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.
Journal Entry 3: Color Theory
Nothing like a cup of freshly brewed tea to settle one’s nerves! I sipped my caffeine-free cup as I studied in the student library. Late into the quiet night hours, I finished my class notes, one eye on my watch carefully tracking the time so I could leave at the very last second before closing. Audio read-aloud played in my ears, sped up, as both my hands were occupied note-taking.
Where was that article? I searched for a study to inform my art assignment, swiftly closing one and tabbing over to another. I was probably deftest in class with a mouse scroll wheel.
I’ve never been good with metaphor. Even my admissions tutors tell me my essays feel too rigid. What does one wallow about?
I started text-speaking another abstract. Sadly, cheap library headphones did nothing to block out distracting student chatter…
“…left me… because I had after-school math!”
“…so unfair. Who uses that in real life?!”
“…such a nobody …I’ll never find anybody again.”
“They don’t care about our social lives.”
“If …friend again… I’ll rage-quit!”
I snapped off my headphones. Such an unstable man could not be ignored by the school’s self-appointed Hall Monitor.
I approached the students with an, “Excuse me.”
The glum one was an old friend of Merch’s, Gordon Alph. He called himself a “pro gamer.”
I was met with the usual eye rolls. Gordon was about to put some proper noise canceling headphones on, but I switched tactics. I couldn’t risk this man hurting someone.
Something clicked. “I just thought I may be able to offer some advice?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Gordon impatiently nodded.
I tugged my bookbag towards me. I stumbled, digging through several pockets simultaneously. My struggling yielded me yanking out my spare maroon turtleneck. I wrapped it on an arm and offered it to Gordon.
“You certainly have an odd appearance, but you’ll look good with the right clothes,” I said as Gordon quizzically eyed the sweater that seemed to make jaws drop – of dizziness – next to his bright neon green hair.
“That’s… you think?”
“This is totally your color. Trust me,” What do I do? Wink knowingly and… Ah… Just make big words up, Clarkson! You got it! “Everyone knows you can’t go without a classic Chartrunochrome in your wardrobe.”
“How ya know that?” Gordon replied.
I scrambled notes together. “You don’t know color theory? If you take an art class, they’ll teach you. Warm and cool colors, lights and darks… If art can help you “irl,” anything can!”
“Huh.” Gordon actually seemed intrigued.
“There’s after school classes if you can’t fit one in your schedule,” I finished, passing him his sweater, topped neatly with a flyer.
“Thanks,” said the gamer.
As the two left, I caught their last snippet of conversation, “…I’ve gotta order one of those uniforms.”
I held my breath until the library door shut. Then, pumped both fists and hollered, “SCORE!“
A voice I’d memorized cut in, “So, Hall Monoxide.”
A head of red hair and two fiery eyes rolled from a nearby desk to scowl at me.
My roommate. Angelo.
“Did you just make them wear uniforms because you want cute men to stare at?”
“WHAT! No! Absolutely, no -” I blushed, voice awkward teenage screaming, “Did you see them?! They look atrocious!”
“Sorry,” Angelo said, lip curling, “Did you just make them wear uniforms because you want Student Council to approve your uniform policy?”
“Yes. Who wouldn’t? It was the right thing to do.”
“Of course, Monoxide. Of course,” Angelo sighed, elbowing me on my way out.
I wheezed a shy, “Good night!”
Thank you for taking my breath away. Jerk.
