No great genius has ever existed without some touch of madness. -Aristotle

You should never doubt what nobody is sure of. -Willy Wonka

In the end, we all become stories. -Margaret Atwood

It might be possible that the world itself is without meaning. -Virginia Woolf, "Mrs. Dalloway"

Monday, January 9, 2012

Writing Sample: Love Me ... Not

I looked up from doodling peace signs and daisies on my brown-bag book cover to see the brilliant blue eyes of the guy that would haunt my soul my entire sophomore year. Mrs. Duncan had been prattling on about participles and why they shouldn’t dangle when Jack, a new student from California, interrupted fifth period English class. Welcome to Arizona, Jack. Everyone, this is Jack. Please take a seat next to Nancy. Nancy? Me, Nancy? Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. He casually walked over to the desk next to mine, and slipped in with a wink my way. I dropped my pen. He reached down and his coal black hair fell over his eyes. He smelled like salty air. I wondered if he had caught a wave or two before coming to class. He held the pen out with a teasing smile. I smiled back and turned my head, oblivious to the fact he was still holding the pen. Somehow the pen landed back on my desk and Mrs. Duncan carried on with her participle explanation, apparently without effect of having this gorgeous, winking, California transfer student in her fifth period English class. To this day I blame Jack for not remembering anything about participles or anything else resembling grammar.

I fell in love with him immediately. Unfortunately so did most of the other girls in English class except for Barbara who only cared about horses and Brenda, who only cared about Barbara. I was soon to notice Jack was as extroverted and charming as I was introverted and meek and we all know the meek does not inherit the surfer.

I couldn’t wait for English class. I wore the shortest skirts and highest heels I could get away with and made sure Jack was in his seat before I nonchalantly walked in. He noticed. Our seats were arranged in a horseshoe and he sat to my right. Over time we started talking which became a regular thing, usually while Mrs. Duncan was writing on the board in various chalk colors in curly-q cursive appropriate forms of grammar. Of course she would only turn around while I was talking to ask if she needed to give me a different seat so I could focus. Oh, no, Mrs. Duncan, I’m quite focused, thank you. Jack would turn back with his sexy wink and I would heat up in my little blue seat.

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