Salutations, Journal!
My name is Clifford Clarkson. I am a senior year high school student attending a boarding school in hopes of putting my full focus on education. While I will take the best college I can get, my aim is to make it to the Ivy League. Everything is going well, including my grades, SAT scores, and extracurriculars. The only place where I am stuck is finding something to write for my college essay. This journal is meant to help with that.
[Welcome to Cliffnotes, a series of fiction shorts serving as a lighthearted prequel to my novella, IVY.
I made these just for fun, not as seriously edited, but short, sweet, and simple! Cliffnotes was the most popular series on my old blog, so I hope you enjoy it too! You can find the full chapter list here.]
Journal Entry 9: A Simple Formula
Bradley and two girls dressed in violation to the dress code rounded the corner, then stopped when they noticed me. Both of the girls, Ellen and Stella, gave nervous looks over their shoulders.
“CLARKSON!”
An aggressive tug on my jacket pulled me off the girls’ case.
“Virgo. That’s inappropriate!” I barked, shoving her off.
Virgo’s glitter-painted eyes pleaded up at me, “Even if we can’t get together now, Clarky, one day I’ll have a cha-“
“Virgo.” I crossed my arms and backed away. “You don’t. I don’t like girls, and moreover, I. Don’t. Date.”
“Well that just makes you cuter!” Virgo replied, patting my sleeve cuff.
I ripped it away. “Get off me. This is your final warning.”
When she saw me click a pen to write a detention slip, she was off!
I leaned back against my locker with a sigh to regain my composure. I jumped at a piercing rattle of metal. Sable?
Sable put a finger to his lips. Then pointed to Ellen. I didn’t say anything. He continued rattling the lockers until I said, “What?”
“I want her to notice me. Ellen MacDonald,” Sable pined. Why do they always come to me…?
I kept an eye on Ellen’s conversation, full of slang I didn’t know, music-related jargon, and some formulas of son composition. Then a cracking rattle.
“Cliff. Stop Clarkson-staring! Do you think she’s the one?!”
“Yes,” I answered incorrectly, replying on autopilot. I tried to back out of this. “She… seems like a very smart girl. Wouldn’t you want to be able to keep up with talking to her?”
“Yeah… that’d be great…” Sable sighed.
“Get one of your grades up to an A! Then I’ll show you how to impress her,” I replied.
Sable nodded, abruptly grabbing a book to read. One of mine, but I let it slide. The bell rang right then anyway.
I immediately jammed my earbuds back in as the ringing bombarded me. I headed to my own next period, passing by Bradley’s crew and signaling them to get to class. As it was my job, I walked slowly enough to look for stragglers.
Are you kidding me…? One of the late students was a junior, not on her phone, not in the middle of talking, but at a bench… just… sitting there.
“Excuse me,” I stood directly in front of her, as she looked up. “You are several minutes late to class. You-“
I’m stupid! She stared at me with red eyes. She was crying. She huffed back, “What?”
I took out an earbud. “I’m sorry. I-“
She watched me stumble for a moment, then asked, “Why even bother? It’s not like we learn anything…”
“What’s your name? Ruth, right?” I asked, easing my tone as I sat beside her. “Why do you say that?”
“You haven’t noticed? The book we’re reading next period? Middle school level…” she wiped her eyes, and gave a crudely accurate impression of our English teacher, “I don’t care that ‘there aren’t any strong role model characters for me to see yourself in,’ I’m here to learn English!“
Ruth put her hands up before I could reply. “And, no, I’m not depressed…”
I laughed. “No, I was going to say I get it. Ms. Page actually pulled me aside after class asking if I needed to see ‘people like me’ to keep my grades up. The principal that always gets fired at the end after a mob of pyro teens chase him out? That’s me! But I know that’s not what she was thinking when she asked me to pick from a list of romantic comic books…”
Ruth dried her eyes. “Well, I’m sorry, Mr. Principle. I’d love to get to class. But I’ve got a group project coming up for music, and since everyone else bailed-“
“Ruth, do you know how to play banjo? I’ve dabbled a little…” I said. “How about this? Meet me after school. I’ll teach you some classic books if you help me learn banjo. Let’s just say you’re not the only one whose group bailed… ”
“Alright. Thank you, Clarkson,” Ruth said. She left after giving me one last smile.
Score!
