside our coordinator of course, Mrs Lenderman, but she's never really here. Especially since a life started growing in her womb.
I'm a bit surprised when I walk in and meet six students because we're never really complete during our sessions. Khalid slyly winks at me as soon as he sees me and I roll my eyes at him, already used to his antics.
"Yo, Jo. I've got some new ideas that you'd kill to look at," Amanda hollers, flipping her braids behind her neck but I'm not listening. Instead, I'm watching Mel with a raised brow and the unfamiliar boyâthe sixth person who's not a member of this clubâdevouring her mouth with a lustful aggression.
His hands are digging dangerously into her jean clad thighs and her body pushes further into the table she's perched upon.
"Ugh, they've been at it since we arrived," Cass groans as she tosses a crumpled ball of paper into the trash from her seat.
"Score." Khalid mumbles while lifting a bottle of water to his lips but she doesn't hear him.
She scrunches her nose. "I can't count the number of times I've thrown up in my mouth."
Austin as usual isn't really paying attention to anything's that's going on around him. He's bobbing his head to whatever song is blasting from his headphones and his fingers are tapping furiously on his phone.
"Fifth person in a week. Mel's definitely beat my record." Khalid grins and my eyes dart back to the aggressively groping Mel and the jock who seems like he'll need a condom any minute from now.
"Excuse me," I say with a firm voice as I drop my bag on the table with a hard slam.
Mel jerks away from him, her face flushed red and her eyes narrowed at me. I ignore her and turn to the boy who's looking at me now.
I jut my thumb towards the door with a straight face. "The sign at the front of the door says Debate club, in case you haven't noticed."
He twists his lips and turns back to Mel. "See you later babe," he says, buttoning his varsity jacket and hiking his bag up his shoulders.
"Barf," Amanda makes a retching noise with her mouth and Cass laughs.
Mel doesn't respond. She adjusts her hair and slides off the table before taking a seat. Happily, I stride towards the door and force it wide open. The jock's eyes roam my face for a split second before smirking and leaving. I slam the door shut and turn back to the remaining five.
"Alright, where were we?"
Amanda brings out a journal filled with topic ideas and Khalid hits Austin upside his head. The latter glares at him before taking off his headphones and taking out a pen from his bag.
We continue this way for the next fourty minutes or so. Sharing ideas, arguing a bit about what should be and what shouldn't when the door bursts open.
I flinch, my teeth grinding hard when I see the person who walks in.
Flynn Cauley, the seventh barely-ever-here member of this club strolls in with his ridiculously long legs and glances at the six of us around the table. He's the odd number in this club. And I hate odd numbers.
He shoots everyone a shit-eating grin before kicking the door shut with his foot. Then he shrugs a shoulder and says in the most unapologetic tone I've ever heard, "I'm late. Again."
I look down at my watch and see that we have barely ten minutes until the end of this meeting and regardless of his nonchalant behavior, everyone heartily greets him and a conversation erupts as he drops his bag to the floor and picks a chair from the pile at the back with a single hand.
My lips are sealed shut and I'm trying not to glare at the words on the paper in front of me. His presence causes an instant disarray in the group and it doesn't sit well with me. It never does.
He twists the chair so that it faces backwards, and sits down with his legs sticking out at either sides of it. He stretches his hands forwards on top of his chair, before resting his elbows on it and running them through his dark brown hair.
"So," he breathes. "What have I missed?"
"Oh, not much," Mel gets to her feet with a sultry look on her face and walks towards him with a sheet of paper in her hands. She twists a lock of her bleached blonde hair with her fingers and says, "I'll fill you up on the rest later tonight."
Khalid chokes on his bottle of water and Austin, who never really smiles, has his lips lifted ever so slightly. Amanda rolls her eyes to the back of her head and Cass is trying not to laugh.
Flynnâthe odd numberâlazily glances at Mel and the corner of his lips slowly lift into a tiny smile as he takes the paper from her hands. Then, like he just remembered something, he lifts his bag from the ground and drops it on the table.
I decide to say nothing about his tardiness because talking to Flynn is like talking to a brick wall. So I continue from where I stopped, ignoring him completely. "Khalid, I think we could strike out the-" I'm cut short immediately and I'm appalled when everyone directs their attention to him instead.
"I figured I'm always late," he starts with that stupidly deep voice of his and unzips his bag. "So I brought a peace offering. This is me trying to be a better person."
He shoves his hand into his bag and brings out a couple of M&M packets and Khalid whoops before easily grabbing one. Everyone reaches out to grab one, praising Flynn over and over again and he shrugs like it's not a big deal.
Meanwhile, I'm surprised my teeth haven't cracked with the rate at which I'm grinding them. The tearing of wraps and incessant chatter makes my eye twitch. Cass leans forward on the table and smiles at Flynn. With a chocolate in her mouth, she softly says, "Wouldn't mind if you came late everytime."
Flynn leans forward and clasps his fingers together, the veins in his hands becoming visible. "Really?"
She leans back, tongue-tied while her cheeks turn a flaming red. Amanda nudges my shoulder and I turn to her.
"You don't want one?"
"Yeah, Pryce? You don't want one?" Flynn asks with an expressionless look on his face. I turn to him, my eyes burning and then he smiles causing a hollow curve to form on his cheeks, as if this is what he wanted. He slides the last one left and I stare at the green M&M before looking back at him.
"No, thanks."
"Why? You're allergic to good stuff?"
I'm allergic to you, I want to say but I don't. I don't think anyone here knows I'm diabetic but it doesn't matter right now because Flynn seems like he just wants to step on my toes.
I lie through my teeth. "I don't like chocolate."
"Who doesn't like chocolate?" Khalid asks with a confused frown and I roll my lips together.
Flynn gives me a pointed look and then points to me. "Josephine Pryce doesn't."
I turn to him with a harsh glare. "Are you done distracting everyone?"
He sucks in a cheek and looks around, tsking and arrogantly shaking his head. "No-one's complaining."
"That's because everyone's face is stuffed with chocolate."
"It's not anyone's fault that you don't like them."
I don't respond. I turn to the paper in front of me and squeeze the edges. I feel his stare piercing into my head.
"What's wrong Pryce?" Flynn asks gesturing to the unruly curls that shoot of my bun and tumble out messily with his fingers. "Bad hair day?"
I don't think it's funny but Mel laughs anyway, an obnoxious high-pitched laughter and I smoothen my brows before getting to my feet.
"Oh, before I forget, Jo, Mrs Lenderman was asking for you earlier and she told me to tell you guys about the peer-tutorship stuff that's going on," Amanda announces waving her arm around. "Apparently, every teacher has to make sure everyone knows about it."
I sigh. "Alright. Time's up."
I shove my books into my bag and round off with a few words before heading to the door and exiting. Flynn is hot on my heels.
"Pryce," he calls behind me in a teasing manner.
I whirl around to face him. "What exactly is your problem?"
He starts to speak, but I don't let him.
I stretch my hand out and start to list out the few things he's done within the last ten minutes. "First, you're incredibly late to club," I push my pinkie finger out of my palm as number 1. "Second, you distract everyone with chocolates and we don't get any useful thing done anymore and you and everyone know how much I hate interruptions," I push another finger out. Flynn is chewing on his lip as he's watching me as if he's trying not to smile.
"Third, you clearly don't give a shit about debate so I really don't know why you're here." I fold my arms and glare at him.
Flynn frowns. "Who says I don't give a shit about debate?"
"You did."
He points to his lips. "You heard it from this mouth?"
I don't look at his mouth and then I decide it's best to ignore him and turn around, before making my way down the hall.
"Pryce."
"What?"
His hesitation is almost unnoticeable but when he parts his lips to speak, someone calls his name.
It's a group of footballers heading this way and one of them gives me a funny look when he sees me with him. Right. I forgot Flynn is familiar with them because his best friend is Lakeville's quarterback.
I turn on my heels, this time with no intentions of looking back if Flynn calls my name again. We don't usually talk to each other or exist outside debate club and anytime he tries to talk to me, it's usually a jab or an insult. I don't know what he wants but I frankly do not care.
I march down the hallway, praying I don't miss the bus to work and I'm very much relieved when I realize it's still waiting.
The rest of the day goes as it should. Immediately I get into Grub A Bite, I head into the storage room and grab the green employee shirt from one of the lockers. Grub A Bite is a retro diner with typical black and white checkered floors, worn out red and white couches and booths, neon lights decorating the edges of the walls and is the type that forces you to wear roller skates while serving the customers.
I feel a little lightheaded so I head into the bathroom with the skates and bring out my blood sugar meter from my purse. I wash my hands quickly under the gushing tap and dry them with a napkin. I bite my bottom lip as I insert the test strip into my meter, before pricking my fingertip with the lancet. A perfectly round glob of blood oozes out from the puncture and then I touch the test strip to the blood and wait for a few seconds, my other hand gripping the edge of the sink.
The meter displays the figures and I feel a slice of anxiety slowly start to creep in. 69 mg/dl. The anxiety turns into a nauseating grip at the back of my throat because my blood sugar falls as swiftly as someone falling from the edge of a cliff once it reaches the 69th mark.
"Crap," I mutter under my breath and reach for the glucose gel in my purse. A warmth slowly spreads through my body and a few beads of sweat gather on my forehead.
I can't help but wonder if I took too much insulin earlier today and I try to search my brain to remember if I took more carbs than usual. I tear the packet, take it all into my mouth and wait. The anxiety in my body skyrockets and seeps into my bones. It takes about 15 to 20 minutes for me to be stable and I'm already behind schedule for work.
Garner is going to kill me.
A loud pounding on the door makes me jump. "Josephine, are you in there?"
It's Ann. My co-worker.
"If you're in there, Garner's pissed as hell right now. There's too much on my hands."
The corners of my eyes burn a little. "I just need a minute. I'll be there shortly."
I hear her grunt and then her footsteps fade. The self-deprecating thoughts attack my mind as soon as she leaves with a force I immediately try to contend with. Now's not the time for that.
After a couple of minutes, I test my blood sugar again and silently thank God that it's stable enough for me to get through work and go home before taking my bolus insulin. I grab all of my stuff and shove them back into my purse before tying up the laces of the skates and gliding out of the bathroom.
I head towards the counter and meet Garner's red face, puffed up with annoyance. "Where were you?" he goes straight to the point.
I nod towards the back. "Had to check my blood sugar. Sorry."
He looks like he's trying not to snap and then he swiftly turns around and walks away. I breathe properly this time and move towards Ann and Theo.
"Sup," Theo greets without looking up at me from where he's bringing a tray of food out of the kitchen. His breath reeks of alcohol but I act like I don't notice.
Ann slaps some tickets on the table. "Tables 15, 17 and 23."
I nod and head towards the kitchen and continue the rest of the day's job.
â
AFTER DINNER TONIGHT, I take a warm bath and lean on the tiles for a while, enjoying the way my muscles loosen under the steam. Afterwards, I put on a thin top and satin shorts and bring out my diabetic kit.
Kingâmy golden retrieverâbarks and runs around my legs as I draw the correct dose of insulin from the bottle.
"Yeah, yeah. I know. You have a working pancreas and I don't. Rub it in my face, will you?" I tell him as I clean a small portion of my stomach with an alcohol wipe and then pinch a layer of fat before injecting myself. His eyes follow the syringe and how the needle disappears completely into my stomach. He sees it everytime and yet he's always intrigued.
I leave the needle in there for about 5 seconds before taking it out, disposing it into my sharps container and cleaning up. I run my fingers through King's golden fur before sitting up on my bed and taking out my laptop. My brows close in on each other when I discover how strange it acts. I just assumed it was a glitch yesterday but it's worse today. The screen blinks repeatedly when I try to place a call across to Hana but she doesn't answer.
I tell myself she's probably busy because she probably is and not everyone's like Drew. I shut down my laptop briefly and turn it back on when a couple of emails momentarily distract me. I quickly turn in my Math assignment to Mr Moore's email and decide to read the rest of my inbox.
There are a couple of ads here and there, notifications from several apps and then one from school. I click on it and see the peer-tutorship program advert from three days ago.
Become a tutor today! It begins. Then it goes on and on about helping struggling students and how honorable it is to sacrifice your time to help others.
Accept. Decline.
I'm yawning by the time I've read half of it and I inwardly shake my head at the thought. The last thing I'd do right now is tutoring. There's no time for that anyway. My job at the diner takes way too much of my time after school and I don't think I'd do anything that doesn't involve some amount of money being involved. I scroll through the remaining half of the email and the cursor hangs between the two options.
King barks, trying to get my attention to whatever he's doing and when I look up at him, he's trying to somersault. Before I can actually do anything, he tumbles over and knocks over my opened bottle of water.
"King," I call alarmed and I drag my fingers away from the keyboard and almost knock the laptop over with my elbow. I climb off the bed and take my only copy of The Great Gastby that's currently half wet and glare at him. The water spreads to the rest of my books on the floor and I quickly pick them up and place them on the table that's overflowing with books already.
"Bad dog," I scold and he whines and runs around for some seconds before nudging a mop from the corner of the room with his nose. I spread the pages of the book and lay it flat on the table while a yawn racks through my body.
Exhausted, I lean down and wipe the floor clean with the mop and then I gently run my fingers through King's fur. "Where'd you learn that trick, huh? Has grandma been forcing you to watch TV again?"
He just barks as usual as I kick the mop somewhere and return to my bed, getting ready to call it a night. I grab my half opened laptop from the edge of the bed and try to shut it down when a sudden burst of colors on the screen makes me frown.
I open the laptop wider and see a couple of party poppers and confetti emojis. Then, CONGRATULATIONS!
Thank you for accepting our offer to become a peer tutor in the current peer-to-peer tutoring program at Lakeville High. Your time will always be precious to us.
Press here to create your profile.
What the fuck?
No, no, no, absolutely not. I hastily scroll through the page over, hoping I'll surprisingly see something like a reverse or rewind or I-decline-your-offer-and-it-was-a-horrible-mistake button but I don't. I sit up and start to type a private mail to the school but just like that, the screen of my laptop instantly bleeds into a pitch black.
"What?" I ask no-one in particular and try turning it on but it doesn't respond. I shake the device, hit it a couple of times but it doesn't budge. It lies there, useless and unresponsive and then it starts to overheat.
Oh, hell no.
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