Mareitime Academy Diariesby MicaChaptersThe Childhood FriendThe Instagram-Famous Pop StarThe Cafeteria BodyguardThe Elusive PsychicThe Childhood Friend“Sunny, you know you’re not supposed to come into my dorm room after 9:30.” Sunny grips my door frame. “Come on, Hitch, it’s not like Mrs. Cloverleaf is watching. She doesn’t do her bed checks till a quarter to 11. Anyway, can you read over my latest manuscript for the children’s pony story thingy?” “Only if you’ll help me on my chemistry homework after,” I say. “Deal.” She steps inside, leaving the door wide open. It’s the policy the school set specifically for me, so that I don’t feel entirely isolated in the dorms. Since I’m the only male student in the whole school, I’m allowed to have female guests in my room, but only up to 60 minutes before lights out at 10:30, and the door must be wide open and lights all on while they’re in my room. It’s 9:34pm now, or 56 minutes prior to lights out. Sunny’s clearly in violation of that bylaw. Sunny’s my longtime childhood friend, though. I’ve known her since before kindergarten. Do I tell on her? Rules are rules, sure, but if I were a real man, I shouldn’t be complaining that an attractive girl my age is wanting to come into my room. Yep, this is me, Hitch Trailblazer. Due to some administrative mishaps, I am the only male student at Mareitime Academy, a grade 7-12 all-girls’ boarding school. Let me explain. Technically, when I joined in freshman year, it was Mareitime Academy’s first year as a co-ed boarding school, after being an all-girls school for fifty years. Except I was the only guy who signed up. I liked the place when they gave me a tour during summer break. The place was super clean (especially the brand new boys’ bathrooms they put in the hallways). The teachers were nice, too. When the admin realized I was the only one who signed up, they offered to transfer me to an equally rigorous co-ed boarding school in another town. I said no. Surprisingly, Mom was down with it. Something about gender equality and rebellion against archaic single-gender education. I don’t know. I don’t understand Mom sometimes. She’s the kind of person that’ll yell at the person in front of her in the checkout line just because they choose “plastic bag” instead of “paper bag.” After Mareitime Academy tried the co-ed thing for one year and they realized it was a total flop—since, well, no boys except for me signed up—they went back to being an all-girls school my sophomore year. But they gave me special permission to stay. So now I’m the only guy in an all-girls school. Sunny I know well. She’s my next door neighbor from back home in Mareitime Bay. When we were little, we shared toys, walked to school together, and sat next to each other in class. Sunny’s mom died when she was 5, and her dad died when she was 12. After her dad died and she moved to live with her aunt in a faraway town, I’d thought I’d never be able to see her again. Funny how things turn out. (My decision to join Mareitime Academy had nothing to do with the fact that Sunny had been attending that school for the past two years. None at all.) Tired of banging my head on my chemistry homework, I get up from my desk and sit down on my bed. My room’s got plenty of space. It’s basically a regular room that’s normally used as a double. I’ve also got a private ensuite bathroom. Sunny joins me on the bed. The bed’s in a corner of the room so that even with the door fully open the view is obscured. “Sunny, we shouldn’t—” “Oh relax, Hitch.” She rolls her eyes. I think she’s more annoyed than anything. “What about all those sleepovers we had back in elementary school?” Sunny was the only girl in the neighborhood, and I was the only boy that didn’t tease her. So, Sunny’s dad seemed to always bring her to my place for playdates and sleepovers. “Well, that was a long time ago, Sunny,” I say. “We’re older now.” She smirks. “Oh, so are you saying I shouldn’t trust you and your self-control—” “No, no,” I cut her off. “Of course not. I…” I scoot a few centimeters away from her, to reduce the evidence against me. And I try to rehearse what to tell Mrs. Cloverleaf if she finds us. Sunny hears me whispering. “Why’re you so afraid of Mrs. Cloverleaf’s bed checks, anyway?” “Because if she sees you in my room after 9:30, I’d be violating the school policy on co-ed visits. Mrs. Cloverleaf and the school administration are putting so much trust in me by letting me enroll here in the first place, and I’d be breaching that trust. She’d think I was trying to take advantage of you, and I—” “…and I’d vouch for you.” She places her hand on my shoulder. “Calm down, Hitch. We’re friends, okay? There’s nothing wrong with two friends sitting next to each other, fully clothed. “Oh. Yeah. The reason I came here.” Sunny rummages into her bag and pulls out a handwritten manuscript. “Here’s my latest draft of the children’s story. ‘My Little Pony: Princess Twilight and Her Adventures in Equestria.’ Volume 1.” I skim through the 80-page notebook Sunny handed me. More fictional stories about magical talking ponies. Apparently, they’re based off the bedtime stories her dad used to tell her. Sunny’s dad loved horses. It seems like yesterday when Sunny and I had a sleepover, and she’d repeat and re-repeat those stories about ponies to me. I guess she never grew out of them. This time she’s got digital renderings of the characters she created, printed on photo paper and sandwiched between the pages of the notebook. There’s six ponies in the foreground: an orange pony with a cowboy hat; a pink pony with poofy hair; two winged ones, one blue, one yellow; one white unicorn with a purple mane; and one purple winged unicorn standing in the center, wings outstretched. “I snuck into the digital art studio downstairs so I could use Adobe Illustrator. Don’t tell anyone, okay?” She smirks and hides the bottom half of her face with the collar of her blue sweater. I should tell. I should. Sunny’s not allowed to access that space unless she’s taking a class. She can get a demerit for what she did. There’s an extra sheet of paper clipped at the end. “What’s this?” “Oh, it’s a theme song I’ve been working on, when my books get adapted to a TV show.” “If—” “When,” she reemphasizes. She sings the childish tune for me, out loud. I follow along with the sheet music. My Little Pony, My Little Pony, What is friendship all about… A whole song. She writes a whole song. Not part of any class, no extra credit, no points. Just all her. How does she do it? …Friends, you’re my very best friends? She finishes singing, and she turns to me, a smiling exhale coming out of her mouth. “Nice,” I say, politely applauding. “You like it? You really do?” I’ve never seen her giggle so much in a long time. “I…I do.” I show her a polite smile. She sings just like she did during our sleepovers. Slightly off-key, simplistic melody. Like a child. Though I wonder if she’s making her voice that way on purpose, since it’s a kids’ song and all. Our backs are to the door. I hear footsteps. Tap. Tap. And a rustling. The rustling of a large square of fabric. Mrs. Cloverleaf wears a floral shawl. It’s her! I knew it! She’s coming to my room to do an early bed check! “Sunny, hide!” I whisper to her. Sunny does what I daren’t do and pokes her head out the door. “Hitch, stop panicking, it’s just Pipp.” Sunny and I walk over to Pipp, who, at 10 in the evening, still has her full makeup on and her fuzzy white fur vest. Real fur, apparently. “Hey, Pipp!” Pipp smiles widely. “Hi Sunny! I’m just going down the hall passing flyers for this year’s musical. We’re doing Forgotten Friendship…oh my gosh, you should SO audition!” She holds Sunny’s right hand. “You were, like, so good in last year’s musical! I just know you are gonna be fabulous, oh my gosh.” She briefly glances at me, like an afterthought. “Hitch, you want a flyer too?” “Erm, sure,” the afterthought says, taking two copies. “Have a good night, Sunny~!” And with that, she skips back down the hall, singing her “me-me-me” vocal warmups. She ascends the C-minor scale with perfect AutoTune precision. “You gonna audition?” I ask Sunny. She isn’t even looking at the flyer in her hand. Sunny skims the flyer, then half-crumples it. “Nah, I won’t. I’m gonna be too busy working on my book.” “But Pipp is right, you were really good as Maria von Trapp last year.” “It wasn’t exactly pleasant, though. Zipp played my husband.” Just one of the realities of theater in an all-girls school. Zipp always gets the guy parts ‘cause she looks the most butch out of all the girls who audition. She doesn’t particularly enjoy it either—I’m sure the only reason Zipp does theater is to spite her sister. “Hey, maybe you should try auditioning, Hitch.” She shoves the flyer back to me. “You want me to audition as your husband?” I ask. “Ah! Erm…I mean, all I’m saying is…if I were auditioning, which I’m not, I’d rather you play my husband than, erm…say, Zipp. You know. ‘Cause you’re actually a guy and all.” She’s silent. For a while. And she’s staring at me awkwardly. No smile, no sadness, just…stare. Maybe she’s assessing what I’d be like as her husband. I suppose the neighbors back home expect that we’d get married someday. We live close by, been good friends since kindergarten. She’s literally “the girl next door.” Suddenly a look of displeasure falls over Sunny’s face. Okay, maybe I assumed wrong. Then she snaps out of it. “Anyway, that theater experience was good for my growth at the time. But I gotta move on. It’s time for me create my own story. And have other people fighting to act in my own story. I wanna break out of the loop.” “Loop?” She raises her eyebrows. “You ever feel like that? Like you’re trapped in this magical neverending loop, and you just can’t break free.” Am I stuck in a loop? Pretty much every day, I see Sunny. As early as I can remember. She looks the same to me, simply ‘cause I’ve grown along with her. “Our whole lives are like a loop. Just the things in the loop change as we get older. Now, it’s schoolwork, afterschool clubs, lunch, lights out. Later it’ll be schoolwork, sorority parties, bar hopping, pass out. Then it’ll be work, little league tournament, family dinners, lights out. Then it’ll be retirement, shuffleboard, brunch, lights out. Then lights out, lights out, lights out, lights out. You get what I’m saying, Hitch?” A bit too philosophical for me, but I suppose she’s right. We are in a loop. But I like this loop. I like Sunny. She’s a nice gal. And I know her so well, I could be bored with her. I could sit all day with her with nothing to do, and I’d feel okay. I think I want to get trapped in a loop. That way, I know exactly what’s gonna happen next. “Oop. 10:29. Guess I better be goin’ to my room before I get in trouble,” she says in a singsong voice, with a smirk on her face. “Oh, Sunny…” I stop her at the door. “Yeah?” I almost wanna tell her that she never helped me on my chemistry homework. But it’s past lights out anyway. Instead I say, “It was a good song. The ponies, and the song about friendship and all that. It’s cute. I think kids’ll like it.” “Thanks, Hitch,” she says through her whispery giggling. Author's Note This story started as a joke about Hitch being the only male in the Mane 5, but now I hope to use this story as a way for me to explore my various headcanons for the G5 characters. The Instagram-Famous Pop StarOh, Pipp Petals. In another world, perhaps I’d be dating a rich, beautiful, Instagram-famous, teen pop star like you. An opposite parallel universe, that is. A total opposite universe. I shouldn’t be talking to her. That’s not how it’s supposed to work. She and I are in totally different cliques. She’s famous. Real-world famous. I'm definitely not. But by some magic, I am talking to her. I’m in the library, sitting in the chair directly adjacent to hers. I love watching her livestreams or listening to her songs when I have the time to. I’m mostly a country music guy, but when I listen to her songs, I can’t help but shake my booty. (Sorry for imprinting that image in your head now.) And here I am. In the same school as her. Talking to her. Working on a school project with her. “Pipp, did you finish your slides for the presentation?” I ask. Silence. “Pipp?” “Pipp?” “Oh my gosh, hold up, I need to do promotion cause my new single releases in two days,” she mumbles and texts a few emojis. Then she looks up. “Sorry, what were you saying?” “The history presentation. That’s why we’re meeting up, right?” “Oh…right.” Pipp pulls out her laptop and opens up the shared presentation. She hasn’t even started, and it’s due next Tuesday. She hastily types a few bullets on slide 7. She’s got 6 more slides to fill. I watch as Arial font words appear on the screen. “Renaissance Italy? Pipp, this presentation is about Ancient Greece.” “I don’t know, Hitch!” she places her palm on her forehead. “I read chapter 9 instead of chapter 4 ‘cause I didn’t read the assignment properly. So sue me, okay?” “You signed the sheet in class saying that you did the correct reading. That’s dishonest, you know.” “Well, I’m used to it. I’m used to being dishonest, I’m like dishonest with literally like my whole dishonest life,” she mumbles as she hastily reads a page about Ancient Greece she found off Google. She’s a horrible partner for a school assignment. She’s out of school half the time, doing tours or recordings or whatever. And then many nights, she’s locked in her dorm room doing livestreams. Or she’s taking selfies or posting on social media. In the past hour we’ve been meeting in person, she’s spoken to me more through my social media notifications than actual dialog. New single Glowin’ Up, out on iTunes tomorrow! What’s up my Pipp-squeaks? Hope you’re having a fabulous day~! UwU See me live at the #ZHMusicFestival this Saturday, last-minute tickets still available!!! Click this affiliate link for a discount, sponsored by Parfum La Pipp! I suppose for her it’s work, but I still don’t understand it. How is making a duck face at a camera more important “work” than writing up slides for a history presentation? If it was anyone other than Pipp, they’d be kicked out of school. It’s just not fair. Just because Pipp’s mother is Haven, she gets special treatment from the school administration. Yeah, I’m talking about that Haven. Haven, the heiress of a global mining empire worth billions of dollars. Haven, the biggest donor to the school’s endowment, and a long-serving member of the Board of Trustees. In the dorms, Pipp and her sister Zipp have private single rooms even larger than the standard double, while all the other girls in Mareitime Academy have roommates. Pipp misses school to go on “family trips” to the beach without giving 24 hours prior notice, like it stipulates in the student handbook (am I the only one who actually reads it?) And meanwhile, Sunny had to wait two months for the principal to finally grant her permission to go back to Mareitime Bay every other weekend to put flowers on her father’s grave. You know how they say, never meet your heroes? I have no respect for Pipp as a person. I just like her music. I like her as a star. I bookmark the affiliate link to open up later. Pipp looks up from her laptop after just 90 seconds of typing for the history project. “Oh my gosh, Hitch, do you wanna listen to my new single?” “Well, I think that we should work on—” She shoves the phone to my ear anyway. Glowin' up kind of love, Dip and slide through the cut, Glowin' up kind of love, We say “Hi”, you say “What?” I’m on one of those swivel chairs. And I’m swinging side to side. Shaking my booty. Heh. I mean, it’s a nice song. I guess. (Gosh, I’m such a hypocrite.) Still, ever since I heard Sunny singing that song she wrote the other night…I’ve realized that there’s some missing about Pipp’s singing, that Sunny’s has. Even if Pipp has more raw vocal power and pitch accuracy. I don’t know why. I just know that I’d rather hear Sunny’s slightly-out-of-tune singing about friendship and unicorns. Which just sounds stupid, coming from a guy like me. Speaking of which, Pipp asks me, “Oh, did Sunny say whether she was gonna audition for Forgotten Friendship or not?” I’m surprised she even mentions it. I’d think given her personality, and after all her success in showbiz, she’d scoff at a little school musical like the one at Mareitime Academy. “She…Sunny said she’s too busy this year to do the musical,” I simply say. “Oh, how come?” she presses. “I…I’m not sure.” I lie. It seems ridiculous even when I just say it. A children’s book about colorful ponies. Like Pipp would even care. If I told her, she’d probably laugh at her in her 4 million follower Instagram famous laugh. And I wouldn’t let Sunny’s feelings be indirectly hurt like that. That’s the reason why I’m lying to Pipp. “She just said she’s not doing it this year,” I reiterate. “Well, that’s a shame. Cause, oh my gosh, Sunny was like so good as Maria von Trapp last year.” Last year, the Academy did a production of The Sound of Music. Pipp was the student director. “Oh my gosh, now I think about it, why don’t you audition, Hitch? Like, we really need an actual guy to play the guy roles. Gloomy Sonnet’s the student director for Forgotten Friendship this year, and she told me…” “Wait, you’re not the student director anymore?” She shakes her head. “Nuh-unh. I’m not doing the school musical at all this year.” “Why not?” Suddenly her popstar smile disappears. “I…I can’t talk about it. Legal stuff, you know.” I haven’t heard any clues from her previous livestreams, either. “All I can say is I’m only allowed to do recruiting for the school musical. Which is why I’m recruiting you to audition, Hitch.” She gently boops my shoulder with her finger. I can still feel the residual pressure from her finger. Her actual, live, breathing, finger. “Well, I…” “I mean, I get it. If you’re nervous, there’s a huge range of roles that you could try out for. Like, a background townsperson or something.” “Erm, I…I just can’t wrap my head around performing on a stage in front of everyone.” Posing for pictures, or I guess pre-recording something, that’s totally fine for me. But when you’re on the stage, there’s no room for error. No retakes. No way to cover up a mistake. Everyone’s watching. “Oh, c’mon Hitch. Don’t be nervous. If there’s one person who knows all about stage fright, it’s me. When I first started getting into showbiz I was, like, terrified of performing. And the best way to get past it is to just get out there, strut your stuff, groove with the loud thumping in your heart, and believe in yourself! You can do it! Come on!” “Well—” “Well, I won’t take no for an answer! See you at auditions Monday night~!” I was actually gonna say yes, for the record. But Pipp cut me off. The bell rings, and the free period ends. “Oh, gotta go! Toodles~!” Pipp grabs her backpack and escapes the library like the bell is a fire alarm, humming “Glowin’ Up” to herself. I look back at my laptop screen. The first slide on Homer and the Iliad looks pretty good, but she’s still got 6 more slides to do. And the presentation’s next Tuesday. That lazy, no-good b… …blowhard. Why am I still entranced by the way her skirt moves when she sashays down the hall? And why is that Glowin' Up song still stuck in my head? Author's Note Coming up... ...more of the gang is introduced! Look out for more Zipp, Sunny, and the elusive Izzy Moonbow! ...Zipp Storm accidentally insults Sunny in the cafeteria! ...the gang get ready for a tent camping trip to the Bridlewood Forest! ...Hitch fends himself from a "lunatic" in his dorm room! ...Hitch auditions for the Forgotten Friendship Musical...and almost pees his pants! All this and more in the next few chapters of Mareitime Academy Diaries! (Really, though, I hope you like this start to this story, and smash like if you want to see more. Byeee!!) The Cafeteria Bodyguard“Hey, look it’s Hitch, the litter-picker.” “Oh my gosh, he thinks he’s so suave with that slicked back hair. He’s like, so not-ripped, though.” “His body’s hot enough for me, but that’s not even the issue. He’s like such a goody-two-shoes. I bet he spends his free time balancing a book on his giant head.” “Oh my gosh, yes!” A casual stare from Zipp in the lunchline quickly stops the teasing and giggling. “You ready, sheriff? Let’s go.” She beckons me, and I follow close beside her in the cafeteria. I wish I could say that being the only guy at an all girls’ school was like some dream. All the teasing in the cafeteria doesn’t get any easier to handle. But it has helped me more easily discover who my friends here are. Zipp is one of them. Pretty much every day, I walk with her and sit with her at lunch. She’s like my bodyguard. There’s no one better suited than Zipp to be my bodyguard at lunch, and I don’t understand why. Sure, she’s got more muscle on her than most guys I know, but it’s not like she’s punching or kicking anyone in the lunchline. She doesn’t even have to say a word. Just her presence is somehow enough to mellow out the teasing crowd. There’s this…air about her, I guess. As she carries her lunch tray, she has a copy of Science wedged in her armpit. Her protein shaker bottle plastered with colorful stickers attached to her jeans with a carabiner clip. Her shirt tied up to expose her belly button ring and a few inches of her shredded abs, bravely flouting the school dress code. She plays punk music on a speaker when she’s working in the chemistry lab after class for her independent study. And yet as she escorts me to my usual table in the outdoor alcove, her voice is completely unlike what her body would suggest. It’s soft, honeyed…feminine. We reach our usual table. “Here we are, sheriff.” That’s Zipp’s nickname for me. She’s a regular at Sustainability Club, which I’m the president of. Last year, we made a charity calendar to help raise funds for oil spill cleanup. For each month, I took photos of me dressed up in various first-responder uniforms…strictly in support of the cause, of course. The sheriff photo was Zipp’s favorite—“June is my favorite month,” that’s what she said to me. I don’t know why Zipp even does this favor for me. Although half the girls at Maretime Academy probably assume we’re an item (and the other half assume Zipp is a lesbian), Zipp actually has a boyfriend. He goes to Wondercolt Academy, an all-boys school about an eight hours’ drive away. I met him once during the joint school dance. He’s a whole foot shorter than her, incredibly shy, and instead of a regular suit, he wore a long black hoodie with wolf ears attached to the hood. If that’s Zipp’s “type”, I wonder what she’s even doing hanging around me. I don’t even own a black hoodie. Sunny’s sitting at the table when we arrive. “Hi, Hitch. Hi, Zipp.” She looks up. “What did you get?” “Lentil mousakka with, erm…hummus and pita,” Zipp says. “The vegan option’s actually not super crappy this time.” I notice the coconut cake hiding in one of the corners of Zipp’s lunch tray. “You know that’s full of simple carbs and saturated fat, right?” “Why should you care, Mr. Double Fudge Oreo Cheesecake!?” She smirks at me. “Because I know you care.” Zipp won’t even drink processed juice drinks, let alone soda. “Oh quit it, you guys.” Sunny rolls her eyes as she takes a big bite out of her pasta shells, filled to the brim with ricotta cheese. The cafeteria food at Mareitime Academy’s actually really good. Nothing like the stuff on styrofoam trays they used to have at P.S. 85 Bayside Elementary School. At Maretime Academy, we have real silverware and plates. It’s all buffet style, with at least five or six protein options, seven or eight side dishes, and plenty of desserts. My favorite is when they have the pasta bar with breadsticks and Oreo cheesecake for dessert. I guess the food isn’t up to Cordon Bleu, though, ‘cause Pipp has her own lunch catered and hand-delivered to her by one of the Haven family’s personal staff. Zipp used to get a lunch box too, but since she became vegan she’s refused it and chooses to eat at the cafeteria instead. For some reason, the Haven family’s personal chefs won’t make Zipp a vegan lunchbox. At least according to Zipp. “It’s all Mom’s stupid doing. Trying to brush off me being vegan as just a phase. I say one thing, Mom says another thing…they don’t know who to listen to…it gets pretty ridiculous sometimes.” They. Their army of culinary-school-trained personal chefs, that is. I catch of glimpse of what’s inside Pipp’s lunch box, as I walk back to get another fork after I dropped mine on the floor. I swear, whenever Pipp does eat in the cafeteria (half of the time I don’t see her in the cafeteria at all, for some reason), the table she sits at becomes like some celebrity meet and greet where you stand in life to take selfies with the real-life celebrity, in order of your popularity ranking at school. Based on what I could overhear, Pipp’s lunchbox had veal piccata, foie gras, angel hair pasta, and a side of buttered white asparagus. All packaged in an innocent-looking lacquerware box. Zipp would never eat that. I would never eat that. The thought of a cute baby creature being killed and served on my dinner plate disgusts me, even if I’m not really vegetarian. I saw a bunch of said cute baby creatures at the local animal sanctuary, where I used to volunteer with my mom. As we eat our lunch at our table of three, Zipp pulls out a stack of paper from her bag. “Hey Hitch, here are those flyers you wanted printed out…” she turns to Sunny. “Hey, Sunny, why don’t you join us? The Sustainability Club is organizing a camping trip in the Bridlewood Forest. Anyone can join us.” “Is Hitch going too?” “Well duh, of course he is. He’s the club president.” Sunny’s face lights up. “Then count me in. Are we gonna be in tents, like real camping?” “Yeah! Right now we have five people, including you and Ms. Gaia.” That’s our faculty sponsor. “So I think we’ll buy a four-person tent for us girls, and a one-person tent for Hitch. If more girls join we’ll get another tent.” “I’ve never actually seen a one-person tent before,” Sunny says. “The smallest I’ve ever seen are two-person tents.” I’m pretty excited about this trip, actually. This year, we were able to get special permission to go out to an old mine in the Bridlewood Forest that’s being converted into a nature park. We’re going there to help maintain the trails and pick up litter. Sure, the girls love to tease me for it, but I love picking up litter. Or telling other people to pick up litter. Hear me out. Litter is annoying, for one. And actually, there’s something really soothing out of picking up litter. It’s like taking away all the unwanted things in your life, the things that are dirtying your space, and putting them out of sight. So that there’s room for further growth. It’s not really picking up litter. It’s clearing the way for better things in the future. Zipp opens up a page in the scientific journal she’s reading. “Sunny. Hitch. Listen to this. There was this study I was reading this morning. Did you know that producing one ton of rare earth metals produces over 50000 gallons of acidic wastewater, and over 1.4 tons of radioactive waste? And companies like my mom’s are just perpetuating this endless stream of waste and pollution. And just because we want more fancy phones or electronics.” Rare earth metals like yttrium, neodymium, and cerium are needed to build electronic components that go into phones, computers, smart devices, you name it. However, it’s very expensive and polluting to extract them from the earth. Ideally, the future will be to recycle them, so mining them is no longer necessary. “Why don’t you share these studies with your mom and your sister?” Sunny asks Zipp. Zipp rolls her eyes. “My sister…she doesn’t have the scientific knowledge nor the interest. And Mom…I have no respect for that lady and that 20-years-younger boy toy of hers. The business she inherited is just money to her. A source of income to keep her fancy lifestyle. She doesn’t stop to think about all the lives she puts at risk to make all that money.” For a while, I had no idea that Zipp’s mother was Haven. She doesn’t look like the person that’s going to one day inherit a multi-billion-dollar rare-earth mining fortune. I remember when she first showed up at Sustainability Club. She just told us her first name, her grade, and immediately joined in to make posters for our campus solar power petition. And Ms. Gaia didn’t make a big deal that Zipp was there. She just let her work in the shadows. Just be a part of the crowd. And Zipp smiled that whole afternoon, like she was enjoying it. It's like she's trying to cling on to her last years of freedom, before she ends up being tied down by the weight of a billion-dollar inheritance. “I’m going to leave home as soon I’m financially independent,” Zipp says to us at lunch. “Leave Zephyr Heights and get a regular job at a lab somewhere. I’m really gonna do it, you know. I don’t need mom’s money.” “You don’t want your inheritance?” Sunny asks. “Pipp can swim in it naked, for all I care. I’m not going to profit off of environmental genocide. I hate my parents and what they stand for. Sometimes I just wish they didn’t exist.” There’s an awkward silence. I turn to Sunny. She’s stopped eating her pasta shells. She dusts her eyes with the tail of her braid. Pasta shells are her favorite food. Her dad used to make them really well. Thankfully, I don’t have to tell Zipp to apologize. “I…I’m sorry, Sunny. I forgot about your mom and dad. I…I didn’t mean it that way. What I really meant was…” “I get what you mean, Zipp.” Zipp’s voice suddenly mellows down. “I know I’m a bit snarky sometimes, and well, I…I sometimes say insensitive stuff like that by accident. It’s stupid. I…I’m sorry.” Sunny nods, barely. There’s an awkward silence. Sunny mumbles something and leaves the table. She comes back with another fork. Now she has two forks on her tray. A large dinner fork, and a slightly smaller salad fork. And she just stares at the two forks, lying supine on the tray. Mom. Dad. “The camping trip will be fun, Sunny,” I say, trying to cheer her up. I show her the flyer. “See, it’s on the weekend of the 5th. You’ll be free that weekend, right?” “Yeah,” Sunny says. She tilts her head up, parting her gaze from the forks. Zipp chimes in. “Hmm, I doubt there are any one-person tents left in stock online,” she lies, but she’s surprisingly convincing. Guess her playing the Captain von Trapp in theater paid off. “I guess I’ll have to buy a two-person tent for Hitch.” Zipp raises a brow at me, and smirks. “I already have a two-person tent stored in my dorm room,” Sunny says. “Dad and I used it when we used to go on camping trips together. Hitch can use that.” Zipp scoffs. “I think Hitch would prefer to have my brand-new tent.” Sunny scoffs back. “I think Hitch would prefer my lived-in tent.” There’s a brief two seconds of silence where I swear that Sunny and Zipp are locked in a death stare. And I’m caught in the middle. “It’s not a big deal, girls,” I say. “Let’s just focus on getting more people to join us.” “Who said it was a big deal?” Zipp smirks. “Yeah, it isn’t,” Sunny agrees, with a smile. Or maybe it’s all just my male fantasies playing tricks on my brain. Zipp wouldn’t cheat on her boyfriend, right? Anyway, Ms. Gaia will be there, so why am I even thinking that something naughty will happen in my two-person tent? The Elusive PsychicHappy Friday Pippsqueaks~! LAST CHANCE! TICKETS ARE STILL AVAILABLE!!! See me live at the #ZHMusicFestival this Saturday! Click this affiliate link for a 50% discount, sponsored by Parfum La Pipp! By the time I click on the affiliate link after school, the last-minute concert tickets for Pipp’s show are sold out. The 15 extra tickets, each $400 ($200 with the discount), sold out in just two minutes. Anyway, there’s no way I could’ve gotten permission from Mrs. Cloverleaf to leave the school grounds for the weekend for such a trivial purpose. I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t see Pipp for much of the day. The last time I see her is out in the school yard, from 100 yards away, when she’s being escorted across the lawn by a middle-aged lady in a pantsuit, holding an umbrella over Pipp’s head to keep the rain out of her immaculate hair. I see her taken into a limo and driven away. I presume it’s her agent taking her to the concert this weekend. Pipp isn’t smiling at all. It’s storming tonight. Legit storming. Like in those horror films: trees swaying, lighting flashing, fat raindrops hitting the windows. Add the Gothic-style hallways of the historic student dorms, and you’ve got a whole movie series going. I was picking up bottle caps for Sustainability Club’s bottle cap drive. We have bins all over campus to promote proper bottle cap recycling—the plastic in bottle caps are not always properly recycled, and they end up becoming landfill waste. So, I come back from collecting the caps, I’m totally exhausted, my clothes soaking wet from the rain, so I hop into the shower. I towel off, change into my pajamas, close the curtains, and sit down at my desk. I’ve almost forgotten about Pipp. Except I still can’t get her new song out of my head. No. Focus. Okay. Chemistry. Review Packet. Name: Glowin’ up, kinda— Wait. That’s not my name. The thunder outside goes CRACKLE BOOM! Name: Glowin’ up, kinda— Hitch Trailblazer Section: C Whoever came up with the bright idea of having a test on a Monday ought to have their light bulb unplugged. Really. Review Question 1: Balance the following redox equat— CRACKLE BOOM! Wait. Now there’s something stuck in my teeth. It’s those baked sardines from the cafeteria. (It tastes way better than it sounds. And smells, for that matter.) I pull open my pocket mirror to take a look. Cilantro. I bend a paperclip to a point and pick it out. I close my mouth. CRACKLE BOOM! Now, imagine my surprise when I tilt the mirror up a little, and I see a total stranger staring at me, with a wide toothy smile, standing right behind my chair. I swivel my chair around. “HI, NEW FRIEND! MY NAME’S IZZY!” the stranger yells. The wispy hair on my face twitches from her breath. At that instant, CRACKLE BOOM! I scream. “AAAAH!” She’s so close, I can smell her breath! It just smells like breath mint, but still! “Oh, I mean, HI OLD FRIEND! Well, I guess Sunny’s birthday comes before yours, so…HI MEDIUM FRIEND!” “AAAH!” I wrap my arms around myself, even though I’m fully clothed. “What’s wrong?” “AAAAAH!” I bunch my legs up on the seat of the chair. “Are you not a medium friend? Maybe you’re medium-new.” “AAAAAH!” “…is this a shouting closet or something? ‘Cause I CAN DO SHOUTING TOO!!!” I finally regain one ounce of my composure. “Who…who ARE you!? WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY ROOM!?” “Oh, didn’t you hear me the first time!? Maybe you need to get a hearing aid or something. Well, erm…I’M IZZY MOONBOW!!!” I cover her mouth. “I heard you the first time. Please don’t shout again.” “Oh, okey dokey. I’m Izzy, Sunny’s roommate. And you’re Hitch, right?! Nice to meetcha!” The curls in her hair bounce as she tilts her head to other side. Wow, nice to meet you. Thanks for giving me a heart attack. Well, not that I’m actually scared or anything. “Wh…what’re you doing in my room?” At least she remembered the rule about leaving the door open. “Well, I thought you were in Sunny’s room but then I was like, hey I’m in Sunny’s room too! And she’s not there and you weren’t there, so I guess you weren’t in Sunny’s room and Sunny wasn’t in Sunny’s room, so you just had to be in your room!” “I…erm…” As she slowly steps towards me, I instinctually turn my chair with my back facing the desk. As if she’s inching closer to steal state secrets from me. She stops midstep. “What’s wrong? You confused on your chemistry homework?” “Wait, how do you know I need help on chemistry?” “Cause of your sparkle, duuuuh! Ask a silly question! It looks so dull and tired. You’ve been studying too long. Work smart, don’t work hard!” Sparkle? I stare at the hair on my arms. Did Izzy get glitter on me or something? I’ve only met her two minutes ago, but I feel like she would do something like that. “Oh yeah, I also heard about your little camping trip from Sunny, and I really wanna go! I grew up in the Bridlewood Forest, you know! My grandpa Alphabittle still lives there, and his house is so cool! Maybe I can take you all there! We can do…ooh, we can do arts and crafts, have a tea party…” Just what we need, a non-stop chatterbox on the 5-hour bus ride. I just hope she hasn’t signed up… “I already signed up! It’s $200, right? Here ya go!” She’s supposed to hand it to Ms. Gaia, the faculty sponsor for the Club. But I take the money anyway. That way I can make sure Ms. Gaia doesn’t get it. Kidding. I’d never do something dishonest like that, especially as club president. “Erm, maybe I should…” “Ooh, ooh, are you auditioning for Wallflower Blush for the Forgotten Friendship Musical? I finally got promoted to head of costumes & makeup for the school play, and I’ve been designing Wallflower’s costume for the finale scene, and I think it matches your luminescence so well!” I look at the dress that Izzy pulls out of her bag. It’s the most frilly, girly dress I’ve ever seen. Two sequins away from being a bridal gown. Like I’m not emasculated enough by going to this school. “Izzy, I know I told Pipp that I was thinking of auditioning this year, but I doubt I’m gonna audition for a girl part.” She smirks. “Oh, you never know, Hitch…” she lowers her voice, and leans in. That breath mint again. Cinnamon flavored. I think I’m allergic to cinnamon, though, cause I’m about to have another heart attack. “I once did a makeover for my brother y’know,” she says, speaking out of one half of her mouth. “Eyeliner, mascara, blush, lipstick, the whole nine yards, and he LOVED it. And I think deep inside, you know you’ll love it too. She taps my chest with her slim finger. Your ‘sparkle’ right now tells me so.” And just when I think my heart’s about to explode, a nurse clad in white comes to rescue me. No, really. The school nurse appears at my dorm room door, and she knocks on the door frame. “Hi Isabella! Mrs. Cloverleaf said you were in here. Time to take your medication, honey.” Izzy walks over to the tray the nurse is holding. “Oh, yay!” She picks up the plastic dish with two white pills in it, and swallows it with a glass of water. “Mmm! Delicious!” The nurse smiles, but otherwise seems apathetic to Izzy’s chronic cheerfulness. “Have a good night, Isabella. Hitch.” She turns and nods to me politely. “Good night, Nurse Redheart!” Izzy gives a big wave. A minute later, she pokes her head out of the window like a cartoon character, to check if she’s gone. Izzy stretches to yawn. “Nurse Redheart’s a real nice lady, but between you and me buddy, that nurse’s uniform of hers is creating an unhealthy power dynamic. Green luminescence people are always vulnerable to that.” “Luminescence?” I ask. “Yeah, everyone’s got a special luminescence about them. Like, you, Hitch, have a blue luminescence, with a really pretty vanilla white around the edges. Sunny’s got an lavender luminescence, with the colors shimmering like a non-burning flame. And Pipp has an aquamarine luminescence with a dim rainbow fringe, obviously because—” “Wait, what ‘luminescence’?” “Your luminescence. You know, like…the special color you see round every person…” She pauses. “You mean…you…you don’t see it?” “No, I—” She pouts a little. “I’m sorry, Hitch.” She leans close to me and gives a hug. The sharp edges of her plastic DIY friendship bracelets dig into my skin. She’s genuinely sad for me. Yes, I’m so unlucky. I’m so unlucky I don’t have hallucinations of random colors and I’m not so mentally deranged that I’m unaware of my own illness. I close my eyes. Waiting for her to rip my guts out in a psychotic fit. She pulls back from the hug suddenly. “Erm…no offense, Hitch, but your breath kinda smells like rotten sardines.” She pulls out a small plastic bag from her backpack. The exact same size of plastic bag that you see in those drug deal scenes in TV cop shows. “Wanna breath mint?” She pops one in her mouth as well. So there I am. Popping breath mints from a drug baggie with a lunatic named Izzy. Not what I was expecting for a Friday night of chemistry cramming. “Alright! Nice meeting ya, Hitch! G’night, new friend!” “Wait, what about my chemistry?” I call her. I might as well get my money’s worth. “Oh, yeah, when you were balancing your electrons in problem 7, you forgot to multiply by 2 on the right side of your oxidation half reaction.” I glance back at my desk, and I realize that I had left my chemistry homework open on problem 7. The problem Sunny and I couldn’t figure out. “Wait…how did you even know that was the problem I was struggling on?” “Oh, you silly! Why do you think I leaned so close to you while you were at your desk?” She gives me a wink, and she skips back to her room. She… She… She…she was reading my paper and checking over my work this whole time!? She read my mind. Without even being so-called “psychic.” I don’t if that makes it less scary or even more scary.
The Childhood Friend“Sunny, you know you’re not supposed to come into my dorm room after 9:30.” Sunny grips my door frame. “Come on, Hitch, it’s not like Mrs. Cloverleaf is watching. She doesn’t do her bed checks till a quarter to 11. Anyway, can you read over my latest manuscript for the children’s pony story thingy?” “Only if you’ll help me on my chemistry homework after,” I say. “Deal.” She steps inside, leaving the door wide open. It’s the policy the school set specifically for me, so that I don’t feel entirely isolated in the dorms. Since I’m the only male student in the whole school, I’m allowed to have female guests in my room, but only up to 60 minutes before lights out at 10:30, and the door must be wide open and lights all on while they’re in my room. It’s 9:34pm now, or 56 minutes prior to lights out. Sunny’s clearly in violation of that bylaw. Sunny’s my longtime childhood friend, though. I’ve known her since before kindergarten. Do I tell on her? Rules are rules, sure, but if I were a real man, I shouldn’t be complaining that an attractive girl my age is wanting to come into my room. Yep, this is me, Hitch Trailblazer. Due to some administrative mishaps, I am the only male student at Mareitime Academy, a grade 7-12 all-girls’ boarding school. Let me explain. Technically, when I joined in freshman year, it was Mareitime Academy’s first year as a co-ed boarding school, after being an all-girls school for fifty years. Except I was the only guy who signed up. I liked the place when they gave me a tour during summer break. The place was super clean (especially the brand new boys’ bathrooms they put in the hallways). The teachers were nice, too. When the admin realized I was the only one who signed up, they offered to transfer me to an equally rigorous co-ed boarding school in another town. I said no. Surprisingly, Mom was down with it. Something about gender equality and rebellion against archaic single-gender education. I don’t know. I don’t understand Mom sometimes. She’s the kind of person that’ll yell at the person in front of her in the checkout line just because they choose “plastic bag” instead of “paper bag.” After Mareitime Academy tried the co-ed thing for one year and they realized it was a total flop—since, well, no boys except for me signed up—they went back to being an all-girls school my sophomore year. But they gave me special permission to stay. So now I’m the only guy in an all-girls school. Sunny I know well. She’s my next door neighbor from back home in Mareitime Bay. When we were little, we shared toys, walked to school together, and sat next to each other in class. Sunny’s mom died when she was 5, and her dad died when she was 12. After her dad died and she moved to live with her aunt in a faraway town, I’d thought I’d never be able to see her again. Funny how things turn out. (My decision to join Mareitime Academy had nothing to do with the fact that Sunny had been attending that school for the past two years. None at all.) Tired of banging my head on my chemistry homework, I get up from my desk and sit down on my bed. My room’s got plenty of space. It’s basically a regular room that’s normally used as a double. I’ve also got a private ensuite bathroom. Sunny joins me on the bed. The bed’s in a corner of the room so that even with the door fully open the view is obscured. “Sunny, we shouldn’t—” “Oh relax, Hitch.” She rolls her eyes. I think she’s more annoyed than anything. “What about all those sleepovers we had back in elementary school?” Sunny was the only girl in the neighborhood, and I was the only boy that didn’t tease her. So, Sunny’s dad seemed to always bring her to my place for playdates and sleepovers. “Well, that was a long time ago, Sunny,” I say. “We’re older now.” She smirks. “Oh, so are you saying I shouldn’t trust you and your self-control—” “No, no,” I cut her off. “Of course not. I…” I scoot a few centimeters away from her, to reduce the evidence against me. And I try to rehearse what to tell Mrs. Cloverleaf if she finds us. Sunny hears me whispering. “Why’re you so afraid of Mrs. Cloverleaf’s bed checks, anyway?” “Because if she sees you in my room after 9:30, I’d be violating the school policy on co-ed visits. Mrs. Cloverleaf and the school administration are putting so much trust in me by letting me enroll here in the first place, and I’d be breaching that trust. She’d think I was trying to take advantage of you, and I—” “…and I’d vouch for you.” She places her hand on my shoulder. “Calm down, Hitch. We’re friends, okay? There’s nothing wrong with two friends sitting next to each other, fully clothed. “Oh. Yeah. The reason I came here.” Sunny rummages into her bag and pulls out a handwritten manuscript. “Here’s my latest draft of the children’s story. ‘My Little Pony: Princess Twilight and Her Adventures in Equestria.’ Volume 1.” I skim through the 80-page notebook Sunny handed me. More fictional stories about magical talking ponies. Apparently, they’re based off the bedtime stories her dad used to tell her. Sunny’s dad loved horses. It seems like yesterday when Sunny and I had a sleepover, and she’d repeat and re-repeat those stories about ponies to me. I guess she never grew out of them. This time she’s got digital renderings of the characters she created, printed on photo paper and sandwiched between the pages of the notebook. There’s six ponies in the foreground: an orange pony with a cowboy hat; a pink pony with poofy hair; two winged ones, one blue, one yellow; one white unicorn with a purple mane; and one purple winged unicorn standing in the center, wings outstretched. “I snuck into the digital art studio downstairs so I could use Adobe Illustrator. Don’t tell anyone, okay?” She smirks and hides the bottom half of her face with the collar of her blue sweater. I should tell. I should. Sunny’s not allowed to access that space unless she’s taking a class. She can get a demerit for what she did. There’s an extra sheet of paper clipped at the end. “What’s this?” “Oh, it’s a theme song I’ve been working on, when my books get adapted to a TV show.” “If—” “When,” she reemphasizes. She sings the childish tune for me, out loud. I follow along with the sheet music. My Little Pony, My Little Pony, What is friendship all about… A whole song. She writes a whole song. Not part of any class, no extra credit, no points. Just all her. How does she do it? …Friends, you’re my very best friends? She finishes singing, and she turns to me, a smiling exhale coming out of her mouth. “Nice,” I say, politely applauding. “You like it? You really do?” I’ve never seen her giggle so much in a long time. “I…I do.” I show her a polite smile. She sings just like she did during our sleepovers. Slightly off-key, simplistic melody. Like a child. Though I wonder if she’s making her voice that way on purpose, since it’s a kids’ song and all. Our backs are to the door. I hear footsteps. Tap. Tap. And a rustling. The rustling of a large square of fabric. Mrs. Cloverleaf wears a floral shawl. It’s her! I knew it! She’s coming to my room to do an early bed check! “Sunny, hide!” I whisper to her. Sunny does what I daren’t do and pokes her head out the door. “Hitch, stop panicking, it’s just Pipp.” Sunny and I walk over to Pipp, who, at 10 in the evening, still has her full makeup on and her fuzzy white fur vest. Real fur, apparently. “Hey, Pipp!” Pipp smiles widely. “Hi Sunny! I’m just going down the hall passing flyers for this year’s musical. We’re doing Forgotten Friendship…oh my gosh, you should SO audition!” She holds Sunny’s right hand. “You were, like, so good in last year’s musical! I just know you are gonna be fabulous, oh my gosh.” She briefly glances at me, like an afterthought. “Hitch, you want a flyer too?” “Erm, sure,” the afterthought says, taking two copies. “Have a good night, Sunny~!” And with that, she skips back down the hall, singing her “me-me-me” vocal warmups. She ascends the C-minor scale with perfect AutoTune precision. “You gonna audition?” I ask Sunny. She isn’t even looking at the flyer in her hand. Sunny skims the flyer, then half-crumples it. “Nah, I won’t. I’m gonna be too busy working on my book.” “But Pipp is right, you were really good as Maria von Trapp last year.” “It wasn’t exactly pleasant, though. Zipp played my husband.” Just one of the realities of theater in an all-girls school. Zipp always gets the guy parts ‘cause she looks the most butch out of all the girls who audition. She doesn’t particularly enjoy it either—I’m sure the only reason Zipp does theater is to spite her sister. “Hey, maybe you should try auditioning, Hitch.” She shoves the flyer back to me. “You want me to audition as your husband?” I ask. “Ah! Erm…I mean, all I’m saying is…if I were auditioning, which I’m not, I’d rather you play my husband than, erm…say, Zipp. You know. ‘Cause you’re actually a guy and all.” She’s silent. For a while. And she’s staring at me awkwardly. No smile, no sadness, just…stare. Maybe she’s assessing what I’d be like as her husband. I suppose the neighbors back home expect that we’d get married someday. We live close by, been good friends since kindergarten. She’s literally “the girl next door.” Suddenly a look of displeasure falls over Sunny’s face. Okay, maybe I assumed wrong. Then she snaps out of it. “Anyway, that theater experience was good for my growth at the time. But I gotta move on. It’s time for me create my own story. And have other people fighting to act in my own story. I wanna break out of the loop.” “Loop?” She raises her eyebrows. “You ever feel like that? Like you’re trapped in this magical neverending loop, and you just can’t break free.” Am I stuck in a loop? Pretty much every day, I see Sunny. As early as I can remember. She looks the same to me, simply ‘cause I’ve grown along with her. “Our whole lives are like a loop. Just the things in the loop change as we get older. Now, it’s schoolwork, afterschool clubs, lunch, lights out. Later it’ll be schoolwork, sorority parties, bar hopping, pass out. Then it’ll be work, little league tournament, family dinners, lights out. Then it’ll be retirement, shuffleboard, brunch, lights out. Then lights out, lights out, lights out, lights out. You get what I’m saying, Hitch?” A bit too philosophical for me, but I suppose she’s right. We are in a loop. But I like this loop. I like Sunny. She’s a nice gal. And I know her so well, I could be bored with her. I could sit all day with her with nothing to do, and I’d feel okay. I think I want to get trapped in a loop. That way, I know exactly what’s gonna happen next. “Oop. 10:29. Guess I better be goin’ to my room before I get in trouble,” she says in a singsong voice, with a smirk on her face. “Oh, Sunny…” I stop her at the door. “Yeah?” I almost wanna tell her that she never helped me on my chemistry homework. But it’s past lights out anyway. Instead I say, “It was a good song. The ponies, and the song about friendship and all that. It’s cute. I think kids’ll like it.” “Thanks, Hitch,” she says through her whispery giggling. Author's Note This story started as a joke about Hitch being the only male in the Mane 5, but now I hope to use this story as a way for me to explore my various headcanons for the G5 characters.
The Instagram-Famous Pop StarOh, Pipp Petals. In another world, perhaps I’d be dating a rich, beautiful, Instagram-famous, teen pop star like you. An opposite parallel universe, that is. A total opposite universe. I shouldn’t be talking to her. That’s not how it’s supposed to work. She and I are in totally different cliques. She’s famous. Real-world famous. I'm definitely not. But by some magic, I am talking to her. I’m in the library, sitting in the chair directly adjacent to hers. I love watching her livestreams or listening to her songs when I have the time to. I’m mostly a country music guy, but when I listen to her songs, I can’t help but shake my booty. (Sorry for imprinting that image in your head now.) And here I am. In the same school as her. Talking to her. Working on a school project with her. “Pipp, did you finish your slides for the presentation?” I ask. Silence. “Pipp?” “Pipp?” “Oh my gosh, hold up, I need to do promotion cause my new single releases in two days,” she mumbles and texts a few emojis. Then she looks up. “Sorry, what were you saying?” “The history presentation. That’s why we’re meeting up, right?” “Oh…right.” Pipp pulls out her laptop and opens up the shared presentation. She hasn’t even started, and it’s due next Tuesday. She hastily types a few bullets on slide 7. She’s got 6 more slides to fill. I watch as Arial font words appear on the screen. “Renaissance Italy? Pipp, this presentation is about Ancient Greece.” “I don’t know, Hitch!” she places her palm on her forehead. “I read chapter 9 instead of chapter 4 ‘cause I didn’t read the assignment properly. So sue me, okay?” “You signed the sheet in class saying that you did the correct reading. That’s dishonest, you know.” “Well, I’m used to it. I’m used to being dishonest, I’m like dishonest with literally like my whole dishonest life,” she mumbles as she hastily reads a page about Ancient Greece she found off Google. She’s a horrible partner for a school assignment. She’s out of school half the time, doing tours or recordings or whatever. And then many nights, she’s locked in her dorm room doing livestreams. Or she’s taking selfies or posting on social media. In the past hour we’ve been meeting in person, she’s spoken to me more through my social media notifications than actual dialog. New single Glowin’ Up, out on iTunes tomorrow! What’s up my Pipp-squeaks? Hope you’re having a fabulous day~! UwU See me live at the #ZHMusicFestival this Saturday, last-minute tickets still available!!! Click this affiliate link for a discount, sponsored by Parfum La Pipp! I suppose for her it’s work, but I still don’t understand it. How is making a duck face at a camera more important “work” than writing up slides for a history presentation? If it was anyone other than Pipp, they’d be kicked out of school. It’s just not fair. Just because Pipp’s mother is Haven, she gets special treatment from the school administration. Yeah, I’m talking about that Haven. Haven, the heiress of a global mining empire worth billions of dollars. Haven, the biggest donor to the school’s endowment, and a long-serving member of the Board of Trustees. In the dorms, Pipp and her sister Zipp have private single rooms even larger than the standard double, while all the other girls in Mareitime Academy have roommates. Pipp misses school to go on “family trips” to the beach without giving 24 hours prior notice, like it stipulates in the student handbook (am I the only one who actually reads it?) And meanwhile, Sunny had to wait two months for the principal to finally grant her permission to go back to Mareitime Bay every other weekend to put flowers on her father’s grave. You know how they say, never meet your heroes? I have no respect for Pipp as a person. I just like her music. I like her as a star. I bookmark the affiliate link to open up later. Pipp looks up from her laptop after just 90 seconds of typing for the history project. “Oh my gosh, Hitch, do you wanna listen to my new single?” “Well, I think that we should work on—” She shoves the phone to my ear anyway. Glowin' up kind of love, Dip and slide through the cut, Glowin' up kind of love, We say “Hi”, you say “What?” I’m on one of those swivel chairs. And I’m swinging side to side. Shaking my booty. Heh. I mean, it’s a nice song. I guess. (Gosh, I’m such a hypocrite.) Still, ever since I heard Sunny singing that song she wrote the other night…I’ve realized that there’s some missing about Pipp’s singing, that Sunny’s has. Even if Pipp has more raw vocal power and pitch accuracy. I don’t know why. I just know that I’d rather hear Sunny’s slightly-out-of-tune singing about friendship and unicorns. Which just sounds stupid, coming from a guy like me. Speaking of which, Pipp asks me, “Oh, did Sunny say whether she was gonna audition for Forgotten Friendship or not?” I’m surprised she even mentions it. I’d think given her personality, and after all her success in showbiz, she’d scoff at a little school musical like the one at Mareitime Academy. “She…Sunny said she’s too busy this year to do the musical,” I simply say. “Oh, how come?” she presses. “I…I’m not sure.” I lie. It seems ridiculous even when I just say it. A children’s book about colorful ponies. Like Pipp would even care. If I told her, she’d probably laugh at her in her 4 million follower Instagram famous laugh. And I wouldn’t let Sunny’s feelings be indirectly hurt like that. That’s the reason why I’m lying to Pipp. “She just said she’s not doing it this year,” I reiterate. “Well, that’s a shame. Cause, oh my gosh, Sunny was like so good as Maria von Trapp last year.” Last year, the Academy did a production of The Sound of Music. Pipp was the student director. “Oh my gosh, now I think about it, why don’t you audition, Hitch? Like, we really need an actual guy to play the guy roles. Gloomy Sonnet’s the student director for Forgotten Friendship this year, and she told me…” “Wait, you’re not the student director anymore?” She shakes her head. “Nuh-unh. I’m not doing the school musical at all this year.” “Why not?” Suddenly her popstar smile disappears. “I…I can’t talk about it. Legal stuff, you know.” I haven’t heard any clues from her previous livestreams, either. “All I can say is I’m only allowed to do recruiting for the school musical. Which is why I’m recruiting you to audition, Hitch.” She gently boops my shoulder with her finger. I can still feel the residual pressure from her finger. Her actual, live, breathing, finger. “Well, I…” “I mean, I get it. If you’re nervous, there’s a huge range of roles that you could try out for. Like, a background townsperson or something.” “Erm, I…I just can’t wrap my head around performing on a stage in front of everyone.” Posing for pictures, or I guess pre-recording something, that’s totally fine for me. But when you’re on the stage, there’s no room for error. No retakes. No way to cover up a mistake. Everyone’s watching. “Oh, c’mon Hitch. Don’t be nervous. If there’s one person who knows all about stage fright, it’s me. When I first started getting into showbiz I was, like, terrified of performing. And the best way to get past it is to just get out there, strut your stuff, groove with the loud thumping in your heart, and believe in yourself! You can do it! Come on!” “Well—” “Well, I won’t take no for an answer! See you at auditions Monday night~!” I was actually gonna say yes, for the record. But Pipp cut me off. The bell rings, and the free period ends. “Oh, gotta go! Toodles~!” Pipp grabs her backpack and escapes the library like the bell is a fire alarm, humming “Glowin’ Up” to herself. I look back at my laptop screen. The first slide on Homer and the Iliad looks pretty good, but she’s still got 6 more slides to do. And the presentation’s next Tuesday. That lazy, no-good b… …blowhard. Why am I still entranced by the way her skirt moves when she sashays down the hall? And why is that Glowin' Up song still stuck in my head? Author's Note Coming up... ...more of the gang is introduced! Look out for more Zipp, Sunny, and the elusive Izzy Moonbow! ...Zipp Storm accidentally insults Sunny in the cafeteria! ...the gang get ready for a tent camping trip to the Bridlewood Forest! ...Hitch fends himself from a "lunatic" in his dorm room! ...Hitch auditions for the Forgotten Friendship Musical...and almost pees his pants! All this and more in the next few chapters of Mareitime Academy Diaries! (Really, though, I hope you like this start to this story, and smash like if you want to see more. Byeee!!)
The Cafeteria Bodyguard“Hey, look it’s Hitch, the litter-picker.” “Oh my gosh, he thinks he’s so suave with that slicked back hair. He’s like, so not-ripped, though.” “His body’s hot enough for me, but that’s not even the issue. He’s like such a goody-two-shoes. I bet he spends his free time balancing a book on his giant head.” “Oh my gosh, yes!” A casual stare from Zipp in the lunchline quickly stops the teasing and giggling. “You ready, sheriff? Let’s go.” She beckons me, and I follow close beside her in the cafeteria. I wish I could say that being the only guy at an all girls’ school was like some dream. All the teasing in the cafeteria doesn’t get any easier to handle. But it has helped me more easily discover who my friends here are. Zipp is one of them. Pretty much every day, I walk with her and sit with her at lunch. She’s like my bodyguard. There’s no one better suited than Zipp to be my bodyguard at lunch, and I don’t understand why. Sure, she’s got more muscle on her than most guys I know, but it’s not like she’s punching or kicking anyone in the lunchline. She doesn’t even have to say a word. Just her presence is somehow enough to mellow out the teasing crowd. There’s this…air about her, I guess. As she carries her lunch tray, she has a copy of Science wedged in her armpit. Her protein shaker bottle plastered with colorful stickers attached to her jeans with a carabiner clip. Her shirt tied up to expose her belly button ring and a few inches of her shredded abs, bravely flouting the school dress code. She plays punk music on a speaker when she’s working in the chemistry lab after class for her independent study. And yet as she escorts me to my usual table in the outdoor alcove, her voice is completely unlike what her body would suggest. It’s soft, honeyed…feminine. We reach our usual table. “Here we are, sheriff.” That’s Zipp’s nickname for me. She’s a regular at Sustainability Club, which I’m the president of. Last year, we made a charity calendar to help raise funds for oil spill cleanup. For each month, I took photos of me dressed up in various first-responder uniforms…strictly in support of the cause, of course. The sheriff photo was Zipp’s favorite—“June is my favorite month,” that’s what she said to me. I don’t know why Zipp even does this favor for me. Although half the girls at Maretime Academy probably assume we’re an item (and the other half assume Zipp is a lesbian), Zipp actually has a boyfriend. He goes to Wondercolt Academy, an all-boys school about an eight hours’ drive away. I met him once during the joint school dance. He’s a whole foot shorter than her, incredibly shy, and instead of a regular suit, he wore a long black hoodie with wolf ears attached to the hood. If that’s Zipp’s “type”, I wonder what she’s even doing hanging around me. I don’t even own a black hoodie. Sunny’s sitting at the table when we arrive. “Hi, Hitch. Hi, Zipp.” She looks up. “What did you get?” “Lentil mousakka with, erm…hummus and pita,” Zipp says. “The vegan option’s actually not super crappy this time.” I notice the coconut cake hiding in one of the corners of Zipp’s lunch tray. “You know that’s full of simple carbs and saturated fat, right?” “Why should you care, Mr. Double Fudge Oreo Cheesecake!?” She smirks at me. “Because I know you care.” Zipp won’t even drink processed juice drinks, let alone soda. “Oh quit it, you guys.” Sunny rolls her eyes as she takes a big bite out of her pasta shells, filled to the brim with ricotta cheese. The cafeteria food at Mareitime Academy’s actually really good. Nothing like the stuff on styrofoam trays they used to have at P.S. 85 Bayside Elementary School. At Maretime Academy, we have real silverware and plates. It’s all buffet style, with at least five or six protein options, seven or eight side dishes, and plenty of desserts. My favorite is when they have the pasta bar with breadsticks and Oreo cheesecake for dessert. I guess the food isn’t up to Cordon Bleu, though, ‘cause Pipp has her own lunch catered and hand-delivered to her by one of the Haven family’s personal staff. Zipp used to get a lunch box too, but since she became vegan she’s refused it and chooses to eat at the cafeteria instead. For some reason, the Haven family’s personal chefs won’t make Zipp a vegan lunchbox. At least according to Zipp. “It’s all Mom’s stupid doing. Trying to brush off me being vegan as just a phase. I say one thing, Mom says another thing…they don’t know who to listen to…it gets pretty ridiculous sometimes.” They. Their army of culinary-school-trained personal chefs, that is. I catch of glimpse of what’s inside Pipp’s lunch box, as I walk back to get another fork after I dropped mine on the floor. I swear, whenever Pipp does eat in the cafeteria (half of the time I don’t see her in the cafeteria at all, for some reason), the table she sits at becomes like some celebrity meet and greet where you stand in life to take selfies with the real-life celebrity, in order of your popularity ranking at school. Based on what I could overhear, Pipp’s lunchbox had veal piccata, foie gras, angel hair pasta, and a side of buttered white asparagus. All packaged in an innocent-looking lacquerware box. Zipp would never eat that. I would never eat that. The thought of a cute baby creature being killed and served on my dinner plate disgusts me, even if I’m not really vegetarian. I saw a bunch of said cute baby creatures at the local animal sanctuary, where I used to volunteer with my mom. As we eat our lunch at our table of three, Zipp pulls out a stack of paper from her bag. “Hey Hitch, here are those flyers you wanted printed out…” she turns to Sunny. “Hey, Sunny, why don’t you join us? The Sustainability Club is organizing a camping trip in the Bridlewood Forest. Anyone can join us.” “Is Hitch going too?” “Well duh, of course he is. He’s the club president.” Sunny’s face lights up. “Then count me in. Are we gonna be in tents, like real camping?” “Yeah! Right now we have five people, including you and Ms. Gaia.” That’s our faculty sponsor. “So I think we’ll buy a four-person tent for us girls, and a one-person tent for Hitch. If more girls join we’ll get another tent.” “I’ve never actually seen a one-person tent before,” Sunny says. “The smallest I’ve ever seen are two-person tents.” I’m pretty excited about this trip, actually. This year, we were able to get special permission to go out to an old mine in the Bridlewood Forest that’s being converted into a nature park. We’re going there to help maintain the trails and pick up litter. Sure, the girls love to tease me for it, but I love picking up litter. Or telling other people to pick up litter. Hear me out. Litter is annoying, for one. And actually, there’s something really soothing out of picking up litter. It’s like taking away all the unwanted things in your life, the things that are dirtying your space, and putting them out of sight. So that there’s room for further growth. It’s not really picking up litter. It’s clearing the way for better things in the future. Zipp opens up a page in the scientific journal she’s reading. “Sunny. Hitch. Listen to this. There was this study I was reading this morning. Did you know that producing one ton of rare earth metals produces over 50000 gallons of acidic wastewater, and over 1.4 tons of radioactive waste? And companies like my mom’s are just perpetuating this endless stream of waste and pollution. And just because we want more fancy phones or electronics.” Rare earth metals like yttrium, neodymium, and cerium are needed to build electronic components that go into phones, computers, smart devices, you name it. However, it’s very expensive and polluting to extract them from the earth. Ideally, the future will be to recycle them, so mining them is no longer necessary. “Why don’t you share these studies with your mom and your sister?” Sunny asks Zipp. Zipp rolls her eyes. “My sister…she doesn’t have the scientific knowledge nor the interest. And Mom…I have no respect for that lady and that 20-years-younger boy toy of hers. The business she inherited is just money to her. A source of income to keep her fancy lifestyle. She doesn’t stop to think about all the lives she puts at risk to make all that money.” For a while, I had no idea that Zipp’s mother was Haven. She doesn’t look like the person that’s going to one day inherit a multi-billion-dollar rare-earth mining fortune. I remember when she first showed up at Sustainability Club. She just told us her first name, her grade, and immediately joined in to make posters for our campus solar power petition. And Ms. Gaia didn’t make a big deal that Zipp was there. She just let her work in the shadows. Just be a part of the crowd. And Zipp smiled that whole afternoon, like she was enjoying it. It's like she's trying to cling on to her last years of freedom, before she ends up being tied down by the weight of a billion-dollar inheritance. “I’m going to leave home as soon I’m financially independent,” Zipp says to us at lunch. “Leave Zephyr Heights and get a regular job at a lab somewhere. I’m really gonna do it, you know. I don’t need mom’s money.” “You don’t want your inheritance?” Sunny asks. “Pipp can swim in it naked, for all I care. I’m not going to profit off of environmental genocide. I hate my parents and what they stand for. Sometimes I just wish they didn’t exist.” There’s an awkward silence. I turn to Sunny. She’s stopped eating her pasta shells. She dusts her eyes with the tail of her braid. Pasta shells are her favorite food. Her dad used to make them really well. Thankfully, I don’t have to tell Zipp to apologize. “I…I’m sorry, Sunny. I forgot about your mom and dad. I…I didn’t mean it that way. What I really meant was…” “I get what you mean, Zipp.” Zipp’s voice suddenly mellows down. “I know I’m a bit snarky sometimes, and well, I…I sometimes say insensitive stuff like that by accident. It’s stupid. I…I’m sorry.” Sunny nods, barely. There’s an awkward silence. Sunny mumbles something and leaves the table. She comes back with another fork. Now she has two forks on her tray. A large dinner fork, and a slightly smaller salad fork. And she just stares at the two forks, lying supine on the tray. Mom. Dad. “The camping trip will be fun, Sunny,” I say, trying to cheer her up. I show her the flyer. “See, it’s on the weekend of the 5th. You’ll be free that weekend, right?” “Yeah,” Sunny says. She tilts her head up, parting her gaze from the forks. Zipp chimes in. “Hmm, I doubt there are any one-person tents left in stock online,” she lies, but she’s surprisingly convincing. Guess her playing the Captain von Trapp in theater paid off. “I guess I’ll have to buy a two-person tent for Hitch.” Zipp raises a brow at me, and smirks. “I already have a two-person tent stored in my dorm room,” Sunny says. “Dad and I used it when we used to go on camping trips together. Hitch can use that.” Zipp scoffs. “I think Hitch would prefer to have my brand-new tent.” Sunny scoffs back. “I think Hitch would prefer my lived-in tent.” There’s a brief two seconds of silence where I swear that Sunny and Zipp are locked in a death stare. And I’m caught in the middle. “It’s not a big deal, girls,” I say. “Let’s just focus on getting more people to join us.” “Who said it was a big deal?” Zipp smirks. “Yeah, it isn’t,” Sunny agrees, with a smile. Or maybe it’s all just my male fantasies playing tricks on my brain. Zipp wouldn’t cheat on her boyfriend, right? Anyway, Ms. Gaia will be there, so why am I even thinking that something naughty will happen in my two-person tent?
The Elusive PsychicHappy Friday Pippsqueaks~! LAST CHANCE! TICKETS ARE STILL AVAILABLE!!! See me live at the #ZHMusicFestival this Saturday! Click this affiliate link for a 50% discount, sponsored by Parfum La Pipp! By the time I click on the affiliate link after school, the last-minute concert tickets for Pipp’s show are sold out. The 15 extra tickets, each $400 ($200 with the discount), sold out in just two minutes. Anyway, there’s no way I could’ve gotten permission from Mrs. Cloverleaf to leave the school grounds for the weekend for such a trivial purpose. I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t see Pipp for much of the day. The last time I see her is out in the school yard, from 100 yards away, when she’s being escorted across the lawn by a middle-aged lady in a pantsuit, holding an umbrella over Pipp’s head to keep the rain out of her immaculate hair. I see her taken into a limo and driven away. I presume it’s her agent taking her to the concert this weekend. Pipp isn’t smiling at all. It’s storming tonight. Legit storming. Like in those horror films: trees swaying, lighting flashing, fat raindrops hitting the windows. Add the Gothic-style hallways of the historic student dorms, and you’ve got a whole movie series going. I was picking up bottle caps for Sustainability Club’s bottle cap drive. We have bins all over campus to promote proper bottle cap recycling—the plastic in bottle caps are not always properly recycled, and they end up becoming landfill waste. So, I come back from collecting the caps, I’m totally exhausted, my clothes soaking wet from the rain, so I hop into the shower. I towel off, change into my pajamas, close the curtains, and sit down at my desk. I’ve almost forgotten about Pipp. Except I still can’t get her new song out of my head. No. Focus. Okay. Chemistry. Review Packet. Name: Glowin’ up, kinda— Wait. That’s not my name. The thunder outside goes CRACKLE BOOM! Name: Glowin’ up, kinda— Hitch Trailblazer Section: C Whoever came up with the bright idea of having a test on a Monday ought to have their light bulb unplugged. Really. Review Question 1: Balance the following redox equat— CRACKLE BOOM! Wait. Now there’s something stuck in my teeth. It’s those baked sardines from the cafeteria. (It tastes way better than it sounds. And smells, for that matter.) I pull open my pocket mirror to take a look. Cilantro. I bend a paperclip to a point and pick it out. I close my mouth. CRACKLE BOOM! Now, imagine my surprise when I tilt the mirror up a little, and I see a total stranger staring at me, with a wide toothy smile, standing right behind my chair. I swivel my chair around. “HI, NEW FRIEND! MY NAME’S IZZY!” the stranger yells. The wispy hair on my face twitches from her breath. At that instant, CRACKLE BOOM! I scream. “AAAAH!” She’s so close, I can smell her breath! It just smells like breath mint, but still! “Oh, I mean, HI OLD FRIEND! Well, I guess Sunny’s birthday comes before yours, so…HI MEDIUM FRIEND!” “AAAH!” I wrap my arms around myself, even though I’m fully clothed. “What’s wrong?” “AAAAAH!” I bunch my legs up on the seat of the chair. “Are you not a medium friend? Maybe you’re medium-new.” “AAAAAH!” “…is this a shouting closet or something? ‘Cause I CAN DO SHOUTING TOO!!!” I finally regain one ounce of my composure. “Who…who ARE you!? WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY ROOM!?” “Oh, didn’t you hear me the first time!? Maybe you need to get a hearing aid or something. Well, erm…I’M IZZY MOONBOW!!!” I cover her mouth. “I heard you the first time. Please don’t shout again.” “Oh, okey dokey. I’m Izzy, Sunny’s roommate. And you’re Hitch, right?! Nice to meetcha!” The curls in her hair bounce as she tilts her head to other side. Wow, nice to meet you. Thanks for giving me a heart attack. Well, not that I’m actually scared or anything. “Wh…what’re you doing in my room?” At least she remembered the rule about leaving the door open. “Well, I thought you were in Sunny’s room but then I was like, hey I’m in Sunny’s room too! And she’s not there and you weren’t there, so I guess you weren’t in Sunny’s room and Sunny wasn’t in Sunny’s room, so you just had to be in your room!” “I…erm…” As she slowly steps towards me, I instinctually turn my chair with my back facing the desk. As if she’s inching closer to steal state secrets from me. She stops midstep. “What’s wrong? You confused on your chemistry homework?” “Wait, how do you know I need help on chemistry?” “Cause of your sparkle, duuuuh! Ask a silly question! It looks so dull and tired. You’ve been studying too long. Work smart, don’t work hard!” Sparkle? I stare at the hair on my arms. Did Izzy get glitter on me or something? I’ve only met her two minutes ago, but I feel like she would do something like that. “Oh yeah, I also heard about your little camping trip from Sunny, and I really wanna go! I grew up in the Bridlewood Forest, you know! My grandpa Alphabittle still lives there, and his house is so cool! Maybe I can take you all there! We can do…ooh, we can do arts and crafts, have a tea party…” Just what we need, a non-stop chatterbox on the 5-hour bus ride. I just hope she hasn’t signed up… “I already signed up! It’s $200, right? Here ya go!” She’s supposed to hand it to Ms. Gaia, the faculty sponsor for the Club. But I take the money anyway. That way I can make sure Ms. Gaia doesn’t get it. Kidding. I’d never do something dishonest like that, especially as club president. “Erm, maybe I should…” “Ooh, ooh, are you auditioning for Wallflower Blush for the Forgotten Friendship Musical? I finally got promoted to head of costumes & makeup for the school play, and I’ve been designing Wallflower’s costume for the finale scene, and I think it matches your luminescence so well!” I look at the dress that Izzy pulls out of her bag. It’s the most frilly, girly dress I’ve ever seen. Two sequins away from being a bridal gown. Like I’m not emasculated enough by going to this school. “Izzy, I know I told Pipp that I was thinking of auditioning this year, but I doubt I’m gonna audition for a girl part.” She smirks. “Oh, you never know, Hitch…” she lowers her voice, and leans in. That breath mint again. Cinnamon flavored. I think I’m allergic to cinnamon, though, cause I’m about to have another heart attack. “I once did a makeover for my brother y’know,” she says, speaking out of one half of her mouth. “Eyeliner, mascara, blush, lipstick, the whole nine yards, and he LOVED it. And I think deep inside, you know you’ll love it too. She taps my chest with her slim finger. Your ‘sparkle’ right now tells me so.” And just when I think my heart’s about to explode, a nurse clad in white comes to rescue me. No, really. The school nurse appears at my dorm room door, and she knocks on the door frame. “Hi Isabella! Mrs. Cloverleaf said you were in here. Time to take your medication, honey.” Izzy walks over to the tray the nurse is holding. “Oh, yay!” She picks up the plastic dish with two white pills in it, and swallows it with a glass of water. “Mmm! Delicious!” The nurse smiles, but otherwise seems apathetic to Izzy’s chronic cheerfulness. “Have a good night, Isabella. Hitch.” She turns and nods to me politely. “Good night, Nurse Redheart!” Izzy gives a big wave. A minute later, she pokes her head out of the window like a cartoon character, to check if she’s gone. Izzy stretches to yawn. “Nurse Redheart’s a real nice lady, but between you and me buddy, that nurse’s uniform of hers is creating an unhealthy power dynamic. Green luminescence people are always vulnerable to that.” “Luminescence?” I ask. “Yeah, everyone’s got a special luminescence about them. Like, you, Hitch, have a blue luminescence, with a really pretty vanilla white around the edges. Sunny’s got an lavender luminescence, with the colors shimmering like a non-burning flame. And Pipp has an aquamarine luminescence with a dim rainbow fringe, obviously because—” “Wait, what ‘luminescence’?” “Your luminescence. You know, like…the special color you see round every person…” She pauses. “You mean…you…you don’t see it?” “No, I—” She pouts a little. “I’m sorry, Hitch.” She leans close to me and gives a hug. The sharp edges of her plastic DIY friendship bracelets dig into my skin. She’s genuinely sad for me. Yes, I’m so unlucky. I’m so unlucky I don’t have hallucinations of random colors and I’m not so mentally deranged that I’m unaware of my own illness. I close my eyes. Waiting for her to rip my guts out in a psychotic fit. She pulls back from the hug suddenly. “Erm…no offense, Hitch, but your breath kinda smells like rotten sardines.” She pulls out a small plastic bag from her backpack. The exact same size of plastic bag that you see in those drug deal scenes in TV cop shows. “Wanna breath mint?” She pops one in her mouth as well. So there I am. Popping breath mints from a drug baggie with a lunatic named Izzy. Not what I was expecting for a Friday night of chemistry cramming. “Alright! Nice meeting ya, Hitch! G’night, new friend!” “Wait, what about my chemistry?” I call her. I might as well get my money’s worth. “Oh, yeah, when you were balancing your electrons in problem 7, you forgot to multiply by 2 on the right side of your oxidation half reaction.” I glance back at my desk, and I realize that I had left my chemistry homework open on problem 7. The problem Sunny and I couldn’t figure out. “Wait…how did you even know that was the problem I was struggling on?” “Oh, you silly! Why do you think I leaned so close to you while you were at your desk?” She gives me a wink, and she skips back to her room. She… She… She…she was reading my paper and checking over my work this whole time!? She read my mind. Without even being so-called “psychic.” I don’t if that makes it less scary or even more scary.
