It All Began With A Song [Editing]

Chapter 11: Conversation In The Janitor's Room

With the Valentines Dance (and of course Valentines Day) coming up in two weeks, the school is already buzzing with the "Which Two People Would Make the Cutest Couple?" and "Which is the Cutest Couple?" contests. The first contest is basically used to pair up two single people who will make the best couple, while the second contest is for couples that are already dating. These contests will begin next week and end next Friday, which is why I don't understand why people are debating on who they should vote for when you still have seven days.

Jeez people, the prize is just a picture in the yearbook, not a new mansion.

Oh, and you will get to have a free cup of hot chocolate.

Yay; not really, they should give you ten cups of that.

So you might be wondering how do you win it?

It's a little like selecting prom queen. You post a poster of two people you'd like to win. (In other words, it's just like advertising.) Like I said, I have always thought that this contest is stupid. You know the popular people are going to win anyway, so why waste your time on making a poster that's obviously photoshopped?

Of course, what I don't know is that I am going to be in one of the contests -- unwillingly and unexpectedly.

+ + +

The moment the bell rings for lunch time, which is only thirty minutes, the hallway is swarmed with the normal sea of students. The only difference is that this time, something feels wrong with all the intense whispering and staring people are giving me. They're literally piercing their eyes at me as if I have just killed the whole town's population.

"She's the one. The new girlfriend."

"The new target."

Okay, can someone just tell me what's going on?!

I walk hesitantly to my locker, feeling awkward and slightly annoyed with the stares people are giving me as they walk on. To avoid more stares, I purposely take my time to key in my combination and place my binders inside the bottom locker. I pull out my phone and quickly text Seth saying that I'm not eating lunch in the lunchroom due to the stares I'm receiving, and I absolutely hate attention.

In all of my high school years, the word "attention" is mostly foreign to me. It's like an unfamiliar and unwanted stranger, and I intend for us to continue to be strangers. However, on this particular Monday, I can tell that attention and I are definitely becoming "friends," which I really don't appreciate.

Since I'm not going to eat in the lunch room, I decide to clean my very unorganized locker until they're (the students) all at the cafeteria. This is how I avoid awkward situations -- do things slowly to avoid people. However, since I also have to check out a book at the library for a book report, (I have made a 45 on Mrs. Standsberry's test. I'm telling you; she hates me.) I really can't clean things unhurriedly if I want to accomplish that goal. Looking through the clusters of papers, broken crayons, chipped color pencils, I groan out loud.

Is my locker always this messy?

Expeditiously, I take out all the visible trash in there and shove them in the front pocket of my book bag. After I have organized the books and binders in there, I peer around to see that no one is in the hallway, so I head to the direction of the library after I close my locker door. With one hand holding my binder and the other holding my lunch box, I scamper down the hallway; however, I never get there that day.

Without warning, someone behind me snatches my right wrist (the one that is also holding the lunch box) and pulls me to the direction of the nearby janitor's room, making my body twist toward the person.