In the Never Before Seen, Exclusive Side of Nephria

Namely, my unpublished drafts. Events and such that once upon a time merited some words, but then was either not important enough to be published (because other, more important things came up), or I got sidetracked and therefore did not find the time or effort to finish and publish them. Well, I'm doing a summer cleaning of sorts, in tune with my neighbor cutting down all the trees surrounding his house because one happened to be uprooted in the storm a few days earlier.

Other thing(s) before I begin: I passed my permit test! Well, sort of. I took the vision test first, which was basically me squinting and making up numbers, and the testing official being distracted (and talking to someone else) while saying, "All right, you passed, go on to the written part." Then I stood between two guys also taking the permit test, one of which passed, and one of which failed. After that, the testing official (someone else, I think) told me I had to wait because they were checking whether I was an illegal immigrant and other things like that. I mean, my visa (in my passport) wasn't enough? If I were illegal, how did I ever survive two years here?

Alas, it's protocol.

So I'm waiting to get my permit (hopefully) on Tuesday, the same day my dad leaves for Florida. On our way back from the DMV, my mom told me about the intricacies of turning (she doesn't use the hand method mentioned in the book) and the gas/brake pedal.

Now onto excerpts of my unpublished fun-stuffs.


Jan. 20th: Addicted to Freedom

Exams are finally over! I've been thinking about writing this post (what little time I had not cramming for calc or writing stories about Owen), and finally, it's time!

Alas, freedom is like that thing with feathers that perches in your soul, and comes out every so often, but is soon harnessed back by the chains of reality.

Well, the first part came from a poem by Emily Dickinson describing hope (which was on my English midterms), and I made the second part up.

The actual "exams" part of exams wasn't too bad, I suppose. I talked to Kyle after our stat exam, and he said it was just as he expected.

Even the fact that Mrs. MacDonald wasn't there.

But enough about them!

It's finally time to (besides finishing my EOQR) start on the miserable path of Owen-ness.

I would ask for your opinion, Owen, but considering you probably will never read my blog (or even know that you're Owen on here), I guess I'm on my own.

Jan. 23: Letters to Allie

Forty minutes to midnight.

He sat there, a piece of paper in his hand, musing. It was not in his nature to think—he was more of a do now, think later kind of person, as the twins once noted. The twins were the more contemplative types, thinking over every characteristic of the people they encountered, but he had always loved actions more than thoughts.

Right now, he wondered if it was too late to change his habits. Doing had gotten him nowhere, and now he needed answers.

Time was not waiting for him as it had always done.

He picked up the phone from his desk, stared at the glowing numbers. Who to ask? Who knew what he wanted to know? Who could he trust?

He had made enough enemies, he knew that. He had made enough mistakes. But this was one mistake he could not afford to make, one that could break his spring, crush him until he forgot who he was and why he was.

Thirty-seven minutes to midnight.


Feb. 1: Overdue-Part II

As we eventually all settled back into our rooms, with enormous amounts of junk food, we began to refocus on the problem. Or, at least, we tried to refocus on the problem. The fact that every ten minutes or so, a commercial about Saf-t-Swim, coupled with a matching "jingle" set to the tune of the Barney's theme song, would pop out of nowhere was slightly irritating.

Apparently, I was not the only one.

"If I hear that song one more time," Mogley said, "I will kill someone."

We all stared at Reese (except himself, of course).

"What?" Reese asked. "What did I do?"

"Okay everyone," Ben said. "Let's focus. What do we still need to do?"

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe search up how far our food travels? Ugh, I think I'm starting to get sick from all the cheese I ate."

I had not mentioned this before, but for lunch, I had ordered the all-cheese sandwich, because I was not a fan of turkey and I thought that cheese might have been a nice alternative. Well, the cheese was good. There was just so much of it, all dripping down everywhere. I even splattered some on the ground.

"And the candy," Joss added, motioning to the bag of candy I had in front of me.

"Hey," Reese said. "Let's turn off the lights."

I had no idea where this suggestion came from, or why, but we all agreed to it to some extent. The sun was still out by that time (although it may have been cloudy; I don't remember), so it was fairly bright in the room, especially with the light from the Smartboard. We resumed our old sitting positions, with Mogley and Ben at the desks, Joss and I on the ground, and Reese probably floating around somewhere. None of us really cared where he was, as long as he didn't distract us.

"I'm going to go get some water," Reese suddenly said. "Anyone wants to come?"

"Nope," I said.

"No," Joss said. "But get me a bag of candy while you're there."

"Oh, and get me a tea," Ben said. "What do they have?"

"Peach, lemonade, and berry."

"Okay," Ben said. "Get me a peach tea."

"Get me a berry tea," Mogley said.

"Does anyone else want drinks?" Reese asked, exasperation in his voice. But with him, it could have just been his normal voice.

"Nope," I said.

"Don't forget my tea," Mogley said.

"And don't forget my candy," Joss said.

Reese disappeared into the hallway. After a while, he came back, several food and drink items in hand.

"Here's your candy," Reese said, handing Joss a bag. He placed a can in front of Mogley. "And here's your drink."

"Did you remember my peach tea?" Ben asked.

"Oh, darn," Reese said. "I forgot."

"Cherry?" Joss exclaimed as he examined his candy closer. "Of all the flavors, you had to get cherry?"

"This tastes bad," Mogley said, after having tasted his berry tea.

"Okay, okay," Reese said. "I'll get everyone new drinks. What do you want?"

"Peach tea," Ben said.

"Lemonade," Mogley said.

"Non-cherry flavored candy," Joss said.

"They don't have anything else," Reese said.

"Another peach tea for me as well," I said.

Reese sighed and left the room again. When he was gone, I turned to look at the group.

"Did you guys really want more drinks, or did you just want him gone?"

"A little of both," Mogley said.

Oh, I can feel love in the air already. We waited for Reese to come back, and then settled back into what we were supposed to do. Which included making random outbursts over whose grammar--or lack thereof--was more correct.

Mr. Flatgrass chose this moment to pop into our room.

"Hey guys," he said. "You guys turned off the lights? To conserve energy?"

We laughed and heartily agreed. After he left, Reese said:

"He didn't realize that we had the Smartboard on. This thing uses more energy than all of the lights combined."

"Really?" I asked. Or maybe Mogley asked. I don't remember, but we were probably thinking along the same lines.

"Yeah," Reese said. He turned off the Smartboard, plunging us into darkness. It was really dark by now, which just showed how efficient we were. We all protested for Reese to turn the Smartboard back on, because we couldn't see anything.

In the end, Reese gave in, but not before putting Blackle on the projector-side of his dual screen and depriving us of more light.

We resumed our work, posting all of our sources onto an Etherpad site so Reese could MLA it all. (And I know that MLA is probably not a verb, but it's more fun as one.) We each had our own signature color (mine was purple), and originally, we had each typed our names in the spot where we identify ourselves. But of course, that wasn't going to last.

"Hey Ginny," Joss poked me. "Check out the Etherpad thing."

I turned suspicious and ctrl-tabbed on Joss's (again with the possessives) computer--only because he had Chrome and I had Opera and Opera and Google Docs are not compatible, so we had switched computers--until I reached the Etherpad tab. There, next to the red block, was the name "God."

I immediately remembered the book Tea had talked about, and changed Joss's name to "Are you there, God? It's me, Margaret," and mine to "Yes, it's me, God."

"Mogley," I said, spying our next victim. "Can I see your Etherpad thing for a moment?"

Mogley stared at me skeptically. "Why?"

"Just checking something."

Reluctantly, Mogley handed over his computer. I typed in "It's me, Annie. I hate you, Margaret."

"What?" Mogley stared at me weirdly. Lots of staring going on lately, it seemed.

I scuttled back to my computer and started typing in the Etherpad chat window. Joss punctuated every few lines with some random comment, such as SPARTA. Of course. After a while, Mogley caught on to what we were doing as well, and changed his name to "Reese, if you read this, you are going to suffer in seven days."

"You're nice," I said, sarcastically. I really liked the Annie line, so I put it in Reese's namespot instead.

"Whatever," Mogley said. He called out to Reese to check Etherpad, so, of course, Reese joined in on our chat virtually.

Annie (Reese): what Mogley? (Reese had actually used another nickname, but that would probably make Mogley's identity too clear.)

God (apparently me): hey Annie.

Annie: hey God.

God: how's life, Annie?

Annie: it's great, God.

Margaret (Joss): LOL\

Annie: :(|

Margaret: LOLOLOLOLOL

Annie: ....... (and on and on and on, but I don't like the dots so much myself.)

Reese (Mogley): yo cease.

And of course, Reese (the real one) proceeded to spam the chat with lots of dots. I offered up a virtual challenge, saying that I could probably out-spam him. Reese took it on willingly, and we started spamming the entire chat with gibberish letters (me) and lines of dots (Reese).

Suddenly, Reese said, "Who's typing?"

Oh wow. So he didn't know it was me. Joss, Mogley, and I all started laughing (rather suspiciously). Ben just buried his head into his work.

"Come on, it's one of you guys. Who's typing? Joss?"

"It's not me," Joss said.

"So it's Mogley then," Reese concluded.

"Nope," Mogley said. "I think you can tell who I am in the chat."

"Come on, who is it?"

"The one person you're not guessing," Joss said, "is actually the one you're looking for."

Mar. 4: Test Mornings

I am very, very happy I am not a sophomore right now.

There are some things I do not like about junior year (research paper, hello? and in response to my English teacher's reply to Mogley's remark of not being a "published author," I would rather not be known for my research paper, what with its present quality), but let's face it. Standardized tests are miserable. Standardized tests that last for a very, very long period of time (weeks, in fact) is downright dreadful.

Apr. 18: Undoubtedly Bored Again

Was a questionnaire. Probably didn't post it because I had other, more interesting things to talk about later (i.e. Princeton). Will post it later, maybe. Dino's not in this one. Hmm.

May 4: Santiago's Where It's At

Okay, this reminds me, we (me, Gretchen, Tea, maybe others) are right now suspended, perhaps indefinitely, above the Pacific Ocean. Not a good place to be when you're in a plane. So hopefully I'll move us out of here.

But here's the excerpt:

Ever since our trip to Easter Island, we (meaning me, Gretch, and Tea) have been stranded in limbo land because of the late onslaught of tests and such, so we (mostly me) decided that now would be a good time to actually arrive at Santiago and not be indefinitely stranded in mid-air.

Then Gretchen told me that she, too, wishes to be somewhere (mostly Japan) and not stuck in mid-air where weird currents can blow us over to Area 51 where Dino hangs out on spare weekends communicating with the other robots and aliens in a modified Morse code, so I decided that, yes, today would be a good time to arrive at Santiago.

And that's it, I suppose. This is very, very long because of that "Overdue" post that I should have posted earlier (ahem, a few months earlier), but I'd never gotten around to due to HUSH. Otherwise just a few things that I might have missed that I think should be out here and not lost forever.

Also, please, dear neighbor, plant your trees back. I don't want to die of CO2 poisoning.

Hey, you! Yes, you.

A while ago (back in April) I wrote a post promoting equality amongst my equivalent of Gretchie's "imaginary friends." I had twenty people, because that was the most number of labels I could include, and since it's pointless if I mention someone but doesn't include their label, I just chose twenty people.

Today's lucky people are:

• Amanda
• Camel
• Dora
• Gretchen
• Irving
• Joss
• Mario
• Matt
• Melissa
• Micro
• Mogley
• Nyx
• Owen
• Reese
• Sonny
• Stella
• Tamir
• Tybalt
• Vincent
• Yuma

(*Zephy: Sorry! I was also going to include you, but you were the 21st, and therefore did not fit. I will dedicate a new post entirely to you later.)

But before all of this, I would like to say that I have started reading the DMV booklet for my permit test, and it's so far going well. I don't know what kind of test they have though, so we'll have to see. And besides, I suck at memorization.

Also... why, why do they use clock hands for steering wheel positions, instead of diagrams? I like my digital clock just as much as the next person, and the only time I use analog clocks are when I'm trying to figure out how much time I have left in a class, and it's become second-nature to me that I don't even know the hours, just the minutes.

Anyway. Let's commence!

Amanda-Amanda's sent out a FB message to me (along with various other people) asking me if I wanted to join her on a NYC trip sometime in the summer. I do, but I have to okay it first with my parents, so I'm holding on responding just for now.

Camel-I don't think I'll ever have another class with Camel. He's being boring and taking Physics B and Calc AB, and somehow I don't think he's going to take AP Lit or any of my other classes. Doesn't sound like him. We don't really talk outside of communicating with Nyx, so I guess we won't really talk ever again.

Dora-Right! Movies, possibly. I still have to get back to her on that as well. So many things happening this summer! I'm glad that summer's finally here. There's definitely less stress right now, which is good, but I think I'm going to be looking forward for school to start, surprisingly.

Gretchen-Can you believe she's behind Irving, of all people, in my tag-list? I can't. Well, I suppose it's because of all the math team things where I mention Irving because he's usually doing something outrageous (but usually less so to some extent) with Mario. Anyway, Gretchen and I need to land in Japan soon. I'm getting a little air-sick right now.

Irving-Mentioned above, and that I probably won't ever see him again, unless I get into Hahvahd (unlikely) or get into MIT (also unlikely) and he happens to bike by because I can't bike by him since I don't know how to bike.

Joss-He still has spiky hair, even though he cut it shorter earlier. I don't know what else to say of him. Not very exciting right now.

Mario-Oh, Mario. What to say of him? I think he's going to have superiority issues next year in math team. To think that he said of Irving's behavior during Moody's, "I think he had trouble realizing who was the real boss. Next year there won't be a question as to who's in charge." No doubt. It's not him.

Matt-Super skinniness aside, he's leaving as well! I somehow cannot process that, even though I could process Irving and Owen and Melissa leaving. I guess it's because he wasn't away on the senior internships, so I haven't really felt him leave. I'm really going to miss him, even if he doesn't talk much.

Melissa-Ambivalent on her leaving. I think things are going to be a lot quieter without her, which is both good and bad. We won't have her cookies anymore as well, so that could be bad.

Micro-I'm trying to communicate to him in sign language, but neither he nor Sonny understands it, so Yuma and I are having a particularly difficult time.

Mogley-Didn't know he was taking Econ next year. Maybe we'll be in the same class again. He had English scheduling problems earlier, and I told him, "Just get AP English," to which he said, "No way, me?" Our English teacher agreed with his sentiment, and not just because of his horrible grammar (I still can't forgive him for writing lists without commas).

Nyx-Has a super early arena time but has no need for it because of her singletons. I'm slightly envious, but then I remember that no matter who I have they're either not bad or they're unavoidable, so I don't care that much either. And I'll probably have physics with Tea (unless it runs out) so it doesn't concern me very, very much.

Owen-Writing about Owen here reminds me of his alpaca. Also my "choose your own adventure" story. Otherwise he doesn't remind me of anything except that I don't know who's going to keep Dino well-oiled in the next year. We might see an increase in system crashes then.

Reese-I'm talking to Reese on Gchat a lot now. He's using Digsby, which is apparently similar to the device that Tea uses except for PCs. I shall have to try that out soon.

Sonny-He's hilarious, even if he doesn't mean it. He also can't understand sign language or exaggerated waving. Also, I found out how freaky he looked while sunbathing with Scott and the like. A row of guys lying down on the ground in the courtyard just looks weird.

Stella-I don't talk to her nearly as much now. I should. In fact, I will talk to her today as soon as I get this Digsby thing working.

Tamir-Why did I even first mention him? Why do I keep on mentioning him? I don't know. Whatever.

Tybalt-From what I've heard from Kathrya lately, he's exceedingly sweet. This disproves my best friend from back before's theory that all guys are jerks. But then again, I knew that a long time ago. Besides, it doesn't disprove the theory that some guys (ambiguity on how many) are jerks.

Vincent-I need to go over to his house more often if it means more Clue time. I'm addicted to the game. It's unhealthy, I think, both physically and emotionally.

Yuma-I never knew he was so good at go, but then again, Yuma is amazing at a lot of things. We definitely need him on our Moody's team next year. Also, Mrs. MacDonald said that she was looking forward to seeing me (and presumably everyone on our team) next year for Moody's. I think that basically guarantees that, if we don't do something stupid and smoke pot in front of the principal or something like that, we're going to be on a team (if not on a team together) next year.

Whew. Now let's see if anything on my "Noteworthy" list looks better now.

So This Is What It's Like After APs

I had calc first period this morning, and when I walked in, Sonny and Dino were already there (I don't remember seeing Sonny at the library this morning, so either I somehow missed him, or he went straight to class). Since I was on my MID*, I sat down and took out my physics lab, the one that was due today that I was going to do at 2AM, but decided against it after reading three chapters of BDSMN. Interesting how physics labs always have titles with puns and such. I still remember one of our earliest labs, on kinematics and using fans attached onto plastic cars, was called "I'm a Fan of This," and my lab today, on standing waves, was called "Do The Wave."

Anyway, I had already started by drawing the x- and y-axis, and labeled them with Tea's help. That was only question one. I had around five questions in total, and question five had five parts. So I started plotting points and writing down definitions. Mrs. James (along with most of the class who were not away) came in within the next five minutes, and then we promptly started class.

Which was mostly Mrs. James trying to guess what our—oh, wait, I can't say, it's not been 48 hours yet, but it's the last question on the free response, if you know what I'm talking about (and if you don't, it's not a huge loss). Then Scott talked about the AP econ finals scandal, and how one of Mr. Wollen's class will not be getting a curve on their test because of the suspicion of cheating. Mrs. James said we could watch movies for the next week, and then we had to get down to work (the long-awaited project), but it would be nothing too hard. Half-way through the class, Mrs. Pastel came in and talked about how the two period 5 calc classes should compete against each other in outdoorsy activities the week after the seniors are gone.

By the time the bell rang, I had finished four questions, and was on my fifth, and I think that had been one of the most unproductive calc classes I have ever had (except on those days when Mrs. James was out and we played computer games instead of the problem sets she gave us).

I managed to finish my lab by period 4, my physics class, and handed it in (although I would not bet on its accuracy). Then, after a brief review of sound waves (and the promise of another lab tomorrow), Mr. Stencil went on Youtube to find a video of a wine glass breaking when the sound waves from an amplifier is in resonance with the natural waves (at least that's what I think they are) of the crystal/glass. We watched that, which was really cool, because the glass wobbled so much before it actually broke. Then we watched the video where a girl sang to break the wine glass (after many, many tries and many, many deep breaths). After that, we watched this video, which is by far the most amazing one of all of them.

During this time, I read two more chapters of Huck Finn (I needed to read ten by period 6), which was a rather huge accomplishment for me, because I had been watching all of the videos as well. I think my multi-tasking skill is improving. I'm not sure if that's a good thing.

After physics, I had my other post-AP math class, stat. We were watching a movie, 21 (the one where the MIT students count cards in casinos). It was an interesting movie, despite the few bits I managed pull out, because I read six more chapters of Huck Finn during that time as well. Their memorization skills are amazing. But I suppose they're MIT students (the leading guy was supposed to go to Harvard med school, but he didn't have enough money to afford it), so it's not that surprising.

I went to English having two chapter not finished, and the guy who sits next to me told me that I had missed a pop quiz on the reading yesterday. Angry guy and Mogley had also missed it (I never knew angry guy was in calc—I just knew he was in my stat class), so our teacher gave us the quiz, which was supposed to take only five minutes. Despite having skimmed most of the pages, read more than half of them while watching movies and videos, and not reading the last two chapters, I managed to answer with certainty all but two questions (they were multiple choice questions, which made it much easier). I guessed the last two, one of which was that (major spoilers, perhaps) Buck died. I remembered something along the lines of Buck dying back from the first time I read the story (three years ago, I think), and afterwards, I learned that it was right. Yay for super long-term memory!

So what did I learn today? In US I learned (somewhat) that our judicial system is still pretty flawed (why can't the prosecution appeal? That makes no sense at all, at least not to me), but it's been much better than before (when all the jury were white and male). And in health, we learned birth control methods. Did you know that you leave something like NuvaRing in your vagina for 21 days, take it out for 7, then put it back in for another 21?

Yeah. I've learned a lot today.

(Also, after school, as I was walking over to my bus, I saw Owen standing there, looking back at who knows what. Then he went back towards the front entrance, and I got on my bus. Later on, as I sat in the front row, I saw him and Dino getting on the bus next to mine together. So much for Owen driving.)

*Mission: Ignore Dino.

Treading That Fine Line...

...between reality and fantasy. I mean, it had to be somewhat real. It happened at my school, with all the people from my school, and all the hectic day-by-day things that happens at my school.

My dream, that is.

I was in the long hallway that connected the school's cafeteria to the gym when some police officers in uniform came up to me. They looked at me suspiciously, and then one of them addressed me and said, "I'm sure you have them."

"Have what?" I asked him.

"You know what I'm talking about. The diamonds."

I actually had no idea what they were talking about, but on some conscious level, I also knew what they were talking about. I had heard that the cops were looking for some stolen diamonds, and I knew that I did not have any contraband on me, although I knew it with a smug feeling that was not all that innocent.

"I don't have them," I told the police officers. "You can search me if you want. I don't have them."

The police officers took that as an invitation to search my bag, but as I had predicted, they did not find anything. The officer who had addressed me looked at me skeptically.

"All right, I'm sorry to have bothered you."

They walked away, and then Mogley came up to me, holding a brown backpack that was clearly not his (because he has a red one). I clearly had a reputation for conducting all sorts of illegal business, for the first thing he said to me was, "Can you break open this case for me?"

The case—which, might I add, was not his—was built similarly to an eyeglasses case, except it was half the size of anything capable of holding eyeglasses, and I did not know what it was used for. Mogley said, "I'm pretty sure there are diamonds in here, but I don't know how to get them out."

"Are they your diamonds?" Was what I should have asked, had I been in a more lucid state. I was, alas, not, and so I simply used my fingers to take off the lining of the case (as if I did this every day) and we both peered in and saw a handful of diamonds. Wow, so this whole story about stolen diamonds was real. I looked over at Mogley, who looked back at me and said, "We have to hide them somehow. We don't want the person who took them to find out that we have them."

I had no idea why Mogley was so willing to share this enormous wealth with me (implied by the fact that he even told me about the diamonds), but since it was free diamonds, I did not object. "Why don't you wrap the case up in something to conceal it?"

"That's a good idea." Mogley took some brown paper towel out of thin air (or he ran really, really fast to the restroom, which I doubt, but you never know) and then proceeded to wrap up the case hastily, and by the time he was finished, he had a bulky wad of paper. He then tried to stuff this whole thing into his jeans pocket, but the wad was so big more than half of it stuck out.

"Do you think this is okay?" he asked me.

"Uh, no. Put it in your bag." I grabbed his bag and stuck the paper-towel-wrapped case into the outermost compartment of his backpack and said, "Now you can pretend this is your paper lunch bag if anyone asks."

Mogley was satisfied. We walked out of the hallway that, in the real school, linked the gym and the cafeteria, but in this school, only led to another hallway that was lined with coats and bags. Mogley placed the brown bag where he had found the diamond-carrying case in the first place onto a silver rack that was the lost and found area.

"I hope whoever this bag belongs to never finds us," Mogley said.

"Why don't we search up whomever this person is sometime—say, during lunch—so we know who we're up against?"

"Okay, sure. Today?"

"All right."

We went off to class, and then, come lunchtime, I went over to the library, where Mogley was waiting for me. We found a computer and sat down, and then Mogley asked me how we were going to find this mysterious brown-bag owner and potential diamond thief.

"We'll find him on Google," I said, rather confidently. Again, if I were lucid, I would have realized, hello, I did not even know this person's name. But then again, I was not lucid.

"How is that going to work?" Apparently Mogley had more sense than I did.

"We'll just search up his name. Here, let's try yours and see what comes up."

I typed in Mogley's name, but halfway through, he stopped me and said, "You spelt my name wrong."

I was pretty sure I spelt it right, but to please him, I asked, "How do you spell it then?"

"M-E-G-L-O-Y," he said, which makes no sense at all because then it would say "Megloy" (and what kind of name was that?), but I did not argue with him and instead changed what I had typed. I pressed "enter," and a couple hundred thousand results showed up.

"Well, maybe we should narrow our search," I said, and typed "Paperclip" after "Megloy." This time, all the results narrowed down to Mogley. I thought that the incorrectly spelt name was throwing us off, but I did not think much further about it, because I glanced up at the clock, and I saw that it was already class time (more like, the class was halfway over). I had French, which never happens, because I never have French anywhere remotely near lunchtime, but it was strange, and so I did not question it.

"I have to go, I have class now," I said.

"Oh," Mogley said. "I have a free now. But we have calc afterwards." This part was at least true, because although Mogley was in calc AB and I was in BC, we both had calc during the same period. "Just skip French," he continued.

Since I would have been marked absent anyway, I concurred. We walked back to the cafeteria, then through the strange hallway with the coats and bags that connected the cafeteria to the hallway that originally connected the cafeteria to the gym. Mogley went over to the silver rack where he had placed the brown bag, but it was not there.

"Oh my god," he said, "someone really is after those diamonds!"

"I suppose so," I said, although I was not really concerned for some reason. I probably meddled with the wrong side of the law too often to be scared of something as petty as a potential bloodthirsty diamond thief coming after me.

Mogley, however, was petrified. "Here," he said, handing me the case full of the diamonds. "You take them. I don't want them anymore."

I stared oddly at him as he ran towards the gym (I did not even know why we were here, since we had calc next, and the math wing and the gym were as far away as physically possible—except maybe science is further, because all those science nerds don't need to go to gym), and then—

—here's the part where legions of literary critics will hate me forever and ever for—

—I woke up. The end. Nothing else happened. Nada. I don't know if the cops ever came after me and caught me red-handed with a case full of diamonds, or if the mysterious thief found me in the end, or if Mogley decided that money was much more important than his life and came back for his share, or if I was secretly the mastermind behind this whole theft after all and merely orchestrated this whole event for some strange reason.

The world may never know.

You've got to love alarm clocks. They kill stories by the dozen.

Because We Believe In Equality

This was started yesterday. Anything that mentions "this morning" or "today" means April 1st.

First of all, this post is entirely dedicated to evening out the huge discrepancy in the assignment of labels (or "libellés," as my Blogger page now displays, because I just recently converted it into French as part of an ongoing project to have everything I use be explained in French). Therefore, this page is dedicated to talking about those people who I have mentioned more than once or twice (since those that I only mention once or so I probably won't really talk about anyway, although I might) but have definitely mentioned less than ten times (effectively weeding out those two whom I shall not mention).

So, after scanning my alphabetized label list, these are the people I will blog about today (if this is necessary again, there will be a repeat of this post to some extent) in alphabetical order:

• Camel
• Dora
• Gretchen
• Irving
• Joss
• Mario
• Melissa
• Mogley
• Mrs. James
• Mrs. MacDonald
• Nyx
• Owen
• Reese
• Stella
• Tamir
• Tea
• Tybalt
• Vincent
• Zephy

That's it, really. Any more, and Blogger won't let me label them due to the "maximum 20 labels at a time" rule. Anyway. The tidbits about these people that happened since the last time I talked about them, or whenever, really.

Camel: I think he has a jacket complex as well (first thing that popped into my mind, since nothing really interesting happened in chem today—except Mr. Coffee's friend jumping from the roof into a pool thirty feet below or crawling into a crypt and scaring people for fun). In fact, now that I think of it, a lot of the guys I know seem to have a favorite jacket that they will wear all day week long. Camel has this dark blue jacket, which is not particularly ugly (although I may not be the best judge for fashion), but after seeing it for several months in a row (maybe with the occasional AC/DC shirt in between), I may have permanently associated him with his jacket.

(He is also on my bus, and I have seen him wearing that jacket ever since before I even really knew him, so this may be another reason why.)

(Dino, whom I shall not tag because there is no space anymore, and Jack, not tagged for similar reasons, both also have a jacket they almost always wears. Argon has his sleeping-bag-like thing he carries around with him, although with the warmer weather he has now acquired a new, navy colored jacket which is a tad bit too big for him, but he'll probably grow into it. This morning, at gym, we were standing together and he commented on how he might finally be taller than me, as he always had a notion that he was shorter. We later decided it may have been because of the shoes—his heels were significantly taller, as I had been wearing really, really flat shoes.)

(And I thought this was supposed to be about Camel? Anyway. Next.)

Dora: This is also rather unrelated to Dora, but she was sitting at the table and so this story will be filed under her name. This morning, before class started, Dora and Tierra were already seated at a table in the library. I joined them, and Gretchen (who is below, I know, but there will be another story for her) and Kathrya and Tybalt (wow, this story has a lot of people in it) came as well. Kathrya commented on how her friends were more mature, because "they didn't start singing wedding songs."

Later on, Dino walked in to the library (why does everything have to always include him?), and someone said, "He walks strangely." This was met with a chorus of agreements, and Kathrya's remark, "Now where is Ginny?" before realizing that I was standing right next to her.

(I need to stop making Dino appear in this. The whole point of this was so he wouldn't be mentioned as often compared to the others.)

(I also saw Dora in English today, but we watched a movie—"Death of a Salesman"—so we didn't get to talk to each other.)

Gretchen: I don't know why Gretchen's never broken ten labels. This will probably change with the Chile trips (I'm still working on Easter Island—I really am!), but in the meantime, I will insert a link here to her blog. I'm not certain that my blog sees more traffic than hers, but in the minute event it does, we can pool them just like pooling standard deviations in a difference of means test. Except in this case, Gretch's sample size may be larger than mine, so pooled variances may not be the best bet.

Irving: I must say, I haven't seen Irving around today. Strange. Usually, I see him sauntering down the hallway (well, he doesn't really do that, but he does walk differently in a way), going to a class that's in the opposite direction of mine. Perhaps our constant existence on the third floor is a reason why I see him so much. So instead of a personal recount, I will broadcast the (probably by now commonly known) news that he got into Harvard. Wow. Well, I mean, he deserves it and everything, but that's still very, very amazing.

(Yeah. That's about it. No wonder he isn't tagged so much.)

Joss: Let's see. Joss believes that the secret to teleporting is to throw a smoke bomb and then run really, really fast. He also still needs to pay Reese (or do something else, but I'm not sure what) so Reese can teach me grammar, so I can teach him how to draw clothes. Although, if you ask me, I doubt my pictures of clothes are correct all of the time. I just add folds randomly (or in obvious places). I also don't know how well this whole exchange thing will go. Too many unknown variables, I suppose.

Mario: I don't see Mario that much lately, or maybe I still do but I no longer respond to his appearance. Well, anyway, I saw him during lunch today, along with Tea and Bryant and Boris. He seemed rather preoccupied with his SAT vocab book. Which reminds me, I should probably also study my vocab, if I wish to avoid the same fate as Bryant's. Or just cram Latin roots. Those always help.

Melissa: I didn't see Melissa today—away at a college thing or something, I believe. I still need to get a cupcake recipe from her as well. This may also be the shortest one yet, because I have not talked to Melissa in such a long time. She doesn't really go to math team anymore. Maybe that's why.

Mogley: He is weird. One of the weird guys I know (and by far not the weirdest) but definitely weird. He was attempting yet another 6x6 sudoku in English today. I asked him if he ever tried the 9x9 one (because honestly, 6x6 isn't really sudoku; it's like diluted HCl—isn't quite the same as the original), and he said that he had tried one today, but messed up. Compared to Mogley, Matt is a sudoku whiz. (The extraordinary amount of time Matt devotes to sudoku every day may be the reason though. If this keeps up, I'll begin to fail stat.)

(Also, as compensation for his horrible sudoku skills, Mogley said that he was getting better at the Jumble questions. I guess you can't have everything.)

Mrs. James: I walked into calc today just as Mrs. James said, "I really want a Snapple!" I have no idea how this whole Snapple thing started (which also reminds me of the xkcd strip on the tin apple—I'm reading too much xkcd, it's definitely not good for me).

Jay then said, "I have a Snapple in my bag."

"Really?" Mrs. James asked, all excited.

"Nope, April Fools!"

(This went on for several minutes, in which many people in the class took turns saying they had a Snapple in their bag—Scott said he had over 100 of them at home—and then saying, "April Fools!" Mrs. James retaliated by telling Jay, "Oh, I'm going to give you an A+ for the quarter—wait, April Fools!")

Mrs. MacDonald: Is conducting an experiment on the number of texts people send and receive in an average class period. It's due to begin next week, and will last an entire week. Statistically speaking (although I knew before I ever took stat), if texting in class is so prevalent, I (and Matt) will definitely be outliers. My phone doesn't allow text messages. Matt's too preoccupied by his crosswords and sudokus and Jumbles and word finds to care about texting (he also has an iPhone, which may deter texting as he can't physically touch the keys on his phone to know which letters he's typing if he placed the phone in his pocket or something).

Nyx: Said that her phone's autotexting dictionary does not have the word "zombie." This prompted Camel to say, "What if there was a zombie invasion, and only you knew about it? You have to text people, but then you'd have to type 'zombie' out, and by that time the zombie might have already attacked you!" Also, her phone doesn't have "haha" as a word either. (Tybalt should be glad he doesn't have this phone. He would be seriously crippled in his texting abilities.)

(This also reminds me, Scott is now called "Texty-Pants" in our calc class, because he tried to text under the table, and, when caught by Mrs. James, attempted to deny it.)

Owen: Will be receiving his alpaca soon. Alpacas, according to my research yesterday, likes being in groups of two or more, and around six to eight alpacas can live on one acre of land. I hope Owen's backyard is large enough, because he needs to keep at least two alpacas to ensure that his alpaca doesn't die of loneliness, and so he needs at least 1/4 of an acre of land set aside for this special, special friend (and its girlfriend, but the girlfriend would be much more expensive).

Reese: I have yet to see his shiny new laptop. Among other things, but this is the first that pops up. (Camel supposedly made Reese's old laptop crash via remote accessing, so that's why Reese needed a new one.) I've been promised that this new one is every bit as shiny as the last, except perhaps not red anymore and not the one that underwent SSSC's brutal conditions.

Stella: Is probably on another bout of "I-hate-school-ism." I haven't asked yet, but the past few times I've talked with her, she has complained about the, to quote her words, "the stupid people." She is really the opposite of many people I know. I mean, most people, regardless of what they say, at least care a little about their grades and their futures. Stella just doesn't care anymore.

We talked about our futures for some brief moment before, mostly with me asking her what she would do after high school. She didn't want to talk about it, and I agree with that sentiment. I don't know what I want to with my life after high school. I mean, I obviously want to go to a good college, but why? And which one? Whatever college I go to—that's my future path there. If I go to McGill (which is probably very likely at this point), that means I'll most likely be focusing on pre-med. If I go to UBC or, although very unlikely, Penn, I would be going down the path of economics. If I go to Waterloo (yeah right, I'll be crushed by all the crazy Canadian math geeks, since that's the school for math and science oriented people in Canada) or Cornell (again, unlikely, especially with their financial aid situation), it's probably engineering. And then there are the schools we consider mostly for their prestige—Harvard, Yale, and the rest of the Ivies along with a few other schools. Are they really that much better? We (not including me, because the probability of me getting in those places is very, very, extremely, very slim—statistically speaking), as some of the brightest among our peers, do everything we can in order to get into one of these schools, conforming to their ideals of what is a "perfect" student, just so we can bear the honor of having gone to such a school and gain the privilege of acquiring a good-paying job and the respect of others.

(God, maybe I should just go get a job to paint the Golden Gate Bridge like I've always said I should.)

(Well, there are also the good points, like learning new things with teachers who really know what they're talking about—granted I understand them.)

Tamir: I don't know why I have mentioned him so often. Really. We barely talk. Let's see. I saw Tamir in physics today, and he complained about the magnetism unit. Or maybe that was Alec. Then I saw him in English, but he didn't talk because we were watching a movie.

Yeah, boring. Next.

Tea: I also can't believe I have not talked about Tea very often in my blog. I think it's mostly because everything I know about Tea, she pretty much blog about it anyway. Well, I will insert a link here to promote her blog instead, although I'll bet she doesn't need any promotion from me because her faithful followers are much more numerous than mine. Just in case I have a lurker though.

(Also, as a note to Tea: your "about" page doesn't link to an actual about page. Mine doesn't either—all I've managed to set up was the "contact" part. I think I half started an "about me" page and then forgot about it.)

Tybalt: Just a general question out there (to those who know about it)—does Tybalt know of my, uh, hopefully-will-be-affiliation with Dino? (Once again, Dino is EVERYWHERE. I think I'm getting obsessed.) Otherwise, I have not seen him since this morning with Kathrya, and since Kathrya's story has already been told in Dora's place, I won't repeat it again.

(In his place, I will talk about Bryant, who was barely eliminated because he has exactly ten labels. Today, as I handed in my chem test corrections, I saw Bryant's "test corrections," namely his name, the title, and nothing else on it. Later on, he said that receiving a 3/3 on those test corrections actually brought his grade down. Ugh. He kind of makes me jealous sometimes.)

Vincent: I think I've pretty much covered everything about him before. I don't remember if I've seen him today. Maybe I have.

UPDATE: (from Facebook, my constant source of information) Apparently Vincent's family is moving out of state? He's currently asking if he can board at someone's house for nine months. I seriously doubt this will happen (although you never know), but I do hope he can stay. Who else will I be able to discuss plans for travelling to alternate universes via thousands of giant lasers with?

(There is always Dino—ugh, him again!—but I think he would probably even prefer owning his own alpaca over talking about lasers.)

Zephy: We went Easter egg-hunting today! Zephy's a natural at these things, as she found four or five eggs in the library alone, in under ten minutes. I have no idea why there were eggs everywhere (someone in my calc class said she knew who put them there, but wouldn't tell us). Also, this reminds me, I still need to give her back her chocolate egg, because I was carrying it in my plastic egg container since she had too much candy to fit inside hers. I was supposed to give it back, but I completely forgot about it until after we said goodbye when we got off the bus. Huh. I suppose chocolate won't go stale anytime soon.

(Hmm...)

Actually, considering how long this thing is, I probably will not ever do this again. At least not with so many people. I'll just talk about Dino and Argon less. Maybe.

On A Good Day

I have been, as of late, really obsessed with OceanLab. I had always liked instrumental and emotional vocal music, so I never paid much attention to specific genres. However, OceanLab—and vocal trance in general—takes my appreciation for heavily vamped music and beautiful lyrics to a whole new level. It's just like when I discovered "Mad World," by Gary Jules.

(I also think that Adam Lambert sings that particular song better, although Jules has a better music video.)

Sometimes, I wonder—do I like a song more because of its lyrics, or because of its sound? I mean, I love "Satellite" mostly because of the line, "You're half a world away, but in my mind I whisper every single word you say." On the other hand, I love Rain's "Love Story" despite not knowing what the lyrics mean. And then there are songs like Enya's "Only Time," which I absolutely love, both lyrically and musically.

(Richard Marx's "Boy Next Door," which I have linked before, is another song with amazing melody and lyrics.)

Maybe I'm just spending too much time on Youtube. I mean, without a "loop" option, I'm constantly tempted to try out new songs, thus increasing the list of songs I like at an alarming rate. Using Pandora when I'm lazy also doesn't help.

Other Odd Happenings (OOHs):

After repeated pleas (from the majority, if not all, of my gym class), our gym teacher has decided to replace the yoga videos with Tae Bo ones instead. So, instead of stretching at almost impossible angles, we have adopted a punching/kicking workout. It's fun—well, until Double Time. That's Blank's term for "do those really complicated moves that I just taught you but in half the time that I took to showed you how to do them."

Really, really fun.

I have to say, this is much better than what would otherwise have been in store for us—more fitness center equipment workouts (or more commonly known as: stick to one equipment and pretend you're doing something). And since this is my last quarter with the physical part of gym (wow, I can't believe it's finally almost over), I (hopefully) won't ever have to go back to the fitness center again.

But with my luck, you can never tell for sure.

Later on, in English, I asked Mogley, "Did lacrosse season start already?"

"Yeah," he said. "Why?"

"Oh, our gym class is in the wrestling room right now, and a lot of people are playing with the lacrosse sticks lying around the room, so I thought that lacrosse season probably started."

"Wait, they're touching the lacrosse sticks?"

"Yeah."

"I spent FOREVER making sure my stick is placed just right," Mogley said. "If anyone moves it, I will hunt them down."

"Well, how will you know who they are?"

"I will lift the fingerprints off and personally hunt them down."

And I thought the weird guys were only limited to Dino and Mario. I shrugged, and as English was the last period today, and the bell had already rung, I got up and left. Mogley stayed behind to finish a 6x6 sudoku.

(Matt, who sits next to me in stat, always brings crossword puzzles and sudoku games to class and does them instead of work. One time, he shared a sudoku with me that he had only filled in a couple of numbers, and I started filling in numbers so fast he couldn't even keep up. Ever since, he's been trying to perfect the art of fast sudoku solving. I think it's been detrimental to his grasp of stat knowledge. I also think that the fact that I use a complicated elimination method to solve sudoku puzzles and that I can scan several lines and be aware of multiple numbers at the same time means I have spent way too much time on this game. I blame Opera Widgets for this entirely.)

Been talking to myself forever, and how I wish I knew me better. Still sitting on a shelf and never never seen the sun shine brighter, and it feels like me on a good day.—"On a Good Day," OceanLab

P.s.: Oh dear, Dino's gaining ground against Argon in the label-war. ("Did I tell you about that time when Argon—yeah, uh... I don't know how he's going to win this.")

Modern Technology

I would like to start off this post with a quote from Tamir (edited for language):

Thanks to modern technology I live in the woods and there are 4 trees blocking my street, none of which have been removed since last night in spite of calling the fire department at 4 pm.

Modern technology indeed. I can also add that, thanks to modern technology, I have discovered that many of my classmates are in a state of powerless, Internet-less panic. And flooding, of course, but lack of power is usually the first thing people apparently talk about when they share their latest news online.

(Perhaps it's because when you're in the public library, basking under *gasp* fluorescent lighting, sitting in front of a sluggish computer, it's hard to remember that you have six inches of water in your basement.)

Regardless, I am very glad that my power--and Internet--are all very well alive and perfectly fine. There was that brief moment yesterday when the lights came whirring to a stop, and my mom had contemplated turning off the laptop to conserve battery-life, but the lights came back on again and everything went on as usual. And the only Internet loss I experienced was due to my modem rebooting after the power loss.

I don't have a basement, so I don't have any flooding issues as well. Most importantly, all of the trees around our house have their roots firmly planted in the ground.

Not that it matters, really, because my house is one minute's drive away from a major road and a fire station (maybe the same that is not clearing the trees in front of Tamir's house), and unless a tree happened to fall in that short stretch of "neglected" road, we're guaranteed road access.

But obviously, there are both positives and negatives to this situation.

The positive is that there is no school tomorrow, yay! I get to sleep in late tomorrow, and, when I do get up, I have plenty of time to go over the AP calc problems Mrs. James gave us on Friday.

Of course, this brings up a critical negative: Mrs. James is probably panicking right now, with the mantra "May 5th is approaching" stuck in her head. We had already missed lots of class time with our snow days, and our limited knowledge of series and whatever else comes after them is definitely not good.

Speaking of school, I have also (accidentally) left a few books I needed to quote from for my research paper in my English classroom. I was hoping to get them tomorrow, and finish my last edits before I have to hand the paper in on Tuesday. Right now, I can only hope that "house nearly surrounded by water," as Mogley eloquently puts it, is good enough of an excuse for the deadline to be extended, if only for a day or so.

Hey, it's better than the hackneyed "my dog ate my homework."

No Internet for many people in town also means nearly no communication with other people (as my parents think the phone is the next worst thing after video games, at least for me). So I compromised by chatting with my friends back from my old city. Stella informed me that "there's something on the net describing what would happen if we lost the Internet." But upon further probing, it appears that she has lost the link for me to read more, so our conversation disintegrated into a series of pointy emotes (e.g. >.> and <.<).

I guess times like these I really wish we still socialized 100% like cavepeople--completely face-to-face with no technology whatsoever.

(Incidentally, the wind did not stop countless people from taking the SATs--or the PPPPPPSATs--this weekend. Well, all except for Argon, who had taken them the month prior and so left early. We're all such studious people, aren't we?)

Ps. I also just realized that this places Argon tied for most-tagged with he-who-must-not-be-named-or-else-the-tie-shall-be-broken.

Priorities

So, I usually have my priorities set straight.

Well, every weekday, I go home (after whatever after-school activity I had attended), I turn on my computer (or eat a cookie first), and I check my email.

Then, I choose two routes.

A. Go on Facebook.
B. Go on Google Docs.

Mogley said today that I have an "unhealthy obsession with Google Docs."

Uh, excuse me? I so do not. Besides, Google Docs happens to be readily accessible without too much hassle of sending attachments. I, like many people in this world, happen to not carry around a laptop with streaks down the middle of the screen all the time.

If you want to talk obsession, talk about my love for Avant Garde Bk BT. Now that's an obsession.

Anyway, today I chose the latter, and I have obviously ignored my blog. As such, I shall post my story (or what's left of it) here in compensation as I rack my brain tomorrow for something interesting to write (perhaps along the lines of the electric circuits lab I'll be doing with Nyx and Camel--oh, and, did I mention my successful attempt, on the first try, in blowing out a light bulb completely unintentionally? I shall have to do that later, I suppose.)



Love's Got Plenty.

-a story for those who keep me wondering.

1. The Beginning.

How many times have I said, "I had a dream once," only to leave it at that? Left my words hanging in mid-sentence, an utterance that did not make any sense and only left a hollow, intangible feeling?

Lately, I had been asked, "Why do you only write sad stories?"

I closed my eyes. I opened them again, and I started, "I only write what comes from my heart."

Perhaps this was a sobering reminder as to what I had been surrounding myself with. I am not a tragic person by birth, I would like to claim. I am an optimistic person. I love my life.

I could go on, but I would be guilty of distorting the truth. I know of no other life--no other real one, at least, so I have no other life but this to love.

There are many reasons as to why I write, and one of them must be this. I write to preserve what little lingering hope I have of another life I might love more, and those hopes weave themselves into dreams that I cannot make out anymore.

2. Make Believe.

His eyes tell me, "I think you're insane." He tries to reassure me, with silent words, yes, it's fine, it's not just you, but his eyes are saying, "You are the craziest person I have ever known, and not in a good way."

He is not an eye-reader. I tell him, "I don't care what you think," but my eyes are screaming, I do care, and you're breaking my heart right now. Of course, he only hears half the message. And so am I, so perhaps I should be more lenient. But it's so hard to think straight when your heart is on the verge of being shredded.

"I still think you're weird." Oh, well, I think you're fine anyway.

Don't lie to me. "Well, okay."

"I don't even know why I'm talking to you right now." I'm sorry, I have to go, I've got to meet someone.

Glad to know. Glad to know. "Oh, all right. I'll talk to you later." Or not.

"Oh, please, just go away." Sure, later.

And I think we're such cowards, because we can't just vocalize our true thoughts. We have to go through this complex way of deceiving each other and pretending that we are such sugar-coated children who could do no harm.

3. Hanging On.

I lean against the concrete wall, eyes trained on the yellow sheet of paper in front of me, but ears strained.

What is the volume of--"Who wants to go up to the board?"--3.4 moles of nitrogen gas--"Yeah, you're--"--under STP? Show--"Hey, come on!"--all calculations and--"What, what did I do?"--use significant figures.

I write down some numbers and throw in some units. I flip through my formula sheet, looking for anything that matches. I tap my pencil against the paper, then, realizing that this gesture made too much noise, I stopped and squinted instead.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps, making their way closer and closer. I keep my eyes focused on the paper, but I am not seeing. I read over the same line three times. I only see someone--anyone--walking, ready to leave.

The door opens, with a soft but gratifying click. I feign nonchalant, and after a few seconds, I look up, pretending to have been disrupted from a long session of deep thought. I look into blue eyes, but they're the wrong shade, and I smile.

"Hey. What are you doing here?"

Just waiting, I tell him. I don't tell him for what. He leaves, as does everyone else, and I remotely note that something golden floats in the air that drifted past me.

4. Forget Me.

I have one last thing to ask of you, and I know that it is a lot, and I have asked a lot, but I hope you will grant me this one last wish.

I hit backspace. There was no way I would even have the guts to start asking that question. I would regret it, I would back-peddle. I would fall apart even before he could begin to comprehend my message. I typed a few words, and deleted them as well. I could not think anything else but him. I breathed in his very being, and I exhaled a part of myself every time.

There was something very, very false about the way I conducted myself, and I could not bring myself to care. Here was something real for once, no matter how far-fetched it was, and I had a feeling I would not take part in something similar for a long time.

Was I ready to risk it all? Did I have what it took? I closed my eyes again, trying to figure out what it was that I wanted, and came to a blank. The emptiness consumed me.

I have one last thing I wish to ask you, despite all that you have done for me.

5. Nothing Left.

The blinking light should not have been my only reassurance of his existence, but it was, and I could do nothing about it anymore. Some say you could not change the past, and I have to say, it extends to the present as well.

I waited for a while, biting my tongue, wondering if I should really go on with it. I could hear my heart, a constant reminder that I may not be making the right decision. But adrenaline ruled my world for now, and I should have walked away, as those anger-management sites always advise me to do so, but I was caught up in a what-if world.

"Hey."

I counted the number of dots it took to write his name.

"What?"

"Do you have a copy of the worksheet we did in class today?" I had thought it over, and I realized that it was quite telling that I had to think it over.

"Yeah."

"Did you get anything for the last column?"


"Nope."

"Oh, okay. Thanks anyway."

"'Kay."

It was progress, albeit a piteous one, and I for a moment forgot why I had become so engrossed in this matter that should have been so trivial. There was a new world open to me now, and, having seen its image, I began to waver.

6. Choosing Gold.

The way they walked together was harmonious, and I should have been envious, but I could not bring myself to care anymore. I purposefully set my steps so I was always, perpetually trailing behind them. I told myself it should not have mattered, that I had every right to do whatever I wanted, but even as I said those words, I could taste their ridiculousness.

She said something, and he laughed, a chipper laugh that left me with a bitter taste on my tongue. I stared at the tuft of hair that stood up, and it was so fascinating, it really was. He said something back, but I did not hear. His voice was harsh, grating, as it always was, and I heard her response resting in the air. It was not a significant moment, not enough to be noted elsewhere.

They slowed down, and I, for lack of reason, walked on. I heard their voices, now unforgiving whispers, and I quickly glanced at myself. I felt their eyes boring on my back, but it was only my imagination. They cared for me no more than any other passerby.

7. Dreamed Upon.

A  harsh word, I tell myself. Cold, not just right. I make every step a calculation, every word a wager. I took out the element of realism and morphed it into something I could manage. It was more of a false hope, really.

He waves, a gesture of habit more than politeness. I nod my acknowledgement--another habit.

I sink into my seat, a reminder of what I had at stake. I look over, but he has already looked away, and I divert my gaze as well. I take out my notes, my fingers brushing past the photocopied letters in a tired manner, the way an old man regards an unknown young boy.

There is a voice somewhere--I hear it, yet, once again, I do not comprehend. I take it in my hands and I roll it around until I have molded a piece of heartbreak, and even then, I cannot bring myself to swallow it. I merely toy with it until it loses its flavor and its meaning.

I look over again, and this time I catch his eye, but not quite. It slips, and I find myself reverting back to the clock.

8. Worth It.

"You're a jerk." But I can't stop talking to you.

He rolls his eyes, as if he had heard the same, hackneyed phrase over and over again, and I do not doubt he has. There was a fine line I am treading now, something that could decide many things I had been reluctant to look over lately.

I walk away, keeping my head high, what little self-assurance I have left. And he does the same, except he is that much more confident in himself, and that much less reliant on my reaction.

So when I turn around, I only catch a glimpse of his hair and his strides, and I realize again, if I had not known before, that I have lost, even before I began.

9. Don't Care.

I had this propensity towards imagination, a bit of chewed off uncertainty within my reign of comfort. I would wake up in the mornings, not sure of what I had been doing or what I should have been doing. And yet there was a type of calm in this uncertainty, and I had a sense of great mastery of the situation, despite not knowing anything of it.

Sometimes colors jumped out at me, as it was this morning. Red was the aura the air took that morning, and so it was: everything bathed in a sea of red. I breathed it in, silently, slowly, for however long it took to make sense of my surroundings, and amidst this revelation of the inner self I found an antithesis.

But it was short-lived, as with everything else in the mornings of drowsiness. I half-opened my eye and took in the lack of light, and an instant later I had fallen back into my reveries. What battles there needed to be fought, what lands to conquer, I had forgotten. Sweet, mind-numbing softness was pulling me back to a place where I needed not remember.

10. Mere Musings.

He was in the second row, facing the other way, and I was in the fourth row, except I, unlike him, had a better grasp of the present. We both faced a vantage point, but I had him in my peripheral vision. I had his voice in my head.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said, the words reminiscently false. "Just tired."

"Oh, yeah. It's been a long week."

I averted my eyes. "Yeah. I can't wait for the weekend." When the dreams begin and reality ends.

When he turns around for once.

"Me too. I really wish this week was over already."

I nodded, thanking whatever entity I never quite believed in--yet never quite denounced--for a short weekend. I did not know if I could stand the disappointment if I always got carried away.

11. Letting Go.

"What do you want?"

I want a chance. The words I had prepared choked in my throat. Why do you keep holding on to me if you do not want me anyway?

"What?"

I thought I knew the perfect way to disguise my frustration, but his eyes threw me off guard. I plastered on my favorite smile, the one that did not reach my eyes, and felt safe in knowing he did not know how to read eyes.


"What is it?"

"It's the way you say it."

"What?"

I tried to steer my gaze away, but his eyes held me in place. "It's nothing, really." And instead of holding his imagination as I thought it would, he merely grunted.

"Well, okay then."

I should have known, but I was too reluctant to swallow it until then. My voice hung, and I could hear the unspoken desperation, but alas, I was released from his grasp.

12. White Lies.

I sat, my head leaned against the cool wall, and a book in my lap. I ran my hands over the pages until the lines of text blurred and I could not make out individual words anymore. There was a certain degree of solitude in this that I could feel on the tip of my tongue, but it was only fleeting.

People walked by, not noticing, or not caring. I would not have been surprised either way. I sat, in silence, observing their behavior. The girl with her school sweatshirt and a skirt underneath, carrying a backpack and walking by in short steps. The boy with his mop hair and nearly worn-out sandals and his devil-may-care attitude, only he cared more than he cared to say. They were fascinating, people beyond my normal order.

I aimlessly flipped through a few more pages, not reading, as I watched on. A teacher, coffee in one hand and bag in other, rushed into the offices. Another one came out, waved to another girl down the hall, and went on her way.

I closed my eyes, then, when I opened them again, I looked at my book again. It had long since lost its appeal, and, with a last glance, I looked up just in time to meet his eyes.

"You're here," he said. "Reading. Outside."


"Yeah, I like it." I said. "But I'm going to go in anyway."

With that, he left, and I followed him soon after. We sat next to each other, but neither of us talked to each other for the rest of the day.

13. Seeking Atonement.


I sink into my end of the seat, dizzy with the euphoria of life, when someone mentions, "We could have won."

It is a sentiment seconded by many, and I nod weakly along. Naturally, placement of blame goes around, with everyone assuming a small part but also pushing it away. When it comes to my turn, I look at them with hooded eyes.

"Winning is overrated anyway."

They stare at me in a dazed silence, then he is the first one to speak. "No, it's not."

"Yes, it is. Just because it's overrated doesn't mean it's bad."

"I'm not saying that. Winning is everything. It's why I'm doing this."

Of course. To him--to them, winning is everything. I watch as the bus pulls in to its final destination, and then I turn back and face him again.

"If I cared about winning, then I would not be doing this."

14. Happily Ever After.

A twist of the knob turns the volume up. A few taps, just the right blend of melancholy and inspiration. A deep, reflective white, empty beyond words. A vision--a means.

A belief, a willingness--to love.

I have been asked: what is it that you really want from this life?

Everyone asks this question sooner or later, usually later. I, too, like the majority of the world, do not know. I wish I could answer this question, but I have not yet wandered far enough to comprehend.

If it takes distance, that is.

So this is a story in an attempt to find out if there is an answer out there. And this, above all, is my happily ever after.