As I said before, I am trying to write a novel in 30 days. That's 50,000 words...and I have 1,390! But here is what I have so far (thank you Emiko, this is for you!). Sorry, quick post, need sleep and I have quartet performances tommorow in Orchestra, so I have to practice for that! The busy life of a nerdy teenager...

Anyway: Here's what I have so far. And this is a rush of creative ideas, so it is not edited in any way. Beware!

Prologue: The Pen

It was a cheap, blue, 15 cent, reusable, Walmart pen. I didn’t know how it had gotten onto my desk, as I had a personal vendetta against Walmart, and pens in general. You can’t erase anything you write with a pen; it’s too permanent. I don’t like permanence. I guess I’m a little weird that way.

Anyway, the pen. It was blue, had a few dents in the lid, and was sitting mysteriously on my Pre-Calc desk, smack dab in the front, two desks from the pencil sharpener and three from the window. Basically, the desk right in the middle of everything, where it would be difficult to plant a pen. But there it was. Battered and blue, taunting me.

It was a last minute decision. I wasn’t going to pick it up; I wasn’t even going to touch it. I was going to go to lunch, buy a pumpernickel bagel and orange juice, and sit outside in the courtyard with my history textbook, like any normal Tuesday afternoon. But, somehow, this didn’t happen. I picked up the smooth pen and tucked it into my bag, and left the room. And it wasn’t a normal Tuesday anymore.

Chapter 1: The Significance of a Pumpernickel Bagel

Nobody likes pumpernickel. It’s pretty much a proven fact. And this is why I always eat pumpernickel bagels on Tuesdays. Tuesday is bagel day, and by the time I get to lunch, which is late, since I actually write down the homework on the board and don’t sneak out of class early by asking to go to the bathroom seven minutes before the bell rings, there is nothing left but about seventeen pumpernickel bagels, which the staff keep ordering, even though they should know by now nobody likes pumpernickel, some limp carrots, and orange juice. And so this has become my Tuesday diet.

On this particular Tuesday, I arrived at the cafeteria to discover there were no pumpernickel bagels. I was shocked speechless. After 156 days of pumpernickel bagels, there were none. None. Not a single bagel was left in the foil-covered tray where they were usually carefully stacked. I could not believe this…something was drastically wrong. I stopped in my tracks, and checked my watch. Yep, it was lunchtime on Tuesday, September 23rd, and there were no bagels. Instead, on the whiteboard where purple pen spelled out the torture item of the day, there were two words: Vegetarian Lasagna.

Lasagna? Who ate lasagna? Especially vegetarian lasagna? And on Bagel Tuesday? This could not be happening. First the stupid Walmart Pen, and now this. Ultimate wreckage of Bagel Day, and thus the rest of my Tuesday. I slouched towards the lunch line, and purchased a cheese stick and orange juice, both of which were warm, and looked sad and lonely on my tray without a bagel.

With the day already in ruins, I headed over to the doors, running into them with my face and propelling myself forward. This is the proven best method to open doors, if you don’t mind weird looks, and have stuff in your arms. Which I normally do. Plus, it is a test of strength: me against the evil steel doors of the public school institutions of the world. Watch…one day I’ll be on Oprah. Or have broken my nose. One of the two.

After my struggle with the doors and the purchase of warm lunch items, I headed to my bench, only to have my stomach plummet through my red converse covered in doodles. There were people sitting on my bench. Not just sitting, however. But making out, and drinking chocolate milk in between kisses. With straws. As if the making out wasn’t horrible enough, they had plates of vegetarian lasagna lying next to them, halfway eaten.

My head was about to explode. There were lasagna eaters making out and drinking chocolate milk on my bench. The red bench, carefully positioned underneath my favorite vine maple trees, with perfect angles for people watching, and reading unnoticed. And right up against the stone wall covered with ivy, so I could lean back, and be both shaded and protected from the wind. That bench was my solitude: it was my Lord of the Flies clearing. And the people in it were being pig’s heads in my clearing.

Stepping back into the doors, I banged my head on the steel bar at the top, and received a temporary shock to reality. One, I didn’t own the bench, and anyone who wanted to could sit there. Two, I had just made a Lord of the Flies analogy. I obviously needed a social life or religion, and badly. I had reached a point of nerdiness that wasn’t even funny any more. Gosh, this was one heck of a Tuesday.

Turning around, I headed for the next available spot: the reference section of the library. No one reads reference books, unless forced to by an evil social studies teacher or their very out of touch grandmother, and so I was sure it would be safe. Not that my assumptions were having any pull here today, but, luckily, I was correct. There was nobody in the library except for a few sophomore geek-types, some over-achieving independent math students, and the librarian, who was hidden behind a battered copy of The Fellowship of the Ring. I headed back to the reference section, and pulled out my pitiful lunch from my canvas bag.

A quick note on canvas bags: they are taking over the world. I know we’re supposed to be eco-friendly and all, but really. Pretty soon small Asian children will be making canvas bags in sweatshops in Canada, and they’ll be piling up in department stores everywhere. The employees won’t be able to make it out of the store, the stacks will be so huge. We’ll have to evacuate the country, and make all of our clothes and shelters out of canvas bags with the words “Green is the New Black”, “Save the World”, “Go Green!” and “Fred Meyers” printed on them.
But, back to me, my pitiful lunch, and the reference section. Let me suffice to say, it was a long lunch period.

Chapter 2: Stick Figures

Lunch was not the high point of my day. But what came after lunch made it look like 7th Heaven: a free period.

Now, I bet most people in the world would not be dreading a free period. They would be rejoicing, spinning in circles, inventing new, untried ways to sneak and off campus and not get caught, and finishing up the homework due the next period. Okay, the last one’s a long shot, but you never know. Miracles do happen. Sometimes.

But, of course, I am not most people. Consider this: It might take some imagination, but I know you can do it. I have no friends (I left them all in Oregon when I moved in 7th grade), a perfect 4.0 GPA, all my homework is done the night before, and I’ve no desire to leave the school campus, plus no way to be back in time for 6th period, as I have no car, no driver’s license, and my bike has a flat tire. In short, my life is a pathetic sob story.

I protested the free period, but it was in vain. This is the problem with having no extracurricular activities and no social life, and taking online classes for fun. Plus thinking AP Biology and AP Lit are fun classes. Basically, my nerdiness has defeated me, once again. Darn.

Anyway, with absolutely nothing to do and a whole period in which to do it in, I have been cultivating a hobby: drawing stick figures. With top hats. I call them the Minions, and they live in the back of my Spanish notebook. They’re cultivating a small society there, inventing microwave popcorn and shoelaces, and all the good things in life.

But today I was too tired to help the Minions microwave the popcorn and tie their shoes. I was too tired to think, or look at my AP Bio book, or even eat my warm, limp cheese stick. I just put my head down on the table and sighed. My sigh knocked over the large reference books stacked around me, and they slowly dominoed onto my head. Typical.