Just a Spark

9781483512778

Chapter one:

Come in, my English professor yawns as I give a little knock on his door. I look beside me at Becca, my roommate and best friend for my entire life, who urges me to go in. She flashes me a quick, helpful smile along with a thumbs up. I nod back, take a big gulp of air, and step into my professor's office. The door slams quickly behind me causing me to jump up in fear from my excessive amount of nerves flying in my stomach. I feel like I could break down and cry from the growing lump in my throat.

My professor takes no notice as his eyes are glued to the computer screen in front of him. He's probably the smartest man on our campus or even in our state come to think about it. I look at all his awards and PHDs hanging across his walls, and I take another gulp of air before looking back at my professor. His head is almost completely bald except for a few stubborn white strands, and he looks like he has lived in California his whole life from his dark, wrinkly skin. Ms. O'Donnel, he says slowly, peeling his eyes away from his screen as I take a seat in the purple leather chair across from him.

I hear you want to enter into our English department fully. Why is this? His voice is gruff and the idea to run out of his office and hide under my bed pops into my head. I push the idea aside and place my hands on the wooden table in front of me.

I've been coming to this college for a full semester now. When I first enrolled, I wanted to keep my options open for degrees or areas of interest and what not. Which is why I am currently enrolled in very different types of classes.

He nods to himself as he picks up my schedule and reads it over. I see that, he interrupts. But why now? Why not wait until the end of your freshman year to decide what you want to do? The students in this particular department are all juniors and seniors except for a select few who are beyond the normal intellectual state of mind for such young ages.

Which I am aware of Mr. Boudreaux, but I was really hoping I could be considered for joining this upcoming's semester's curriculum. I have--

You know the amount of work you must account for is a very heavy burden, especially for such a young freshman who is having to work part-time on the week days, he interrupts again.

Yes, I nod nervously, I am aware, but English and writing are my passion sir, and I find that I'm losing myself in the other classes I'm currently enrolled in. If I could only be allowed to enter this department, I could stop attending the other classes and attend these instead to enhance my knowledge in this field and perhaps manage to get a degree out of it.

You are one of my better writers in the class, he admits to himself as if against his will, and I do notice how you enjoy my lectures and lessons more than most of my... less learned students. I nod my head excitedly, and I feel my shoulders begin to relax. However, my shoulders hitch back up and the nerves return at his gruff voice, I'm still not sure you're ready for this curriculum yet.

Please Mr. Boudreaux, I plead. You don't understand how much I want this. I've been wishing all semester I could get into this department, and now the chance has presented itself to me, and I just want to snatch it up as quickly as I can. I know the department is hard, one of the toughest in the entire school, I hold up my hand before he can interrupt me, but I know that I can impress you with my skills and my determination. The other classes are not reaching my needs as a student, and you being a very honorable teacher should be able to understand the predicament I am currently in. I promise to do my work diligently and turn it in on time and with the most amount of effort and pride put into each. Just please, I plead a final time, attempting to regain my breath after my long ramble, give me one chance to show you I deserve this.

Mr. Boudreaux looks me over with a blank stare until I see the corners of his mouth hitch into a smile. He holds his finger out to me and sighs. One chance, he says with a raspy voice. I have just recently assigned the students with a final writing project. If you can show me that your writing is better than at least half of my students in my class, you're in.

A huge smile fills my face, and I have to contain myself from jumping up and down in my seat. Thank you, thank you, thank you Mr. Boudreaux. What's the assignment? I ask excitedly.

Mr. Boudreaux sighs to himself and takes a sip of water from his cup in front of him. I have been teaching these kids for almost a full semester, he begins, putting the cup down, but I feel like I've gotten to know none of them which is peculiar since there are only twenty-six students this year. So I have assigned them the task of writing a full paper of their most remembered, most cherished, or most spectacular memory that they have. Something that will really wow me. Something that will make me remember them. If you can write a story that will make me remember you better than half my class, I will let you enter into my department. If not, you can enroll your junior year.

Got it. Totally can handle that. Thank you Mr. Boudreaux! I won't let you down! I squeal happily. Now is there a type of manner you want me to write in or--

Casual. Very casual, he nods. He begins skimming through the papers in his hands with a frown. Like you're telling a story almost. I want to get to know you. I'm not interested in reading a term paper for the fifth hundredth time, he mumbles. I nod my head taking in every word he says to me. I've wanted this for too long to mess it up. Another thing, he says looking up from his papers. You can make the story more interesting if you want by adding a surprise twist or a lie for lack of a better word. I want the majority of the story to be facts, but a fun twist shows me you're able to take a true story and make it more exciting. I want to see if I can pick out your twist on the story also. I don't want the story to be unbelievable though. Don't tell me the story of how you single handedly robbed a high security profile Swiss bank your senior year in high school by using tweezers and a hairdryer. I'm not interested in that sort of rubbish. I'm interested in a real life type of story. If I can pick out your twist, you lose points. If I can't, than you are one step closer to making it into this department. Understand?

I nod my head quickly. Yes sir.

Good, he mumbles gruffly. He looks back down at his papers and begins skimming again. You can also get help from another person. Maybe make it a partner work. I know plenty of my students have decided to pair up and write about a memory they share together that way they are able to give both sides of the story. I think it's an absolutely brilliant idea. Teaches them perspective writing which is definitely something my students need to work on, he grumbles to himself.

Both sides, uh? I ask as I think to myself. I can feel the gears in my brain spinning as I try to think of a memory I can use. I think I know just the memory. I smile to myself. I get up from my seat and shake my professor's hand. Thank you for this opportunity. I won't let you down. He eyes me slowly and sits back down in his seat.

Be sure you don't. I don't usually give this sort of opportunity to people. I give him a final smile before turning around and opening his door. Oh and humor me, he calls out with an air of slight excited anticipation. Or is he laughing? I want to know the real you, not some fake version. Make me laugh, make me cry, make me hurt, make me smile. The more emotions you can draw from your reader, he points his pencil at me and flips it between his fingers, the better the story.

You got it Mr. Boudreaux. I close the door behind me as I give Becca a quick smile as she jumps up from the waiting area.

So what's the big news? Are you in?! she squeals grabbing my hands.

Depends, I smile. I need to find my other perspective.

Chapter Two:

Every book, every movie, every tv show, and almost every tv commercial you see has something to do with love. Puppy love, true love, friend love, gay love, marital love, all the different types. And every single time you know exactly what's going to happen: there's a happy ending; the boy gets the girl; the wolf and rabbit learn to be friends; the underdogs win the championship; the frog turns back into a prince, blah blah blah. The problem with this stuff is that its 100% predictable and 100% unrealistic. None of this stuff actually happens to the normal American teen.

For example, if you have braces, glasses, frizzy hair, and a lot of acne the chances of the star quarterback coming up to you and asking you to prom are very slim. Probably slimmer than the chance of a sea turtle eating a whale... whole. But if you were in a Disney Channel Movie or Nicholas Spark's book, you and him would be magically paired together in Chemistry class and immediately find out you don't just have chemistry class together but actual chemistry together.

Let's be real. That doesn't happen in real life. The average teenage boy is too obsessed with playboy magazine to look at the geeky girl in the corner. It's fiction, made-up, not going to happen, probably ever. I'm not trying to burn down your dreams. I mean there's still that one chance, but that chance is small. And I mean way small; microscopic small. I've been alive for awhile now. Eighteen years gives me some wisdom, and I'm just here to share my experiences with love. Now if your older than 20 reading this you're probably thinking to yourself: She's eighteen what does she know about love? Okay point given, I haven't been around that long, but neither had Romeo and Juliet, and they knew about love more than anyone. Yes they committed suicide in the end, but would you commit suicide for someone you love? Didn't think so, so sit back down and listen.

I have had some experience my doubtful twenty-year olds, and I bet the money in my piggy bank (which isn't much but just go with it) that when you were younger you had some melodramatic, life-damaging love experiences too. Everyone does. It's part of life's natural ritual. Sometimes it sucks and sometimes it gives you the biggest surprise of your life. Like biting into a glazed donut and expecting the sugary dough to melt in your mouth but only realizing to your dismay the donut is filled with grape jelly--the same type of jelly that scarred you for life as a first grader when Tommy Jones threw up a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich all over you and Mr. Snuffles, your most cherished stuffed animal. (Note to everyone: NEVER bring anything valuable to school and sit next to the kid who as gastrointestinal problems.)

But that's what love does. It throws your happy, little perfect life upside down. And if you're lucky it throws your life into a field of flowers. But if you're the average American teenager, it usually throws your life into a ditch on the side of the highway next to the half eaten Coney Island Hotdog the last truck driver threw out the window. And that's why I am here. To convince all of you--and me kind of--that's it perfectly 100% fine to suck at flirting and not live the romantic life Nicholas Spark's writes about. It's okay to be mediocre in the world of love.

That and my college English department I'm praying to get into wishes for me to write up a juicy, unoriginal story of why I'm special enough to be admitted into the department. At first I was going to write about the time I saved a cat from a tree, but then I realized I'm trying to show my college professor that I'm a special college hopeful not a special-ed college hopeful that stayed at home on the weekends studying for her Latin exam. So I thought of the most juicy, horrific situation I've ever managed to get myself into. More juicy than the time I stole candy out of the basket from the grocery store or the time I lied to the local police man about my age when I was twelve--sorry about that again Lieutenant Harrison. I honestly thought you needed to be eighteen to cross the street by yourself.

Anyway, I needed something that would really sweep these people off their feet; something that would knock them dead. Not literally of course. I don't want to kill anyone. That's illegal in every country, I'm pretty sure. And that's when it hit me. Like I've said, love stories are too predictable and made up which is why I was going to write a story about my life: the most unpredictable, unromantic attempt at a love story there can be. They told me it didn't have to be one hundred percent true. I could add a sudden twist to it, but the story is so juicy I decided the truth might just be the best way to go. These people would never see it coming. I didn't see it coming. I doubt God saw it coming. But see that's the thing... there was no romance in my life. None, zip, zero. Which is exactly why this situation went completely unnoticed until it splattered itself all over the windshield of my life like a free lancing bug on the highway. Now you might be wondering why no romance existed in my life until the spring of my sophomore year in high school. Well there's plenty of reasons why:

1. In order to live a romantic life one has to have some sort of flirting gene. I don't. I wasn't born with the girl instinct on how to flirt. I tried once and ran into a tree branch attempting to flip my long, blonde hair seductively towards the cute boy at summer camp.

2. In order to live a romantic life one must have boys around in order to do the romancing with.

Yep another huge problem: I went to an all girls school. As in no boys at our school other than a few teachers--who by the way aren't exactly the hot college professors girls fantasize about. There was one some-what attractive teacher, but he's married and could have been on the Geico 'so easy a caveman can do it' commercials with the beard he'd been growing out all year.

I went to school with boys until seventh grade but that doesn't give you a lot of time to prepare yourself or at least develop a system of uncovering boys. Boys usually haven't even hit puberty at that point. Boys are like the Morris Code, and girls are the group of second graders trying to decipher their meanings.

3. I wasn't exactly what you would call the 'Victoria Secret Model' of our school. In any case, I was the annoying little sister of one of the most popular boys in my high school.

What a overly used Hallmark cliche that is: the nerdy, younger sister goes unseen in the shadows of the hunky senior brother but then realizes her true potential at the end of the movie by replacing her retro glasses with contacts and buying clothes from the current decade.

But it wasn't completely like that. I wasn't that nerdy. I mean my grades definitely suggest I was a burnout. And I didn't have glasses or contacts or braces. I wasn't completely unpopular or fashion helpless. I mean, I got invited to parties most of the time or at least I think I was. But it's the fact that I was branded as 'Daniel's little sister'.

And no one wanted to date 'Daniel's little sister' except a select few; a very select few. But I did have standards. Like a boy couldn't have more pimples on his body than words coming out of his mouth.

But the point of this is not to share with you my standards but my story. Our lovely, surprising, and specially horrific story begins in math class on a spring Tuesday of my sophomore year. Yes, math class because that's where all truly great masterpieces begin.

Chapter 3: Kat Spring of Sophomore year

I wonder how that big hole got into the ceiling? Maybe aliens or a gun fight in the 1800s or maybe someone saw a rat and jumped so high their head hit the ceiling and left a hole? Katie stop procrastinating and get to work.

I'm not good at math. Never have been, probably never will be. I just don't get the purpose of it. You memorize and study 50 different formulas, rules, and equations only to use addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division in any real life situation when you get out of school. Think about it. The odds of writing/using a linear equation to solve the amount of chocolate bars John can eat before he runs out in real life are zero to a million. But still here I am contemplating a question that ought to be changed to the amount of chocolate bars John can eat before he becomes diabetic. I look at the problem one last time, write down depends on how much money John spent on the chocolate bars, and bring my test up to my teacher.

Hello Katie! My teacher squeals in a slight country accent, her blonde bob bouncing as she looks up at me. Wow finished so quick! Only thirty minutes! How do you think you did? she asks, her high pitched voice ringing through my head.

Well I think there's a good chance I'll be out of the running for Valedictorian after this, I reply. And I go by Kat.

I like to call my students by their given name, not nicknames Katie. But thanks for the input, she retorts smiling and looking down at my test. Grrr. Mrs. Plunt's eyes go slightly wide, and her smile fades as she looks at my test and back up to me.

Umm, she clears he throat and forces a smile, you can get started on next week's work if you want. You might need it sweetie.

I give her slight smile and a soft 'thanks' as I turn away from my teacher and my failed math test. As I face my classroom I see eighteen pairs of eyes piercing me, all in disbelief. None of them can believe that I, who by the way has a 76 in the class, finished her test first. Little do they know I just bombed the test worse than America bombed Japan in WWII. I sit down at my desk and can still feel some of the eyes roaming over me, trying to figure out how I managed to finish so quickly. I'm just glad no boys get to see me bow my head in shame when grades are given back.

That's the positive thing about going to an all girls school--no boys get to see you in your 'good morning' hair or see you hang your head in shame. The negative? Everything else imaginable.

Nicholas Spark's this is my challenge to you: write a romantic novel about an average girl attending an all girls school in a small town. Five bucks says you can't because romance does not exist in this situation no matter how hard you try.

Finally the bell rings and class is let out for lunch. I head towards the picnic tables near the pavilion where all the sophomores sit. Seniors get the pavilion while the rest of the grades scavenge for a good spot. Hey Kat how do you think you did on that test?

Depends, I shrug. Would you consider a D to be good or bad? I reply sourly.

Emily laughs. Yea right your smart. Why do you think you failed? Didn't you study?

I think back to the 2 hours I spent memorizing old Slim Shady raps and another three hours spent taking pictures of my dog and cat and putting their faces on celebrities. Yea.. I lean my head to the side to convince myself I'm not all that bad and hitch my backpack higher up, a little bit, but I had some important business to attend to.

Mhmm yea I understand. Between volleyball, student council, and volunteer work I only had like an hour to study! she laughs. I stare at her in shock. Well I have to go get lunch-- it's Taco Tuesday! Later! I watch Emily walk towards the cafeteria saying hi to every girl she passes, her short brown hair bouncing happily as she strolls through the glass doors, and I think back to my night before again. I'm an awful human being.

Think fast! someone yells as a gummy bear flies past my face and hits me square in the nose. I look over at the long, black haired culprit, her ammo already cocked into position for the next shot. She's one of the prettiest girls in the grade: long wavy black hair, freckles on her nose, and bright, emerald green eyes. She has absolutely no idea that she's pretty, which kills me on the inside because she's also my best friend. She's been my best friend since the first day of Pre-K when Amy Woods called my artwork ugly, and Becca punched her in response. Amy shouldn't have gotten has mad as she did. She received ten dollars from the tooth fairy that night because of Becca. If anything, she should have thanked her.

Stop, I moan pushing my food around my tray. I'm not in the mood for gummy bears in the face. I'm busy, I say, which I was but not with the math homework I should have been doing or the history paper due next period. I was busy thinking, and thinking can really distract you from the on goings around you.

Sheesh. What snuck into your cereal this morning Ms. Priss? You've had the same annoyed look on your face all day, Becca says. Live a little! Its almost Friday! Be happy!

I roll my eyes, playing with the rubber chicken nuggets given to me by our fair old lunch lady. First off it's Tuesday which last time I checked is four days away from Friday, I reply crossly. I look at Becca's hurt face and immediately regret my comment. Sorry Bec. I'm just out of it I guess.

Well get in it. Here comes Barrett. And dang is he lookin' fine today! I looked over my shoulder and sure enough there was Barrett strutting in his uniform shirt and khaki shorts as if he owned the place. Which he did, but I'd never admit that to him.

Like I said before, I go to an all girls school so you're probably thinking: 'Why are boys walking on an all girls school campus?' And if you're not thinking this then your reading skills obviously need some work before taking the ACT. But back to the point, we have a brother school just down the block and for lunch, break, and random events the boys come to our school to hangout. Try being totally without boys for five out of the seven days in a week for more than half of a year. It gets to you.

I look back at Barrett walking towards the rest of the senior class under the pavilion. His dark hair messily pushed into eyes as he laughs with the rest of his buddies, jumping onto a table and plopping a grape into his mouth from one of the girl's plates as they all laugh. Being one of the most popular boys at school, Barrett could get away with anything. He could probably take a twenty dollar bill out of the girl's wallet, and she wouldn't mind it. As he laughs, his handsome features become outlined and his face is filled with ease, as if nothing could knock him from his high perch. I'll admit, Barrett gives some of the guys on tv a run for their money. He isn't huge, but he isn't small either. He has muscles that could knock someone out, but he wasn't built up like a rock. When he walks he has confidence which people have to respect, until he turns into the cocky, arrogant soccer player we all know (and most love). His dark brown hair was messy and thick, and his golden eyes glinted like he knew something the rest of us would never know. But my eyes weren't trained on Barrett like the rest of my student body. Nope. They were on the tall boy to the right of him. They were trained on Nate Creston.

He stands at the same height and size as Barrett, but his thick, strawberry blonde hair is even messier than his friend's, and his face is filled with even more ease. A bomb could probably go off in the pavilion and Nate would still just sit back and laugh. He doesn't have that many freckles, but his eyes are blue like the sea in Greece and are always glinting with laughter. I have never known a time when I hadn't seen Nate smiling. He always had jokes or something funny to say. And he was smooth... like frozen yogurt smooth. This kid could sweet talk our 60 year old science teacher into making the exam only count for a quarter of our homework grade.. and he doesn't even go to our school. This is the same teacher that made Lizzie Brien sit upside down in her seat until she could recite the Preamble to the Constitution correctly. Compared to Barrett's looks, Nate is a close second, but it's his personality that made girls come crawling to him from all over the school. But I couldn't talk to, like, or even dream about him. Ever. My brother would kill me.

Sweet tamales on a summers day Barrett sure can pull that shirt off...

I hope he does pull that shirt off if you know what I mean! I look over to see Emily and Hannah drooling over the passing testosterone parade, winking and giggling too each other.

I wish they'd come over here and stop hanging out with the seniors. Why do the seniors get all the hot boys? asks Emily.

Ally plops down beside me on the picnic table, tacos topped one on top of the other. Easy, they're seniors. Seniors get everything they want, including the hot senior boys. She flicks her high, bright orange ponytail to the side and takes a bite of her apple. It's high school 101. Becca looks at me and mocks Ally with her apple.

I just want one of them to talk to me instead of the sophomore boys. Sophomore boys look like 2nd graders compared to Barrett, adds Hannah.

Tom Cruise looks like a second grader compared to Barrett ladies, Becca hums. She looks at Barrett and her mouth filled with three chocolate cookies slowly gapes wider and wider as she watches him.

I roll my eyes and take a bite of my chicken. Try having them come over to your house everyday, I say between my chewing. I think you're view of them will change.

Hell yea my view of them would change. My view of their abs when they change for soccer, Becca says putting her chin in her hand. Mmmm I just want them to be mine, she says fawning after the boys.

Come on Kat, starts Emily, you have to agree your brother's best friends are hot. Totally 100% hot. I see seven other heads nodding in agreement. But I could never agree. Ever. They are my senior brothers' best friends. The universe would collapse and be sucked into a black hole if I agreed. They are basically my brother just without the same DNA. Not to mention everyone knows little sisters have no chance up against the senior super models of our town, not even if she is Eva Longoria. Little sisters stay out of older brother's friends' romantic lives (say that ten times fast). That's how it is and that's how it will always be. I mean don't get me wrong, I've tried to flirt/talk with my brother's friends. I've even had normal conversations with them. Just the other month I walked into Dan's room and asked him if he and his friends wanted pizza rolls or hot wings. Nate looked right at me and said, Hot wings please Kit! and all the boys nodded in unison. I walked out of the room with my face blushing bright red. I couldn't believe it.. Nate Creston just said my name... In real life... Out loud... And he said it wrong. This kid has been coming to our house for what? Five years now? And he thinks my name is Kit? That just goes to show the lasting effect I have on boys.

I walked out of the room, and I guess obsessive blushing causes momentary blindness because next thing I knew I was tripping over my feet down the stairs on my way to retrieve the hot wings. KAT?! Are you okay!? A voice screamed. Maybe an angel? Or my mom downstairs? Or Nate finally realizing his mistake in my name and wants to help me? Probably my mom.

Still as I opened my eyes I was praying I'd see two beautiful blue eyes staring back at mine, but all I saw were two, small, yellow eyes staring back at me. Hey Chevy, I said, scratching my cat behind his ear. I'm so glad I have someone who cares about me. I tried to give him a kiss on his nose, but he ran back up the steps to meet someone. Someone laughing.. at me.

I turned around angrily. Daniel this is your fault. Don't ask how but it--

Before I could finish I saw the two beautiful blue eyes I was dreaming about not ten seconds before, and my heart stopped along with my voice. Only this time the eyes were real and smiling back at me.

Geez Kit you took a nasty fall. Maybe fuzzy socks and hardwood floors aren't the best combination. Nate walked down to me, and I felt my heart stop for a full second. He leaned close and grabbed my hand, which I thanked God for not being sweaty. He lifted me up in one smooth motion and flashes my a smile. Oh and by the way, I like hot sauce with my wings. Just try not to fall again while you're carrying them. Dirt and hot sauce aren't exactly ideal. Nate walked back up the stairs, leaving me standing with my mouth open ready for a bug to fly in.

Oh what a gentleman, I sneered as I headed down the stairs, carefully this time, and by the way, my names Kat not Kit.

Hmm you look more like a Kit, he replied without missing a beat as he walked back up the stairs.

So yea I talk to my brother's friends but with positive results? Now that's just pushing my luck. I'm pretty sure God and his angels got really bored up in heaven the day of my birth so they decided to make my love life a comedy to make their lives more interesting. I don't blame them. Being perfect probably gets really boring.

I was eleven when I first felt my heart beat uncontrollably at the sight of a boy; the first time my breath failed me and a feather could have knocked me over; the first time I ever felt like my body had been hit by a wrecking ball but my lungs could not be filled with a sweeter air; it was the first time my heart jumped out of my chest abruptly and fell off a cliff.

It was the day my brother had his first day of high school (at our school high schools, we start in eighth grade. They say it's a way to introduce us to the exhilarating environment). At three o'clock Dan came home yelling and hollering like he usually does, except something was different. I heard another voice yelling and hollering along with him; I heard the sound of two bowls clanking on the counter; I heard the sound of two spoons being pulled out of the drawer; and I heard the sound of two voices talking excitedly to each other about that night.

Sitting on my bed in a big flower covered t-shirt and bright pink leggings, I became excited. My brother had finally brought a friend home. A high school friend. Becca would never believe this! I quickly went into my bathroom and grabbed my new pink lip gloss Becca gave me for my eleventh birthday. She had taught me how to purse my lips in order to get the full affect of the gloss. Once my lips were fully glossed in a pink shine, I decided I was ready. I walked happily through my hallway and into the kitchen, feeling ready for whatever obstacle stood in my way, when my feet slammed to a halt at the sight of a tousled red haired, freckled boy sitting on the kitchen counter eating an apple. He looked down from his perch at me and eyed me slyly causing my cheeks to flare. He finally smiled and took a big bite of his apple before jumping down from the counter and walking over to me. I remember my mouth gaping open and my feet refusing to move as he approached. It felt like days passed while he walked to me, years almost, but I just remained staring wide eyed at the angelic boy in front of me like if I looked away for a second, he'd disappear forever. When he finally reached me in the doorway of the kitchen, he took a last big bite of his apple before a smirk spread across his lips. Hi I'm Nate, he smiled extending his hand out for me. Hi I'm Kat, I mumbled quietly staring into his eyes. They were bright blue and glowing. They were brighter than anything I'd ever seen before, and I couldn't help but get lost in them with every second. I even almost forgot to shake his extended hand.

But I did.

Nice to meet you Kit, he says between his apple. He releases his grip on my hand and smiles again. His smile was sending my small body into hysteria. His white teeth gleamed behind his pink lips, and he made his smile seem so natural, like not a flitter of worry or despair had ever entered his life. You're Dan's sister, aren't you?

I nodded my head wide eyed before I realized he totally said my name wrong. It's Kat though, I mumbled a tad louder.

Kat?

Yea, I mumbled a little louder. I turned away from his crystal eyes as my face grew even hotter. I never acted like this in front of boys. Usually I was cool in front of boys; collected; mysterious; I guess you could even say flirtatious. I was not like this. Ever. Like Katie. But short.

Nate nodded his head and tossed his apple between his hands. Cool. That's a nice name.

And with those words, I was in love. I was hooked worse than a fish. My poor eleven year old self would never see another boy the way she saw Nate, no matter the amount of boys she went to homecomings and Christmas dances with or that thrusted themselves hopelessly after her.

She was done. With those words, that little freckled boy took her heart and wrapped it around his finger. And he completely knew it.

Hey Nate my mom says it cool if you spend the night Friday after the game! Dan yelled walking into the kitchen. What are you doing here? Dan asked me rudely when he saw me talking to his friend.

My eyes went wide and I began to stutter. I-I--

It's cool, Nate interrupted. I was just introducing myself to her. Nate laughed as he glanced at my stunned face. He turned away from me without another glance and tossed his apple into the trashcan across the kitchen. I quickly shook my head to clear away all the thoughts of him I had and walked over to the cabinets to fix a snack. I wanted to show Nate I wasn't some dumbstruck tween. I was cool. I was capable of movement and talking.

Alright well you coming? Dan asks looking down at his phone. Those girls are waiting for us at the movies--

The crashing of two glass bowls on the ground interrupted my brother. The image of Nate with another girl caused my instincts to collapse along with the two bowls I was reaching for. I knew the boy for not even ten minutes before my jealousy level had grown substantially. I looked down shocked at the broken glass and embarrassed that I just did that in front of Nate. Dan shook his head and sighed angrily.

You're cleaning that up you know that right?

No duh, I retaliated with my tongue sticking out at him. I crossed my arms stubbornly and felt like I could cry.

We can help--

No, Dan interrupted Nate, let her clean it up. It's her fault. Anyway, we need to leave if we're going to make it. Nate shrugged his shoulder and turned away from me as I grabbed a towel from a drawer. Bye Kat, he called behind him. Clean up the kitchen before mom sees what you did! Dan yelled to me. I sighed hopelessly as the door closed and leaned on the counter staring after the red haired boy that stole my heart and kept it for five years.

Chapter 4:

Have you ever noticed whatever you're learning in school has some ironic connection to what's going on in your life? No? Then your observation skills need some serious work because most of the time it does. Unless your in math class--absolutely nothing in math class applies to your life.

Sitting in history class that day I realized history can actually relate to what you're going through in life. It takes a little imagination and a complete lack of sleep to realize it, but it does. All women of history have gone through men issues. Women were constantly subjugated and ridiculed by men. Women didn't even get the right to vote until 1920 and even still weren't treated fairly until much later. Women still aren't treated fairly in many countries. Why? Men. That's the only answer. Men think they're better than us at everything-- sports, school, jobs, and some even think they're better cooks than women (a cause I don't help in the least since my cooking experience consists of cereal and dry toast). But still, men think women are not as important. Rosie the Riveter, Jane Addams, Amelia Earhart, Alice Paul, Rosa Parks-- these are all women who went against the male ruling system and proved to the world women are just as and maybe more important than men.

Amelia Earhart didn't let men stop her from flying that plane and showing them she had just as much right to fly as them. She persevered and fulfilled her dream. And that's what I have to do. I have to show Dan and his friends I'm not just a little sister. I need to stand up for myself, show these boys I have a place in their lives. I could go down in history books: Kat the Little Sister that Could-- has a bit of a ring to it.

Eh em. I look up to see two, cold, gray eyes staring into mine, completely ruining my momentary revolutionary daydream. He probably had the life sucked out of his eyes to make them that cold, gray color when he was little since he's such a kill joy. He probably beats puppies in his spare time. No. Kat stop. Be nice.

Good afternoon Mr. Richard, I smile happily up at my teacher.

He smiles a heartless smile back and pushes his thinning brown hair behind his ear. Please, call me Mr. Bangor. I've called on you five times now, but I guess whatever movie is playing in your head is better than my lectures. I apologize now that my class isn't interesting enough for you. Maybe you'll find it more interesting... after school. Detention until 5:00.

But Mr. Richard! I have track practice--

Oh and practice is more interesting than my class is it?

You really don't want me to answer that question... I mumble. I hear some laughter from the back of the classroom. Uh oh. That's not good. The last thing I need is to be seen as the class clown.

Well since you think you're so funny--crap too late--I'll make it until 5:30. Anything else you want to say to make your friends laugh?

Nope.

Yep.

Why oh why don't my brain and mouth work together?

But I think I'll save it for a rainy day.

Mr. Bangor smiles that heartless smile again, I'm so glad. I can hear the sarcasm dripping off every word coming from his mouth.

He begins to teach again, but I have no interest. My mind is far beyond the history poster covered wall of the classroom. It's even farther beyond the rainy window pane next to my desk. My mind is far away, approximately 1.2 miles away to be exact, at the other school just down the block.

Thirty minutes later the bell rings, and I watch from my desk as my friends and acquaintances disappear beyond the door leaving me to suffer in my prison cell. I look up and see my warden, his bland, gray eyes fixed upon me.

Yep he definitely beats puppies in his spare time.

Soo Mr. Richards--

It's Mr. Bangor Katie, he sighs. He shakes his head and stands up from his gray chair.

I clap my hands together and put on my best innocent face. "How about we tell everyone I stayed until 5:30 but really you let me out early for good behavior so I can