A VERY IMPORTANT NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

I have been feeling terrible for removing my stories from fictionpress, but at the time of removal I felt it was the safest thing to do. About two months ago I decided to give fictionpress a second chance, but had been gone so long I forgot my login information. I created a new account under the name JaneAustenAddict and have been posting my stories there for the passed two months. I finally managed to remember the e-mail I had originally used as CuteCognizant and from there it was only a matter of reactivating the e-mail address so that my fictionpress password could be e-mailed to me.

I am very happy to be back and hope everyone can forgive me for making such a rash decision in the past.

I will slowly be updating my original stories (and some new ones).

Lots of Love,
CuteCognizant

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Million Dollar Miracle
By CuteCognizant

Chapter 1.

I sat in the hallway outside of the principal’s office, waiting for the secretary to call my name. The secretary knew me well. In fact, we frequently referred to each other by our first names. It’s not that I was a devil of a student, and I’m most definitely not trying to pass myself off as an angel. Basically I was a typical student. So typical I was bordering on average and normal. The problem was that I was prone to being caught doing not-so-smart things more often than most of the other students in my school.

“Samantha,” June, the secretary, called from her desk, “the principal will see you now.”

I stood up from the bench, hefted my purple book bag over my shoulder, and walked over to the secretary’s desk. “June, does he seem to be in a good mood this morning?” I asked her as I took a piece of peppermint candy from her jar and popped it into my mouth.

“Well you are the third student in his office this morning, Sam,” she informed me, “which means he’s probably pretty close to popping a fuse already. Go easy on him.”

I snorted. I always found it entertaining when June informed me to go easy on the principal. I was only a student, after all.

I opened the door to his office and walked inside. Three years in high school and the man never redecorated. Not only did he not redecorate, but I do not think he ever moved a single picture, plant, or pencil holder. I smiled. The principal’s office had a homely feeling to it.

Sure, not many students would think that when they walked into what they called the “interrogation room” but I spent so much time in here I felt I had a right to call it my second home.

I sat in the gray swivel chair across from his desk before he even told me to, crossing my legs as I leaned back. The chairs in the classrooms were a lot less comfortable than the ones in here.

“Miss Snyder,” he spat my name with disgust in his voice. You would think after all this time he would be able to call me by my first name like June did, but of course he had to remain professional. “Paying me a visit twice in one week. I must say that is a new low, even for you.”

I looked at him, smiling innocently. Granted, he knew I was not innocent, I never was, but that did not mean I could not pretend. Besides, this always went the same. He would tell me exactly what school rule I had broken, as though I did not know, and then hand me a detention. Traditions were so priceless.

“It has come to my attention that you have broken yet another school rule,” he began. “I must say, I am amazed that you have managed to break nearly every one, but never more than once.”

“I’m working on the record,” I informed him. “First student to break every rule during her four years here.”

He did not look extremely pleased with my comment. Was it possible that I had gone too far? Nah.

“Unfortunately,” uh oh, he never said unfortunately before. Did this mean the meeting was not going to go as planned? “I noticed that detentions have not been much of an incentive.”

“Mr. Manahan,” I said slowly.

He raised his hand to halt my words, “Don’t speak.”

I closed my mouth. Shocked. He had never done that before. Had the man finally found his balls?

“You have a choice, Miss Snyder. Either you tell me the names of your accomplices or--”

“You know I’m not a rat,” I cut him off.

It was not a lie. I am not a rat. Three years in high school and I had never once told the man who helped me. I had some dignity.

“Very well,” he informed me, “I have no choice but to give you a punishment befitting the crime.”

It was coming. Sweet, beautiful detention.

“Since detention has done nothing to curb your delinquent behavior.”

What? So, I was going to be suspended.

“And I would hate for you to miss all your classes.”

This was not good.

“You are going to be sentenced to twenty hours of community service.”

Did he have to make it sound like I was on trial?

“Working as a candy striper at the local hospital.”

“What?” I jumped up from my chair. “I will not prance around in one of those candy cane outfits like every day is Christmas.”

He continued, unperturbed. “You will report to the hospital Saturday morning at nine. If for any reason you fail to grace them with your presence you will be expelled.”

The man was serious and I was screwed.

I grabbed my book bag and headed for the door. “It was a pleasure seeing you again Mr. Manahan. I’m sure we’ll do it again sometime.”

Before he could respond I was out of his office and in the hallway.

So I wasn’t the model student, that didn’t mean I was a bad person. I got straight A’s in all my classes, I didn’t drink, I didn’t do drugs, and I never slept around. My problem was that I was so straight laced I needed to find a way to release all my pent up energy. You would think the staff would learn to ignore a few harmless pranks and focus on those students who were actual problems.

I dragged my bag behind me as I entered my third period class.

My parents were just going to love this.

---

“It serves you right, Sam.” my brother, Scott, told me. The two of us were sitting on the couch in the living room. He was watching television when I stormed in and informed him of what I deemed to be a dire situation. He just laughed. “This was bound to happen sooner or later,” he continued.

I punched him in the arm, hard. He knew I was angry at him for laughing at me like our parents did, but he kept pushing anyway.

“Sam, get over it,” Scott told me as he turned the television on. “Twenty hours is like three weekends and then you’re done with it.”

I stood from the couch, making my hands into fists, and stormed out of the room.

He was two years older than me and a freshman in college. He had picked a school conveniently located two hours away so it was just far enough that he had to live away but close enough that he could come visit every weekend.

My brother and I used to enjoy his visits, but I was almost certain that was about to change, at least for this weekend. I was definitely unhappy with the way he treated me with regards to my sentence as a candy striper.

---

“GET OUT!”

The scream heard around the world was followed by the sound of a tray crashing against the wall and one of my fellow candy stripers running from the room with a tear streaked face. It was not a pretty sight. A combination of scrambled eggs and the contents of a milk carton congealed together to ooze across the doorway of the room of “The Patient From Hell.”

One of the nurses handed me a tray and pointed me in the direction of the room. “You’re turn, Sam

My face went hard. If the bastard in that room even tried to throw a tray at me he would regret it. When Mr. Manahan ordered me to my community service he did not mention the possibility of me having to endure bodily harm. Sure I was in good shape, I spent a lot of time running from my teachers, but I had not yet mastered the art of dodging breakfast trays.

I walked across the hallway and stepped over the mess on the floor before roughly dropping the tray in front of the patient. He scowled at me as I walked to the window and pulled the curtains open.

“What are you doing?” he screamed.

“Letting some sunlight in,” I informed him. “If I can’t be outside then I want to at least look at it.”

“If you don’t want to be here then why did you volunteer?” he asked.

“No one ever said I volunteered for this job,” I retorted as I sat down in one of the visitors chairs. “Now eat you’re breakfast.”

“You’re not going to try and feed it to me?”

I could not tell if he was being serious or sarcastic, but I did not care. There was no way in Hell I was going to spoon feed him like a child. “You’re a big boy. You can handle it yourself.”

A nurse poked her head in and gave me the thumbs up. “A whole minute and he hasn’t lobbed off your head yet,” she whispered. “Good going, Sam. Make sure when I come back that all of that food is gone.”

“Sure,” I said lazily, waving my hand at her. Why was it that no one understood I did not want to be doing any of this?