So based on my previous entry, I wanted to try something out really quickly that I haven't ever done. I'm gonna give myself 30 minutes on the clock (mainly because I have to get up early to help with a camp tomorrow, which I will discuss later in the week, maybe...) and write a completely fiction story to see how far I get. This should be fun for me, and hopefully just as interesting for you. So let's get started.
DING DING DING!
I forced myself through the doorway of the classroom, which had a highlighter-yellow sign on the front that said FRESHMAN 101 (X-Z). I normally hated the fact that I was usually the last name to be called on the roll of students, but I hoped that this time it would work to my advantage, since only 2% of people in America have last name that starts between the letters X and Z. This means that I would only have to face around roughly 2% of the student population staring at me at once, and at least after making it through one class I would no longer be the "new kid." And yes, I do realize that everyone is a new kid when moving from middle school to a brand new high school, and most people are scared out of their wits with all the horror stories about drugs, alcohol, and rape that they teach us to stay away from. But I was beyond that point of fear. You see, I had just moved from a small town in Kansas, and the middle school I attended had 250 students in total. Each grade had around 100 kids, not including 8th grade, because half of my classmates' parents pulled them out so they could help out on the farm. Sometimes I wish my mother had done the same. But here I was, 14-year-old James Zandorf (which, did not come from an early draft of a book in the Harry Potter series, in case you were wondering), walking into a building three times the size of the Walmart back home. I had never even heard of Raleigh, North Carolina. Heck, the furthest east I had driven with my mom was to Kansas City, Missouri. Which to me, doesn't even count as "crossing the boarder" since the city shares the name of my home state. But whatever.
Surprisingly, I hadn't gotten the attention that I anticipated when walking into the classroom. Probably due to the fact that I had arrived 10 minutes before the bell to enter the building had even rung. As I slowly started to back my way out to pretend I was never there, the middle-aged lady (whom I hadn't noticed before since her dress nearly blended in with the off-white color of... pretty much everything in the room.
"Hello there! May I help you?", she remarked. Although her voice seemed teacherly, it also reminded me of the greeter at the Walmart back home.
"Is this Freshman 101?"
"Not for the next 10 minutes it isn't."
"Oh I'm sorry, I'll come back."
"No! Please come in. I always like to meet the overly anxious students."
Great, I had just set myself up as the teacher's pet, better known as the laughing stock of the entire class. While I was almost tempted to turn around and run down the hall, covering my face so no future teachers would recognize me, her grandmotherly smile seemed to have more of a calming affect on me than I would have imagined.
"Let me guess, you're.... Tyler Yates?"
I have no idea how Tyler Yates is anywhere close to James Zandorf, other than both being in the lower denominator of names in the before-mentioned class roster. If you haven't noticed by now, I'm one of the most socially awkward people on the planet.
So socially awkward that last year during middle school graduation, I replied to nearly each "Congratulations" with "You're Welcome" instead of the more appropriate response. And those people were the lucky ones. But that was not nearly as humiliating as the day we moved to Raleigh and Julia, the neighbor kid, coerced my mother into letting her come say hello to me in my room. I, of course, had no idea anyone was in the house, let alone some stranger, so I was sitting at my computer with the door wide open and pants down to my knees. You don't even have to guess what I was doing. I don't know how long she was standing there watching me, but when she knocked on my already open door, I jumped up faster than a groundhog seing its shadow. She stared at me with a flushed red face, not that mine was any less red.
"Hey there! you must be...", she started as I quickly pulled the jacket from my floor to cover my exposed bottom. Without thinking, I shrieked out an answer to a question that hadn't even been asked of me.
"Gay?.... I mean James. Oh my god, sorry."
Oh, did I mention that I was gay?
Times up. So what do ya think? I know it's not perfect. This is a first draft without any revision. I haven't even read it yet. I always get praised for my essays but I've never tried to sit down and write a fictional story from scratch. I got really into this. Almost to the point where I want to keep going. Should I?