Struck by Lightning: The Carson Phillips Journal

by Chris Colfer

  It was a little jarring seeing my dad for the first time in so long. His hair was much grayer now and we were the same height. We awkwardly shook hands, each afraid to grip the other’s.

  “Good to see you, buddy, thanks for coming over,” he said, and showed me into the kitchen. Everything in the house was so clean and put together, it made Mom’s house look like an episode of Hoarders.

  “And this is April,” Dad said. He referred to the woman standing in the kitchen. I had to do a double take; I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. She was beautiful, with bright red hair and fair skin. Her eyes were big and bright, but in a really pleasant way, not in a substance-abuse way.

  “Hi, Carson!” she said happily. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

  “You too,” I said, and shook her hand. “Are you by chance a trademark of the Walt Disney Company?”

  “Huh?” she asked.

  “He’s joking. He’s very sarcastic,” Dad said.

  “Oh, I get it,” she said. “That’s very sweet, thank you.” She put her hands on her pregnant belly and from then on I had a hard time taking my eyes off it all night. It was so weird to think there was a baby cooking inside there that shared DNA with me.

  “Let’s eat, shall we?” Dad said.

  Dinner was mostly quiet, with short-lived small-talk topics. I couldn’t stop eating—the food was amazing. I kept waiting for April to start talking to herself or see an imaginary animal walking around the house or something crazy; there had to be something wrong with her. Otherwise, why was she engaged to Dad?

  “Your dad tells me you’re quite popular at school?” April asked me.

  I snorted. “No, I’m active but not popular.”

  “He’s part of the Newspaper Club,” Dad said.

  “Actually, I’m president of the Writers’ Club, editor of the school newspaper, and just started a school literary magazine,” I corrected him.

  “Well, check you out!” April said warmly. I hated how easy it was to like this woman. “You must get really good grades!”

  “He does okay,” Dad said.

  “I have a four point two,” I said, annoyed with him now. He didn’t know me well enough to know what my grades were. “I would have a four point five, but I tend to argue with the teachers about their lesson plans, so …”

  “Do you play any sports?” April asked. I didn’t even have the urge to throw up on her after she asked that question, that’s how sweet she was.

  Dad started laughing. “God knows I tried,” he said. “We’d always go down to the park and throw a ball around, but he never showed any interest.”

  “Did we?” I said with a mouth full of food.

  “I quickly realized I wasn’t going to get the major-leaguer I was hoping for,” Dad said. “He kind of threw like a girl.”

  And then I got it—Dad was pretending to be something other than the selfish asshole he had been my entire life. April might have loved hearing this bullshit, but I had had enough of it.

  “Dad, we never did that.”

  “Sure we did—you just don’t remember,” Dad quickly shot back at me.

  “No, I would have remembered something like that.”

  “He’s just exaggerating,” Dad said, looking straight at April, as if I wasn’t in the room anymore. “He has this creative imagination. I think it’s what makes him such a good writer.”

  “Dad, who are you pretending to be?” I borderline shouted at him. “You left how many years ago and I’ve seen you maybe twice since then?”

  “Carson, you’re young, maybe you don’t understand.” Dad said.

  “You’re right, I don’t understand!” I said. “I don’t understand how you could abandon your old family and act like everything is okay in front of the new one!”

  April’s eyes fell to her plate.

  “Your mom was unstable,” Dad said.

  “Yeah, I know,” I said. “And you left me with her. What kind of father does that?”

  “Carson, I can only say ‘sorry’ so many times,” Dad said. The funny thing was he had never said it once. I must have inherited that from him.

  “Thank you for dinner, April. It was lovely,” I said, and got up from the table. “But I have to go now.”

  I walked right past my dad, not even able to look him in the eye, and walked out the front door. It suddenly became very clear to me what that dinner had been; it was Dad’s way of authenticating something with April. He had tried using me, and it didn’t work.

  Adults can really suck more than teenagers sometimes.

  I was so mad it felt like I got home in a matter of seconds. I cautiously entered the house, not knowing what state I was going to find Mom in. She was passed out on the couch. Balled-up clumps of tissue were everywhere. She had obviously cried herself to sleep. She was also clutching a framed portrait of her, Dad, and me taken years ago.

  I turned off the television and covered Mom with a blanket. It’s amazing how many lives one person can ruin.

  I just hope Mom is going to be all right once I’m gone. There’s only so much you can do over the phone.

  11/3

  Well, the Clover High Literary Magazine is officially done! It really turned out pretty great if I do say so myself. It deserves a celebration, but the truth is, I’m not going to feel like celebrating until I get an acceptance letter with my name on it.

  The copies going on sale at the school are being printed first thing Monday morning, but I printed a copy at home and put it in a special snazzy portfolio and sent it off this afternoon to the Northwestern admissions office with a brand-new application. It miraculously has plenty of time to get there, which leaves me feeling very impressed with myself; hopefully it’ll be a mutual feeling.

  I feel like I just put all my hopes and dreams into an envelope and sent it to a total stranger. I made another copy to keep in this journal, so I’ll always remember November 3 is the day I completed the impossible!

  I think I’ll take tomorrow off, though. Even God rested on the seventh day.

  THE 2012 CLOVER HIGH

  LITERARY MAGAZINE

  EDITED BY CARSON PHILLIPS

  TABLE OF CONTENTS*

  Editorials

  “Janitorial Genocide” by Carson Phillips

  “Small-Town Sex Scandal” by Carson Phillips

  Short Stories

  “The Overworked Princess” by Remy Baker

  “Creatures of the Darkness” by Vicki Jordan

  Essays

  “Top of the Pyramid” by Claire Mathews

  “The Color Green” by Justin Walker

  Scott Thomas’s “The Marquee”

  Poetry

  “Unstoppable Love” by Nicholas Forbes

  “My Special Little Friend” by John Hardy

  Satire

  “Call Me Isabella” by Malerie Baggs

  Social Commentary

  “Being Mrs. Bieber” by Hannah Morgan

  Other

  “10 Reasons Why Emilio Is Great” by Emilio López

  “3-D Lives” by Dwayne Michaels

  Janitorial Genocide

  BY CARSON PHILLIPS

  September 19, 2012

  CLOVER HIGH SCHOOL, CLOVER, CALIFORNIA—Due to the latest budget cuts made by the state earlier this year, Clover High School had to lay off two janitors and force one into early retirement before the school year started. When asked about the unfortunate dismissals, Principal Gifford had this to say: “We were very sad to say goodbye to the members of our staff, but unfortunately, we were left with no choice. Voters put that schmuck in the governor’s office, not me.”

  However, after further investigation, it appears there were many choices made this year when it came to budgeting.

  “We’re so excited we get to play football this year with brand-new uniforms and equipment!” said a football player, who would like to remain anonymous in this piece. The new gear is courtesy of the school. “We’re number one undefeated, and I’m glad the other
teams we play against this year will know that just by looking at our bling!”

  According to a recent Google search, the average cost of a typical high school football uniform can range anywhere from $100 to $500, depending on the girth of the player. Given that there are at least forty players on the Clover High team, the amount the school paid could range from $4,000 to $20,000, which would have been an ample sum of money to keep three working fathers employed for a few months longer.

  There’s a major difference between “no choice” and a bad choice.

  For more information on this matter, please visit the Clover High Chronicle Facebook page or e-mail the writer at CarsonPhillips@thecloverhighchronicle.com.

  Small-Town Sex Scandal

  BY CARSON PHILLIPS

  September 26, 2012

  CLOVER HIGH SCHOOL, CLOVER, CALIFORNIA—Last Thursday afternoon, Mr. Armbrooster, a veteran health teacher, was escorted off campus by school security. He had been fired for quote “teaching sexual education lessons with inappropriate objects,” but the exact details of these alleged lessons remained undisclosed.

  When asked about the situation, here is what one freshman girl had to say: “Mr. Armbrooster was a pretty cool guy. So what if he used a Gumby action figure and a jar of Play-Doh to teach about the female reproductive system? Gumby kind of looks like a fallopian tube. You can’t deny that.”

  “We’re not stupid,” said a male classmate. “We know the uterus isn’t lined with Play-Doh—you’d have to be an idiot to think that. All I know is that I got a B+ on that test. Thanks, Mr. A!”

  In fact, that seems to be the common consensus among his students. When you compare the test scores of Mr. Armbrooster’s class with any other of the health classes at Clover High, you can see a major difference. The average student tests 20% better if they are subjected to Gumby and Play-Doh.

  “Mr. A gets fired for using props in his class, but Mr. ***** sleeps with all his female students and gets tenure? That’s messed up!” said a peppy school counselor who wishes to keep her identity a secret.

  It’s messy, it’s not fair, and it doesn’t make sense. I wonder what preschool toys Mr. Armbrooster would use to explain this situation to us.

  For more information on this matter, please visit the Clover High Chronicle Facebook page or e-mail the writer at CarsonPhillips@thecloverhighchronicle.com.

  The Overworked Princess

  BY REMY BAKER

  There was once a little princess who had several responsibilities. Her parents, the king and queen, put way too much pressure on her since they had troubles managing the kingdom. Although she was very beautiful and bright and constantly excelled in everything she did, her parents always thought she could do better.

  Every day, the little princess would bring her parents examples of all the things she had accomplished that day, and every day they had a way of making her feel like it wasn’t good enough.

  “Look, Mom and Dad, I got an A in my peasant-appreciation class!” the little princess said.

  “You’re better than this,” the king said, looking over the report.

  “We’d be more pleased if it was an A+,” the queen said.

  The little princess ran out of the castle and into the forest and cried under a small tree, feeling like she would never be good enough. The tree magically came to life.

  “Why are you crying, my little princess?” the magic tree asked her.

  “Because I’ll never be good enough for my parents,” the little princess said. “I try so hard but they’re never pleased.”

  The magic tree gave the little princess a magic book, full of photos of her accomplishments and her friends. “Here. Every time you feel sad, I want you to look at this book and remember all the good things in your life,” the tree said.

  The little princess looked through the book and instantly felt better. She dried her tears and went back to her castle. From then on, every time her parents made her feel small, she would look at the book and remember all the things that made her so great.

  She kept the book for the rest of her life, well into her queenship, and shared it with all the princes and princesses who later became her children and grandchildren.

  The End.

  Creatures of the Darkness

  BY VICKI JORDAN

  It was a world of vampires and demons, where innocence was rare and so were the living. It was a world of darkness, where light had been outlawed and nightfall had swallowed us whole.

  An epic war had been fought, and the creatures of the dark had finally prevailed over the promoters of the light. Finally, for the first time in existence, the people of the shadows could come out and freely walk among one another in the rays of a dying sun, which had once been used to shun them away.

  A little girl, a child of the light, had survived the battle and crawled out from under the ashes of the destruction. She looked around at her altered world in dismay and confronted a vampire about the changes, of which she did not approve.

  “Why did you turn my world into a world of night, and make wrong into a new form of right? How could you make all the light disappear, and with it everyone I once loved so dear? Why are the shadows now the new sun, and why is everything lost what you have won?”

  The vampire looked down at the little girl with amusement and delight.

  “Because, little girl, this is the real world you see, where there’s no light to shine on false identities. We didn’t destroy the world just to scare; we simply uncovered what was already there. What has come out was all the darkness that was once hidden within, and you’ll soon meet the darkness in you once my fangs pierce your skin.”

  We are our own greatest fears.…

  Top of the Pyramid

  BY CLAIRE MATHEWS

  Every Friday night at halftime my cheer team pulls off one of the most dangerous stunts in the cheer world. We call it the Cheermageddon.

  Three pyramids are formed in a line. A girl on the top of the center gets jolted in the air and does a back-flip while the two girls on the tops of the other pyramids flip underneath her, switching places before the center girl gets back.

  While it’s hands-down the best crowd-pleasing stunt we know how to do, it’s also the most dangerous. I love being a cheerleader, but being at the top of the pyramid means you’ll get hurt the most if you fall. Being the smallest girl on the team, I’m also the girl on the center pyramid virtually risking her life every week for the enjoyment of others.

  It makes me wonder, would it be so entertaining if the crowd knew everything was going to be all right? Or are they all just secretly waiting for someone to get injured?

  People are constantly put on pedestals in our society, sometimes for the wrong reasons, but mostly because they’re doing something or capable of doing something that no one else can. But do we give people that status just so we can watch them fall? Sometimes I think the worst thing you can do to someone is idolize them or make them out to be anything else but human; then you’re only giving them room to disappoint you.

  When I’m thrown up in the air every Friday night, for a split second I feel like the loneliest person in the world. I think, Wow, no one can reach me up here. And when the momentum is over and gravity starts to pull me back down, I’m so thankful to be on the ground again. I just hope the momentum never pulls me down too far.

  The Color Green

  BY JUSTIN WALKER

  I like the color green. When I see the color green it makes me think of trees and grass. When I think of trees and grass, I think of football. When I think of football it makes me happy.

  I know I’m not the brightest bulb in the knife drawer. People call me stupid, idiot, and a Neanderthal (even though I’m not from the Netherlands) all the time. But if the point of being alive is to find out what makes you happy, then I’m pretty much set. All I have to do is look at the color green.

  So who’s the idiot now?

  I also like the color blue. When I think of blue I think of the ocea
n. When I think of the ocean I think of bikinis. When I think of bikinis I think about all kinds of things that make me happy, and they’re not green!

  At least I hope not. If they are, you should probably see a doctor instead of inviting me back to your parents’ beach house. That’s just gross and rude. Seriously, girl, you live at the beach—please shower more. You don’t know what might be crawling on you.

  Scott Thomas’s “The Marquee”

  I’ve always known that I was destined for fame. The image of my name in lights over the Clover Community Theater marquee isn’t just a vision, it’s a premonition.

  If you’re thinking, But Scott, you’re not leading man material—you can never be the star of something, then I have two words for you, but since I promised myself I wouldn’t swear in this essay, I have another two words for you: You’re wrong!

  There isn’t just one cookie cutter in the shape of stardom, my friend; it comes in many sizes and colors. You just have to map out your own destination to it.

  One day, I will produce, write, direct, and star in my own one-man show. It’ll premiere at the Clover Community Theater, but the reviews will be so spectacular the show will go on the road. We’ll hit all the major cities (except Chicago, because I can’t risk the wind) and I’ll gain a massive fan base.

  I’ll sell the movie rights to the highest bidder, maybe go on Jimmy Fallon and tell him how the dream all started, and after a long and luscious career I’ll retire and punch out a couple autobiographies, which will then be turned into massive Broadway musicals.

  Ambition doesn’t grow on trees, girlfriend. You gotta grow dem leaves yo’self.