JACQUARIOUS

It had been around ten-thirty that night when I turned in the paper for English, blasting it into the ether of electronic mail as I pressed Send. I'd hugged my mom and dad and then gone to bed, felt pure exhaustion weighing on me as I curled under the covers.

The morning had come too quickly, the sunlight an unwelcome intruder as it filtered through the blinds. Every act of readying myself had felt heavier, leadened unduly with lingering fatigue.

It wasn't until I was buckled in my car and departing our garage, blue sky peering in through my windshield, that I finally felt some semblance of wakefulness.

I drove the same path as I had the morning before, thankful that the icy whisper of death no longer seemed to linger in every shadowed alleyway that I passed.

I parked my car in the school's lot when I arrived, withdrawing my keys from the ignition and shuffling out into the throng of students pulsing toward the entrance to Goldengate's main building.

The hallways were still filled with students and bursting with life even now, at five minutes before class was to begin, and I meandered between the bubbling giggles and trilling cries that rebounded all around me.

It was seven fifty-seven when I had my seat in Mrs. Cabot' class; and it was seven fifty-eight when a hulking figure who definitely wasn't Mrs. Cabot lumbered through the doorway and slammed a massive briefcase on top of her desk.

Bewildered, I turned left, noticed that the three seats next to me were empty. That's where those guys were sitting yesterday. What were their names? Dash and—

"Jacquarious Whelan!" the intercom barked out from the wall above me.

I jolted forward, ice surging inside my veins as every eye in the room darted instantly toward my startled frame.

"Please gather your things and report to the principal's office."

I gulped. Great, just great.

I hadn't even begun unpacking, but under the weight of every piercing stare around me, it felt almost impossible simply lifting my backpack to sling across my shoulder. My hands were shivering as I gripped the straps, and I shut my eyes before sliding that zippered collection of pens and books evenly across my back.

With another gulp and a low exhale, I turned my back to the curious whispers and plodded from the room.

Through the winding hall of urbane wood, it should've taken longer to make it to the principal's office; but propelled by the jittering nerves shrieking throughout my body, it seemed that I'd arrived only moments after departing the English Lit classroom.

I grasped the slicked door handle and twisted, pushing my way inside the office's snowy interior. My eyes darted quickly across the airbrushed paintings of jasmine flowers and beachfront sand that hung from the walls, illuminated by flashes of the sun that reached between blanched blinds and swaying white curtains.

But it wasn't until my eyes landed on the principal herself—and on the woman standing beside her—that I well and truly gasped, the air around me shuddering in place.

"M...Mrs. Cabot?" I stammered.

"Hello, Jacquarious," she beamed, and I noticed for the first time that she held in her hands a sealed manila folder. "Sorry to call you out of class like this—let's talk in the hallway, shall we?" She skittered over to me, high heels clicking out a giddy tune, and slid an arm around my shoulder to usher me back out of the principal's office.

Once we were back in the hallway, I turned to her. "Um...what's this about, Mrs. Cabot? Am...am I in trouble?"

"What? No, dear. Of course not!" She glanced left and right then lowered her voice. "This is about your essay."

My eyes grew wide. "My...essay?"

"The one you submitted last night. It was incredible!"

I gulped. "...Oh."

"I reread it seven times last night—I literally couldn't pry my eyes from it!"

"Um...thank you." I glanced off, traced the floorboards' crisp edges with my eyes.

"There's no need to be so modest," she crooned. "I'm honestly not sure if I've ever seen such talent in a high school student before; but oh, I digress. Let's get right to it."

I paused. "...Get right to what?"

She giggled. "The real reason I called you out here is because I was wondering if you'd mind if I submit your essay to US & The World."

I gasped, turned back to meet her expectant gaze. "Wait, the newspaper? But they're massive!"

"Indeed—and always in search of new talent."

"I guess, but...you really think they'd even look at it before tossing it in the trash?"

She smiled. "I can promise you that they'll more than look at it. This is exactly the type of piece that they've been wanting."

"I don't know. I mean, it's just...how can you be so sure?"

Mrs. Cabot grinned, reaching a single hand inside her purse. "Because I know the senior editor—he's my husband." She lifted a metallic set of keys attached to a black fob. "How about the two of us go on a little field trip?"