Who knew that I’d find another person. . . someone that was actually alive. Something alluring finally happened this year. Sure, I got put in the ninth grade algebra II course, but I was anticipating that it would occur. No way. I feel kind of bad about it really, but there is a girl. Age twelve, height; four feet, three inches, classroom number 378. She has been ill for an entire year now, and last week, she finally agreed to see the nurse. She was in my group for the seventh grade Book Reading Book Writing Book Designing project. I was really excited for this, until I found something out.
Miranda better be back soon. She’s doing one of our main parts. Miranda is doing the whole cover design for our story because she’s the best artist here. Let me try to do design a cover, and it’ll look like a blob of barfy nothing. Once I’m together with the rest of my group, Cathleen, Ben, Andrew and Jessica, we just sit there being helpless. “I think that we should delay the beginning of our project and wait for Miranda to get back from the office.”
“We don’t have time to wait! The project is due next month!” Cathleen insists.
“Don’t be a doofus. How are we supposed to know what to write about if Miranda isn’t giving us our ideas?” I ask. Miranda is known for giving weird and interesting story ideas, but all her stories she’s written turn out pretty well. No where near to as close as Jenna’s. No one can match the inimitable suspense and excitement she puts in her books. She already has four published, and they’re in the library right now.
“You know what? I’ll go to the library and choose a reading book.” Cathleen says.
“Yeah but it better not be one of those dumb boyfriend kissy kissy romance books that you read.” I say, making it clear. I HATE those books. I would take all of them and throw them in the trash if I could. That’s saying a lot. I LOVE booksCathleen rolls her eyes and shoots me a dirty look. Once she is back with a decent suspense novel, we start reading. It’s one hour later, and Miranda still isn’t here. I just figure she went home, but no. It’s a school requirement that whoever is going home because of sickness has to tell their working group first before they just leave. I hop up, and start walking. I don’t bother to tell the teacher. I swing open the door, but before I can walk two feet, I bump into Liv (we call Olivia Liv for short).
“Hey. What are you doing here just lingering in the hallway?” I ask.
“Ican’ttalkrightnowIcan’ttalkrightnowIcan’ttalkrightnow!” She’s talking a mile a minute, her hands are on her head and she looks distressed.
“Sheesh. I’ve never seen the class clown act so serious.” I comment. That’s how I found out not to mess with her because at that moment she poured maple syrup all over my head. She is laughing her head off as I am trying to get the syrup to put down on my hands and out of my hair.
“And that, folks, is how to gain respect.” Does she always carry a tiny bottle of the stuff around? I walk into the nurse’s office, but Olivia tugs on my arm and begs me not to go in. I ignore her, but finally find out why Miranda isn’t working on the project with us.