Every day when you wake up, take the Scott Thomas approach to life. Imagine your own marquee with your own name in lights so bright you’d go blind if you stared too long at them. Imagine that marquee following you around wherever you go, letting the world know you’re there!
Scott Thomas in Geometry! Scott Thomas in the Locker Room! Scott Thomas in His Car! Scott Thomas in the Bathtub! Live your life the way all the greats did, with your name contractually above title. Never be a sidekick to your own life!
Unstoppable Love
BY NICHOLAS FORBES
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
No amount of money,
Can stop me from loving you.
Try as they may,
Try as they might,
I’m not letting go,
Without a fight.
Some say it’s wicked,
Some say it’s sinful,
Some say it’s wrong,
And just awful.
I don’t know much,
But when push comes to shove,
I definitely don’t believe,
There’s such a thing as wrong love.
My Special Little Friend
BY JOHN HARDY
You greet me in the morning,
Wanting to play,
Then stay with me hanging
For the rest of the day.
The same things stimulate us,
That’s very true,
We spend time together;
Wish I had two of you.
You’ll always be my best bud
Until the end,
Thanks for always being
My special little friend.
Call Me Isabella
A SATIRE, BY MALERIE BAGGS
A few years ago—never mind how short exactly—having little or no money in my Angry Birds wallet, and no sunscreen to go on the beach, I thought I would cruise about a little and be a total gangsta at the school.
It is a way I have of scaring off the freshmen and regulating the high school circulation. Whenever I find myself breaking out around the mouth; whenever it is a wet, cold September in my soul; whenever I find myself against my will looking at dead people, and bringing up the butt of every parade I meet; and especially whenever I lose a game of Hungry Hungry Hippos, that it requires a strong moral Principal Gifford to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the hallway, and methodically pulling people’s pants off—then, I think it high time to get to the bus as soon as I can.
This is my price for being a gangsta. Like a philosophical flourish kitty cat throws himself upon his litter box, I quietly take the school bus. There is nothing shocking in this. If they but knew it, almost all doctors with degrees, now or later, will eventually have to take the bus and have the same feelings towards the transportation system as me.
Also, there’s a big whale I plan to catch.
Being Mrs. Bieber
BY HANNAH MORGAN
There I was, in front of Justin Bieber’s house in Calabasas on a sunny Saturday afternoon. It was me and the usual twenty to forty girls who wait outside his home every weekend in hopes of getting a glimpse of him or a free private concert.
It was great: We were gabbing about Selena Gomez (who will always be known to me as “the other woman”) and we blasted his music from a mobile iHome and predicted future Grammy nominations for his latest album, the usual.
But things got really tense when none other than infamous Renee Foster showed up!
“I believe you’re in my spot, Miss Morgan,” Renee said to me. Which was a total lie—everyone knows the twenty-eighth to thirty-first iron bars on the east side of his house’s gate is my area.
“Oh, no, you don’t, Miss Foster,” I said. “You lost your spot when you abandoned J.B. for that immigrant Louise Tomlinson from No Direction.”
All the other girls went “Oooo!” Renee so had it coming; nobody abandons my Justin.
“You didn’t just insult One Direction in front of me!” Renee yelled. “I can be a fan of whomever and however many people I want!” She said it right in my face.
“Not at this gate, you can’t!” I said, and bopped my head. She made me so mad I almost took off my homemade “Forever” earrings and tackled her ass.
“Hey! This is a private residence, not Disneyland!” said a guard up at the house. We all ran to our cars before they called the police on us again. Good thing, too, because I would hate for Justin to see me get into a physical altercation with Renee.
A few of the girls and I jumped into my Jetta and took off. “Let’s go stand outside someone from Glee’s house now,” one of them said.
Sure, I can see why some people may think it’s strange that I drive to his house every weekend and wait outside the gate just to get a glimpse of him, but think of what a romantic love story it’ll make one day.
10 Reasons Why Emilio Is Great
POR EMILIO JORGE LÓPEZ
1. Emilio tiene el pelo magnífico como un gallo.
2. Emilio huele como un perrito.
3. Emilio es el frijol en tu pupusa.
4. Emilio es tan suave como un conejo.
5. Emilio es lo picante en tu desayuno.
6. Emilio es un gran aventurero como una ardilla.
7. Emilio tiene la fuerza de un toro.
8. Emilio puede saltar alto como una rana sin miedo.
9. Emilio es el tocino en tu ensalada.
10. Emilio es el mejor amante que jamás hayas conocido.
3-D Lives
BY DWAYNE MICHAELS
So this whole 3-D thing has really taken over the world and I am loving every minute of it. I went to the movies last summer and saw The Avengers. I forgot to put my glasses on until like three-quarters of the way into the movie but suddenly I’m like screaming, “Whoa, Robert Downey Jr., why are you in my lap, man?!” It was trippy, dude!
That was an excellent time to have the glasses on. I mean, think about it, we put the glasses on and suddenly we’re like, “The dude in the movie is throwing things at me, this is so awesome,” because we know all we got to do is take them off and they’ll stop throwing things, you know?
But then when we’re in real life and people start throwing things at us, we’re like, “You suck man, who the hell throws things anymore!?”
I know this may be too deep, but what if we took those glasses with us everywhere? Sure, you might get a headache but whenever there are things you don’t want to be tossed at you all you got to do is take your glasses off, man!
Why do people live 3-D lives, when they could live 4-D lives all the time? Just wait for 5-D, man, it’s gonna be so rad. I’m gonna be like, “Hey, Robert Downey Jr., wanna go grab a beer?” And he’s gonna be like, “Yeah man, I do.” And then we will, dude. We will.
11/5
So remember that meeting we were going to have with the principal and the superintendents? That was today. Remember how I promised to be on my best behavior and just sit there and smile? Well, I lied about that.
We were waiting in the middle of the auditorium at a table for almost half an hour before the principal and the two superintendents from the Clover Unified School District office showed up. So after that and everything this weekend with Dad, Mom, and finishing the magazine, I was already in a bit of a mood, I’ll admit it.
“All right, let’s get started,” Gifford said, and sat at the head of the table. The superintendents each took a seat on either side of him. “I’ve called you here today to announce a new district rule that myself and the other principals in the district feel very strongly about.”
Everyone had wide, eager eyes and gave respectful nods. My posture slumped a bit more out of spite.
“Starting next semester, all book covers, back-packs, and clothing displaying logos or writing of any kind are strictly forbidden,” Gifford said. “So as council members, it’s very important that you honor this rule and show leadership by following it.”
The other student council membe
rs did a pretty good job of hiding their frustration with this news, but I could tell it was upsetting even to them. Even Remy was silently shaking her head.
I waited for a moment, making sure no one was going to say anything, and then I proceeded to flip the fuck out.
“Okay, agreed,” I said. The superintendents were shocked I didn’t raise my hand before speaking. “I hate some of the obnoxious and degrading things I read every day. And if I see one more person wearing one of those shirts that says I DO MY OWN STUNTS, I will physically rip off my face and throw it at them, but how are we supposed to learn and grow if you people keep taking away our basic rights of self-expression?”
Everyone’s heads slowly turned to me in absolute horror, Exorcist style.
“Tell you what, buddy,” Gifford said, without a doubt counting to ten in his head. “Why don’t you let us worry about student suppression?”
Claire nodded so hard her head almost fell off. Maybe she could live with being a kiss-ass, but I wasn’t going to sit there and have my rights taken from me.
“Yeah, you people must know what you’re doing since more students are stressed, depressed, and dropping out than ever,” I said. “So you’re doing a real great job with the decisions.”
“You’re out of line!” Gifford said, raising his voice. I could tell the lady helping him count in his head was starting to fail him.
“And you’re on a power trip!” I said, matching his volume. “How does banning logos do anything but help your own conservative agendas?”
“Carson, please stop talking!” Claire whispered to me. I thought she was going to explode.
Gifford turned a shade of red I didn’t know was possible for humans to turn. He knew I was right—they all did—and it embarrassed the hell out of him.
“This discussion is over. You will follow the new rules,” Gifford barked at me. He looked from side to side at the superintendents. “And furthermore, due to your disrespectful attitude, I hereby revoke all offcampus student privileges for the rest of the school year. Your peers can thank you for that, little man.”
He was the second adult this week to use me to show off.
“Let’s go, guys,” Gifford said to the superintendents, and they strolled out of the auditorium.
I have never seen the student council look at me with such hatred before. Anger was practically melting out of their faces. Some of them couldn’t even look me in the eye. Remy was almost in tears.
“They can’t punish a whole school for one student’s big mouth!” Justin said, getting up and kicking a chair over.
“I can’t believe you all just sat there!” I said.
“Are you putting the blame on us?” Scott said, appalled.
“Thanks to you we’re going to have to have prom in the cafeteria,” Remy said, livid just hearing herself say it.
“We’ll be spending a lot of time there, since we can’t go off campus to eat anymore,” Nicholas said.
“If you could write an apology letter to them, maybe they’d reconsider?” Claire said, shaking. She was in full-blown damage-control mode.
“He should apologize to the whole school,” Scott added.
“You’re right!” Remy said.
“Yup,” Nicholas said. “What about next week at the assembly?”
“Oh, Carson,” Claire said shaking her head. “You always thought you were so much better than us because we all couldn’t stand you, but get ready for pure hatred coming your way. As soon as the rest of the school hears about this and they tell their parents, the entire town will actually hate you!”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I was the only one who’d tried to stand up for the school and they were mad at me?! They were all going to hate me?!
“All right, enough!” I yelled. “I wasn’t just standing up for myself in there—I was standing up for all of you! From the minute you guys walked onto this campus you were labeled as high school royalty, and you’d rather maintain that label than—heaven forbid—stand up for yourselves. Well, high school ends! And for your sakes, I hope you aren’t the walking clichés everyone thinks you are, because life is going to walk all over you! It’s going to bite you in the ass!”
I grabbed all of my things and stormed out of there as fast as I could. I was sick to my stomach. I was sick of them, of my parents, and sick of this entire town. I was just fed up with the whole world.
I drove straight to Grandma’s and had a bit of a breakdown.
“I just don’t get it,” I told her, trying my best to hold back tears. “Why do some people have to work so hard for the things they want and others don’t? Why are some people selfish by nature and some of us are selfish just to survive?”
She was busy knitting and didn’t show much interest in what I was saying. But I didn’t mind. I just needed to say these things; I needed to vent to another human being, even if I was talking to an empty house.
“You know, I told myself a long time ago that I didn’t need anyone,” I said, not able to hold back the tears any longer. “But lately, Grandma, I’ve wondered if I was wrong. I’ve always been one hundred percent independent, and it’s such a hard thing to be sometimes. …”
“Did you say something?” Grandma asked me.
“No,” I said, and wiped away my tears.
“I’m making this for my grandson,” Grandma said.
“What is it?” I asked.
She held it up. It was lopsided and made of many different patterns and colors of yarn. Clearly, Grandma had had different ideas of what it was every time she sat down to work on it.
“It’s a scarf blanket,” Grandma said.
I couldn’t help but laugh. Indeed, it was. Even with Alzheimer’s, she always had a way of making me feel better.
12/12
Well, the magazine has been on sale for a month and I’ve only sold one copy. And that guy just ripped it to shreds right in front of me. I guess Claire was right about the whole town hating me. I’ve been getting really dirty looks lately, much dirtier than usual. Hateful, I should say.
Yes, it’s been a rough few weeks. I don’t know why it’s bringing me down so much; I’ve always thought everyone hated me. Careful what you wish for, I guess?
Still haven’t heard from Northwestern. That’s still a big question mark in my mind and a lump in my throat. I really need to get out of this town now.
December 15 is three days away. So in less than forty-two hours I’ll know if I’ve been accepted early. Fingers crossed! At least I have that to look forward to.
I haven’t really bothered doing anything with the Chronicle. I’ve just been reprinting old issues from September. I haven’t been in the mood to write much lately; hence the month between journal entries.
Never thought I’d be at a loss for words. …I guess life surprises you.
3/12
It’s been a couple of months and I have nothing good to report, I’m afraid. Needless to say, I never got an early acceptance letter. But I never got a rejection either, so I’ve been waiting in a daze for these last few weeks, hoping my literary magazine did the trick. I think I’ll forever remember today, March 12, as the worst day of my entire life.
I was sitting in my English classroom taking a final on Hamlet when Ms. Sharpton called me into her office to tell me that my life was about to become a tragedy of its own.
“Hi, munchkin, have a seat,” she said to me. I could tell whatever she was about to tell me wasn’t going to be good news.
“Oh no,” I said, still standing. “Don’t tell me. … Please don’t tell me. …”
“Just have a seat,” she said.
I didn’t want to sit. I felt like sitting would only allow the news to be real. If I didn’t sit, then whatever it was (even though I knew what it was) wouldn’t have to happen. I eventually sat down. My heart was pounding and my hands were trembling.
“I heard back from Northwestern today,” she said. “Not good news, I’m afraid. They aren’t letting you r
esubmit an application with your literary magazine. Apparently you missed the confirmation deadline, so your acceptance was denied.”
“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” I said.
“They won’t let you reapply,” she said. “You were accepted, but you never confirmed, so you were denied.”
I was sure my heart would stop beating after hearing this. It was such a blow, such a mistake. Surely mistakes like that weren’t made in real life.
“No, it must have gotten lost in the mail—I checked every day,” I said. “Please, you have to tell them that.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do anything more for you,” Ms. Sharpton said. “But you can always go to your second-choice school.”
“There was no second choice,” I said. I never planned to fail, so I’ve failed to plan.
I just wanted the world to rewind. I wanted to go back to the moments before she called me into her office, when I was miserable for superficial reasons. Now I felt as if a family member had died and taken a part of me with them; I was mourning my future.
“Well, you can reapply again after you complete your GE credits,” she said, trying to cheer me up. “Clover Community College is still accepting applications. Would you like to fill one out?”
And now salt had been added to the wound. Not only was my spirit crushed, but now my soul would have to suffer through one or maybe more years of staying in Clover. I couldn’t have imagined a more disappointing scenario.
Struck by Lightning: The Carson Phillips Journal Page 13
