Deep breath, deep breath. One step, then another, and then try walking down the hall; words race through my mind as I walk through the double doors of my high school. It’s been an amazing summer, most of it spent not in this town, and most definitely not anywhere near this building. Alas, all good things come to an end. Walking down the hall Day One to class one…
There they stood, forever will be imprinted this moment in my mind, my breath is literally gone, because right before me stood what was to be my first love. We casually walk past each other flashing a grin…
And then the bell rings. I snap out of my daydream because this is not that kind of story. Can’t believe this, I’m already late to first period and we haven’t started school yet. Then again, why let the teacher believe that I’m not gonna be that kid who ends the year with 30 tardies.
Day Two, the beginning of period three: I’m sitting in chemistry, the teacher drones about the workload we’re going to have for the rest of the year, many long nights, sore hands from all the notes, a few emotional breakdowns…
As I was tapping my hand against the desk, I felt a strange tingling. Suddenly, one of the nozzles which hold gas for chemistry experiments burst. This explosion seems to travel to my hand and the gas, as if being summoned by some unseen force, ignites. Fire begins to dance across my arms. “Oh no, not now, please no not now,” I thought, as the large bearded man bursted through the door. He looked at me straight in the eye and said,“You’re a Wizard,”…
But then the teacher drops one of the chemistry textbooks he is currently handing out to everyone, and I come back to reality. Because this is not that kind of story. I finish writing my name on the inside of the textbook as the bell rings for the next class.
Halfway through Day Three: my history teacher’s lecture lulls me into a daze. Somewhere between all the documents and primary accounts, I begin to look out the window…
When suddenly I see a strange object fly through the sky. It’s getting closer and closer. I don’t know what it is—until it hits me! Both literally and through me figuring out it’s the disk, which the aliens had when I saw them last week. My classmates are panicked by the current ongoings and begin to flee the room. They may be fleeing this current message of the Aliens, but I know what it means: this is my warning to return the ship I found last week before the Aliens come for me to get it back...
But the sounds of a cannon from a Civil War documentary reminds me I’m supposed to be taking notes and not daydreaming. Because this is not one of those stories.
I pack up my bag and get ready to keep trudging along my day.
Yearning for Day Four to move along faster, I walk into seventh period when I overhear two girls gossiping by their lockers…
“Did you hear they still haven’t figured out who killed Billy. All they found was a bloody bat next to the scene of the crime. They think it’s the murder weapon,” said the taller girl. Her shorter friend replied, “I totally bet it was Steve. They’ve been rivals on the baseball team since elementary school.” Both girls fall silent pondering who could have done it when…
I was jolted from my spot of contemplation when a large group of confused freshmen push past me. I move on from the girls who are, in reality, just talking about whatever drama happened in the cafeteria that day. Because this isn’t that kind of story, and I have a quiz to take in my seventh period class.
Finally, Day Five: I’m in the final minutes of period nine. I glance at the clock while everyone talks about their weekend plans…
A teenager sits in class, tapping her foot, bored waiting for something to happen. They are always just waiting for something to happen…
But wait, this is that kind of story. This whole week has been this kind of story. My story may not be an epic romance, unique fantasy, complicated science fiction, or even a peculiar murder mystery, but it is my story.
It’s the story of a kid who’s just trying to get through her first week of high school, seeking refuge in the daydreams which populate her mind throughout the day. A story which ends with the final bell ringing, and the teenager walking out with a smirk. A smirk because she has survived the first and the worst week of hell, and knows that the real story lies in the mysterious haven of the weekend, where the plot will only thicken.
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