Chapter 1: The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly

"Welcome to Creative Writing. I am" hair toss "your professor" emphasis his "Mr. Dion. In this course, you will be learning the great art of self-expression. I will be asking you to journey into yourself, and find everything you don't want to face about your life. I will be asking you to find truth and beauty in everyday objects. I will be asking you to bleed ink, speak poetry, and think profoundly. I will be asking you to do more than any teacher has ever had the courage, the strength, or the determination to ask of you before. I will be asking you to listen to my long, dramatic, and boring monologues about a class nobody cares about." Ok, so maybe that last part wasn't said, but c'mon. This guy had to be kidding.

"And you will rise to meet this challenge. Every. Single. One. Of. You." I swear, I wouldn't have been surprised if he had actually said "period" between each of those words. "Your first challenge is yourself. I want a paper, written by you, in whatever format you'd like... describing you." Hands all around the classroom raised. "I won't be taking any questions. This assignment is yours. Make of it what you will. Physical, emotional, mental, creative, metaphoric... any style of description you want. Poem, essay, letter, list, paragraph... any format you want. Just make yourself fall out of that pen instead of ink. Don't think, write. You'll be surprised what you get."

I sighed and rolled my eyes. OK, I think it's great that this guy is passionate about his work, but c'mon. Most of us were in this class because it was this or band. And while I have pretty good rhythm, I hate practicing. Anything. Plus, I love to write. It's fun, and it's something I'm good at. I just think 'bleeding ink' is taking it a bit far, really.

I pulled out my laptop, and set it on the cheap Formica of my desk. We're one of the richest school districts in the state; there isn't a student that carries a notebook anymore. They just use their laptops. And yet, we still can't seem to get anything but the Formica, bargain-basement desks, covered with decades of writing. I swear to God, I saw my dad's first name carved in one in pen, and had to spend five minutes deciding whether or not he was the one that carved it, way back when he rode a dinosaur to this forsaken building. Glancing around the room, I noticed not much has changed. Technology has advanced, so there are no chisels in sight, but it seems to be the same mix of spoiled kids being bored to tears as they wait to inherit companies or run for President. Most looked stoned- the by-product of teenagers with money- but some were attentive and all there. A black-haired boy caught my eye- possibly because he was boy-next-door cute, which always made me drool, or maybe because it was he already had his fingers flying, a pianist creating his masterpiece. His black eyes bore through the screen, glazed over, soul-searching. I caught myself staring, and blushed. Time to get to work. Calling up a Word document, I started my own paper. Fair warning, I'm a sucker for haiku.

Eyes shining blue with
Everything they've seen flashing
Just behind the lids.

Short hair of sunlight
Brown streaks muddying it so,
Forever unkempt.

Bohemian mind,
Endlessly questing, searching
For answers and truth

Boisterous boy of
Seventeen years, living in
A world not his own.

---

"Your homework" flourish "is to think of a color. Any color. Any color at all. Come in tomorrow with a color in mind." ...Excuse me? A color? Fortunately, the bell rang, so there wasn't too much of that awkward-stare-at-your-psychotic-teacher silence. "Email me your papers from today tonight, please." He turned and wrote his email address on the board. I checked to make sure it was the one the school supplied him with (meaning his last name at our school's website address) and walked out the door without writing it down.

Apparently someone else had the same idea. Not paying attention- as usual- I walked straight into their back. Snapping out of my reverie, I looked up and saw who it was. My cheeks tinged slightly. "Sorry about that." I mumbled.

"Don't worry about it." Warm black eyes penetrated me. "I'll see you tomorrow." He turned and went down the science wing.

Damn it. I do not have a crush on my classmate!