"GOODBYE, ELEANOR. Have a nice day," says Mr. Adelson.

Have a nice day, I do not say and I leave the room.

In the hallways, I am wary of my surroundings. I am afraid, much more than I usually am. With each step comes a tremble of the fingertips, and I watch from my peripherals for any sense of unsual movement.

I wait.

Soon, it comes.

The entrance to the school are two doors that swing a little too hard when pushed, even if the force is nothing but a flick of the wrist. It is swung too hard even now, as loud chatter becomes a decibel too high and the football team enters the building.

I freeze in my place, a stiff statue in the middle of a sea of people. They flood around me, casting irritated glances in my direction. Slowly I turn, and I watch the horde of lettermen jackets adorned in colors of blue and yellow step further into the building. At the head of the flock is Bryce, accompanied by Madison.

And the rankings get smaller as the center stretches on.

The boy beside Bryce is the reason I am jittery. He is content, his arm snaked around a brunette girl's waist, his hand slowly trailing to her butt. She does not mind and Kyle is smug. His eyes search the hallways.

I gulp and instantly turn towards an empty corridor. Feeling my heart thud against my chest, I squeeze my eyes shut and dart into the nearest room, hoping that it will be as empty as the look in Madison's eyes. When I open them, I realize that it is still as dark as it was when they were closed. The only light seemed to creep from the slit underneath the door behind me.

I take a step to the left, bumping into something. I wince and feel around - it is a desk. My hands blindly press against the wall as I look for the switch and when I finally locate it, the room becomes bathed in a bright light that washes over the furniture with a tinted yellow hue. I squint until my eyesight adjusts.

The room is a mess.

Papers are thrown on the floor, some crumpled into balls and others stacked precariously in piles beside the desks. Articles are tacked onto the white-washed walls; several small holes punctured the spaces in between, scattered in dots around the room. Towards the front was the teacher's desk, filled with stacks of newspapers. Laundry lines swept from back to front - I had to duck underneath to venture deeper.

I find myself picking up a newsletter from the top of one of the stacks, holding it in both hands as I skim its contents. It is the front page for next month's edition of the school newspaper - The Phoenix. The headline was about the new chemical introduced into the swimming pool; could it be the cause of the chain of allergic reactions suddenly appearing during the past month?

I read until it cuts off at the bottom. Continue on page four, it says. I widen my eyes and scan the perimeter of the room, crouching on the weight of my feet as I push away papers in order to locate the next part. It is not until now that I have allowed myself to even take a glimpse at the school newspaper, even after three years of high school. I had always assumed that their words were lost causes - simply regurgitating information already known back into its consumers. Perhaps I was never interested because they never contained photographs.

Even now, there is no photographic evidence to back up their claims.

At the small four written at the top of a piece of paper on the floor, I conclude that this is the missing page I am looking for. I half-smile victoriously, scooping it up just as the door swings open with the force of a hurricane. Surprised, I stumble back and fall underneath a desk, where I just narrowly escape hitting my head on the leg. My pulse races as I think of another hospital visit, then quickens again at the thought of people entering the room.

"Come on, Clark," an authoratative female voice barks; her voice is like honey, slow and sweet, but I can sense the stinger underneath her tone. "Get your act together. You're the only one who hasn't submitted their article and we have to print this out by Friday."

"Exactly," a boy responds nonchalantly, "It's only Monday."

"You know what? I'm done. Sophia, you knock some sense into your boyfriend," the girl who had spoken first replies with a sense of frustration and I hear a chair skidding as it is pulled back and the thump as an individual sits upon it.

Another girl speaks up, plastering on a sweet tone as she talks, "Clark, honey, Churai has a point. This team runs on effectiveness and participation."

"Whatever," Clark responds, "It's not as if anyone reads this stupid magazine, anyway."

"Shut up," Churai snaps, anger in her voice, "If you really want to quit then just do it. It's not like we all care about you or anything."

"If you're trying to guilt-trip me, it's not working."

"Neither did your mother's birth control."

"You know what, you Chinese bitch-"

"I'm Thai, you racist motherf-"

"Okay, stop!" Sophia's voice grows in magnitude. She sounds distressed. "Both of you, quit it!"

"Gladly," Clark mutters. "I'm out. Good luck finding a new music columnist." There is a sound of footsteps, a door slam, and then finally silence.

"You know," Churai starts. Her voice is even, calm. "I knew he only stuck with us for this long because you're his girlfriend, Soph."

Sophia sighs, and I hear another chair being pulled out and sat upon. "It's okay. I never expected him to get into it anyway. But now we have to find a replacement before next friday."

"Buddha, give me a sign!" Churai exclaims loudly, and though I do not know what she looks like, I can picture a girl throwing her arms into the air. The outburst is so sudden that I jump, effectively colliding with the top of the desk and scattering whatever papers were lying on it.

The two girls in the room scream, so I scream, and suddenly I am being pulled out from underneath the desk and staring the two of them in the eyes.

The girl to the left is tall and a little round. Her cheeks are full and rosy, her ginger hair piled into a messy bun on the top of her head. She is wearing a wool sweater the color of vanilla ice cream, and pants so tight her legs seem as if they can not breathe. The girl to the right is petite but sturdy. Her dark complexion shows off her Asian heritage as do her almond shaped eyes. She is wearing a plaid skirt and a white top with a grey vest, her hair crashing in frizzy waves around her shoulders.

"Who the hell are you?" The Asian girl asks incredulously. I stare at her.

"You surprised us," the other girl adds, offering a small smile. "We didn't mean to come off as rude. Right, Churai?" The other girl receives a pointed elbow to the gut. "She meant to say what was your name?"

I grimace and shake my head.

"What? Are you mute?" Churai scoffs. I shake my head, a little offended. Holding up a finger, I take my backpack off and open its flaps. I reach in and push away the small pillow kept inside to cushion my camera -- not the DSLR, but a small digital one. I did not want to take the risk if I ran into Kyle. The girls seem to be watching, Churai especially. 

She asks, "Do you take pictures?"

I nod hesitantly, one small bob of the head.

"Can I see them?" I pause but she is already reaching into my bag and taking out the small device. My eyes widen at her straightforwardness, and I am too shocked to say anything. Churai turns the camera on and starts sifting through my pictures, her expression impassive.

"So your name?" Sophia asks gently, bringing my attention back to her. I blink and remember what I was rummaging in my bag for, and I take out a small notepad. On the front page was the word I had written angrily to my mother, and it brings a pang of pain even now. Why? it reads.

I push the page away to a clean page, still having the indents of the previous scrawlings. Eleanor, I write. I hold the notepad up to them both.

"Well, Eleanor," Churai grins, her smile so wide it is blinding. I grow scared. She hugs my camera to her chest and gives me a mischievous smirk. "What do you think of joining the newspaper club?"

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Raise your hand if you love Churai already. Also, this chapter is dedicated to lydiarse because I admire her from afar but she doesn't know okay cool. I'm a creep. x

Comment, vote, promote. x

-Isabelle