New Grade, New Problems

Who here knows what the key to being a good reporter is?” Mr. Harrison asked as everyone sat around staring blankly at him, I was one of them. Everyone stayed silent and I could almost hear Mr. Harrison grunt with irritation. I don’t think that anyone in this room was really interested in reporting the news, I know I wasn’t. After a while of silence, Harrison barked out, “Waters,” Why me? “What makes a good reporter?”

I felt all eyes on me, and I swallowed hard. I was not exactly a public speaker. I remember in third grade during show-and-tell I literally passed out with the entire third grade class starring at me with their blank eyes. I didn’t turn around and silently cursed myself for sitting in front of the class while everyone ran away to the back of the room. Harrison’s glare was what finally got me to speak up, “Someone who’s not afraid to get down on her hands and knees…” And before I could finish every single boy in the room began to howler.

Perverts!

Harrison’s eyes were blazing with crimson rage, “Settle down!” He barked out. It was almost impossible to believe this, but Harrison was actually more terrifying then Tebo, the gym teacher who gets easily ticked. No one knows why Harrison is such an ass, they think it’s because his wife left him for a French painter, which is only a rumor, or maybe because he’s so big and ugly that he can’t get a girl, which again is just a rumor, but if you ask me, I think he was just born an ass, and as the years wore on him he became more of an ass.

“Waters!” He snapped, and I rolled my eyes. I have a name, I thought bitterly. “Are you trying to be a smart-ass?”

“Well I wasn’t trying to,” I answered his rhetorical question, “but…” I had a smile on my face but when I saw his raging face get hot with anger, I quickly trail off.

He leaned down on my desk until I could smell his hot angry breath; he had something with garlic for breakfast, yuck. “There’s this old saying we had back in my day,” I wonder how many centuries ago that was, “No one likes a smart-ass.” Well no one likes an ass either but you don’t hear me snapping at you, I thought silently.

Instead I just said, “Okay.” And put my head down pretending to be embarrassed, but really it was to get away from his breath.

He seemed satisfied though thinking he won, “Now, what makes a good reporter?” He asked again and I knew the question was directed to me. Not because of the roar of his voice, or the fact that my ear drums were bursting, but because I could feel his eyes piercing the top of my light brown hair. I didn’t stare up at him. I just looked down towards his pants and shoes.

I sighed, “A good reporter is…” Actually I didn’t even know. I’ve got no interest in doing anything that involves being a journalist, so then why am I in the newspaper club? Well, as a school requirement you have to at least join two clubs or sports each year, believe it or not you actually need that to graduate, and yearbook was filled up, I can’t play sports to save my life, so I decided on some of the easy stuff. I joined Red Alert, which is hard to explain, and newspaper was the only one open.

“A good reporter knows the right questions to ask, when to ask them; they are always thinking; meaning that light bulb goes off in their heads, the one that won’t go off in your head.” The entire room roared in laughter, and I sat there with my head still down and my fist clutched in my lap. I hated the start of a new school year. For freshman, high school was hell, but did anyone ever think about us juniors? This was going to be our second to last year and the higher up we go, the worse it gets, because people are constantly on our backs about the stupidest of things.

Somehow this dipshit got everyone to shut up. “Now,” He said obviously done harassing me. He began to pace the middle of the classroom, and I looked up at him through the curtain of my hair, “It is that time where I assign articles,” And everyone groaned just like Harrison was expecting. “So,” he continued like he heard nothing, he looked at all of us, trying to decide which article could make each person more miserable then the next, “Waters,” He barked and this time I looked up, “You get sports.” I sighed. He knew better than anyone I hated sports.

After he began assigning articles and a due date, the bell rang, and I got up trying to leave before everyone else. I hated Harrison, I hated him, I hated him; I hated him.

“Harrison is out to get me,” I announced to Mikayla Marshall, my best friend.

Mikayla rolled her eyes taking out her hair ironer from her giant purse that could hold food to feed an entire army, “Georgina, he’s out to get everyone in this school.” She announced looking in the mirror. “You know he’s never liked you. He doesn’t even like me.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I asked crossing my arms over my chest.

“Not really. But if it does then you’re welcome.”

“Well it doesn’t.”

Mikayla and I have known each other since first grade. It was actually just one of those random meetings. Mikayla was sitting alone, because she was the new girl in school, and I just got ditched by my friends, so I was basically alone, and bored, and out of boredom I came up to Mikayla. Really, I always saw her as a freak, because growing up her teeth was badly shaped, and black. Kids constantly teased her for it; I didn’t pay too much attention to the way her teeth looked, I didn’t even pay attention to her; I was a loner, so I grew into observing people. When I observed Mikayla on the blacktop I saw how lonely she really was, and out of the goodness of my heart – but really boredom – I went to introduce myself, and ever since then we have been best friends. How we survived eleven years of each other, I have no idea.

But I trust Mikayla with my life. She’s not like the other girls out there, she’s not afraid to be herself, she’s not afraid to be different, or even unique. Something I need to learn from her. Between Mikayla and me, I am looked upon as the smart logical one because Mikayla is like a little kid. She doesn’t understand seriousness of a matter, well she does she just doesn’t like to show it. Mikayla likes to be carefree, while I’m uptight and inflexible.

“Dude man,” Mikayla said digging into her purse, and withdrawing a comb and put the ironer back in her bag. “Forget Harrison, he’s obviously got issues of his own.” I rolled my eyes.

“That’s easy for you to say,” I said crossing my arms over my chest, “You’re in Child Development and Food for Thought.”

“Well you could have joined with me,”

“No, because I don’t care about calories in my food and I have no plans for the near future to have kids.”

Mikayla gave me a knowing grin, “Aw, but remember when we were little and use to play house. You were the mom and I was the dad, and we use Roger as our baby. You took such good care of him.” She made a childish voice that got me to laugh. Roger was my first pet ever, I loved to play with that pup, but when I was in seventh grade he had died, leaving us abandoned.

“That’s when we were kids,” I reminded her, and sitting up straight, and clearing my throat and making a deep voice I said mimicking the Queen of England, “But we are adults now.” Mikayla heard the sarcasm in my voice, and we both broke off laughing.

When Mikayla was done getting ready for the day, she took her purse in one hand, and locked arms with me in the other, and we both strolled out of the girls bathroom like we were all that.

“How’s it going?” I didn’t have to look behind me.

“Fine, I guess.” I said.

Mikayla, thinking I was talking to her, turned towards me confused, “Huh?”

I smiled, “Not you,” And leaning close to her ear I whispered, “It’s Jordan.” I heard laughter behind us, and I rolled my eyes again. Mikayla understood me in ways other people couldn’t. When I was a kid I never understood what was wrong with me, I knew I wasn’t like everyone else, and when my freshman year rolled around I realized something about both me and Jordan. 1. He was dead, and 2. I can actually speak and see the dead. Mikayla is the only one who knows that, and so far Jordan is the only ghost that actually speaks to me. The others that I see don’t even notice me.

I don’t know what happen to Jordan, but he died in this school almost five years ago, and when I showed up he began following me everywhere. I don’t know why he hasn’t moved on yet, but he’s become attached to me. He follows me home, he watches me sleep – though he doesn’t know I know – he goes to the mall with me, even on my dates. Though the one place he is forbidden to follow me to is the bathroom, which is why he always waits right outside the door.

Talk about clingy.

Jordan knows more about me then Mikayla does, though I will never tell her. Jordan is also pretty hot. I just wish he wasn’t dead. Though there is a live boy that catches my fancy, Scotty Davis. He is the finest piece of work in God’s green earth that I have ever seen in my life.

“Ask Jordan if he wants to go out with us tonight?” Mikayla said stopping at our lockers. I gave her a plain look and she laughed. She knew Jordan followed me everywhere, though I don’t know why.

“You know you can do it,” I said taking out my AP French book and PFM book. “He can hear you.” I rolled my eyes seeing Mikayla’s surprised look. Obviously she didn’t know ghost could hear us, humans.

“Hi Jordan,” She said in a whisper in the wrong direction, “Will you come out with us tonight.” Jordan was beside me laughing at her attempt to talk to him. He could be cruel to her sometimes, which is why I usually don’t tell her what he really thinks about her. The last thing I want is for Mikayla to run around town saying she’s going to kill a ghost.

“Tell her I would love to go, just as long as she doesn’t embarrass us.” He said between laughs, and I rolled my eyes.

I whispered, “You know that’s impossible.”

Mikayla turned around towards me all of a sudden, “What is?” She said.

I stopped trying to think of a good excuse. So far I was drawing a blank. I couldn’t tell Mikayla not to embarrass us because that’s who she was and that’s what she did. It was impossible for me to live with Mikayla without her doing something embarrassing. That’s the kind of strange relationship we just had. She was the embarrassing one, and I was the logical one, and we knew we were in trouble whenever Mikayla was the voice of reason.

“He said he would go,” I took out the last part. She was my friend and I would hate to feel responsible for hurting her feelings. Though, there is a very good chance she might not even care. Though I’d rather not risk it; the last time I thought she wouldn’t care about something she ended up crying and not talking to me for an entire week. That was the most awful week of my entire life. But ever since then we’ve tried to communicate.

She smiled, “Great,” That’s when the minute bell rang. “See y’all later,” She ran down the hall. Mikayla wasn’t a red-neck, but she did love Texas. I turned around heading to Accounting with Jordan beside me.

I looked over at him. He was dark skinned, which he claimed was a tan, and his hair was black, and super short, his eyes were chocolate brown, he had an oval shaped head, the right size ears, and a pointy chin. On first look you’d never find him attractive, but he’s been following me for three years now, and his appearance as looked very attractive. So attractive that there are days when I wish he wasn’t a ghost. Though, he could never compare to Scotty, I still wish he was alive. He was tall, about 6’1”. At first I couldn’t believe that someone like him, who looked like he had muscles, and a lot of it, could have died, but he always tells me the same story. He doesn’t know how he died, that’s why he’s coming to me, like I have all the answers.

“Did you ever take PFM?” I asked trying to start up a conversation. I was comfortable around Jordan, so I could basically bring any random subject up, and he would tolerate it.

He smiled at me, “Everyone takes Personal Finance Management,” He said clearly. I nodded knowing it was true, but still I hated the silence. And even though to someone who was observing me – which was no one – it would have seem I was talking to myself, but a lone in the hallways I could talk to Jordan and not have to hear the sound of my shoes squeaking. “Why?”

I shrugged, “I don’t know, I always saw it as a boring class.” That was the truth. There was too many numbers involve, and you’d think someone like me, who’s taking Pre-Cal would understand what all those numbers mean.

I ran through the rain heading towards the subway entrance. The outburst had caught me by surprise, and Jordan was simply walking by like nothing was going on. But then again being dead he didn’t have to worry about rain. I ran down the metal stairs, almost tripping, but catching myself. I stopped at the foot of the entrance brushing all the rain off. I hated after school, especially with surprise rain showers coming down.

My shoes squeaked as I walked to get a metro card. Day’s like these were always exhausting. I had about a hundred pounds of homework on my back, and a heavy migraine with Harrison’s barking at me the last few hours of school. With that man, you could never win.

“Look on the bright side,” Jordan had said, “at least you get to meet football players, maybe one of them will finally take interest in you.” Easy for him to say. He didn’t have to worry about today’s expectations in life. He was dead, so who would really care.

“I don’t care about the football team,” I hissed under my breath putting my head down so no one would notice me talking to myself. “I wanted the advice column.” That was the easiest part of any newspaper, because you could give whatever advice you wanted, and no one would know who you were. So if someone asked you why their boyfriend doesn’t want to hang out with them, you could easily say, ‘because he’s getting tired of you,’ and she could never do anything.

Half the time I think Harrison was only after me because he knew I hated the newspaper, and knew that if I had to go there against my will, he might as well make it as miserable as possible. Mission accomplished. I thought bitterly as the train came. I stood back letting the arrivers out first, before trying to go in, but as I did so, a man in a business suit, with a suitcase came in front of me, pushing me against the metal of the train.

“Excuse me!” I snapped angrily. He turned around at me and scuffed pushing his way through the crowd of people to the next car. “Rude,” I breathed going in and hanging on to a metal bar. Jordan wasn’t paying attention. He was looking down at the ground. “Didn’t you see that?” I asked wondering where my moral support was.

“He dropped something.” Jordan said, and I looked down seeing a leather-red covered diary, with a huge script R on the upper left hand corner.

I picked it up, though it was small, it felt heavy, “Well,” I said half pleased with myself as the doors closed and I leaned against it – though you weren’t suppose to – “If he wants this back, he’ll have to apologize to me.” Jordan chuckled as the train sped forward. I was tempted to look inside, but knew that if he came and saw me reading whatever the hell was in here, he would bite my head off.

After two stops, and not yet finding the man, after the third, I was about to head off to find him in the next car, when I saw the familiar suit heading up the stairs.

“Hey!” I called out keeping the doors open. “Hey!” I shouted, again. People didn’t bother looking at me; this was something they were use to. I looked as Rude-Suited man headed up the stairs not even bother to acknowledge. Finally I had to let the doors close and I sat down feeling stupid.

Jordan sat beside me looking down at the book, “Open it,” He commanded obviously interested in what was in it.

I looked around noticing the car was almost empty, and then looked back at Jordan, “No!” I snapped, “That would be looking into his privacy,” I said putting the book on my lap. “You dead people might not have morals, but here in the living world we still have boundaries.”

“C’mon,” He persisted like a small child, “he won’t know, besides he left without it,” That was a good point, “He must not have even noticed it, and what are the odds that he’ll be getting back anyways. Losing something in the subway is like losing your favorite bracelet in the ocean.” An even bigger point. “Maybe his address is in there.”

I tapped the leather cover while biting my lip thinking. He did drop it, and just left without it. But then again it would be wrong. But he might have his address so I could return it to him, I mean I can’t leave it here for someone else to take, and I can’t take it home because I have no use for it.

“Okay,” I said turning to Jordan, “but only to look for his address.” He was already bouncing up and down like a small child visiting Disney Land.

I was hesitant as I loosened the string that kept the book closed. Opening it, I saw that it was an old fashion model kind of book, and that it wasn’t written in English. Or as much English as a person has. There were letters and numbers mixed together. “Is this an algorithm?” I thought out loud flipping through the pages. There were pictures, and loose pages, and it was all written in code.

“Wait, stop!” Jordan demanded, and I stopped at the page I was at. There was a picture of Newton Avery, the caption of the football team, and his girlfriend Amy. There was what I figured a date and time, which said tonight, and right underneath the picture on the book page there was more names. Some I think I know, and others I never heard of before, but Newton and Amy’s name was circled in red, and right beside it was a price. And the names above them, which I’ve heard of before seeing them on the news, was a red printing beside them that clearly said, Terminated.

I swallowed hard, “I think Rude-Suit is a hired killer.”