Sloppy Firsts_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [70]
I still miss you.
Nostalgically yours, J.
october
the ninth
No one at PHS gives a crap about anything even remotely resembling an intellectual after-school activity. Plus, any student interested in writing channels that creativity into home pages full of bad poetry or fanfic. Not to mention that the only issue of the school paper that anyone reads is the one with the Senior Class Last Will and Testament, and that doesn’t come out until May. So no one was shocked when Miss Haviland, our English teacher, announced that not one student showed up for the planning meetings for the September or October issues of the The Seagull’s Voice.
Miss Haviland (who, on account of her unmarried antiquity and love of lacy blouses and long flowing skirts, will be referred to as Havisham here on out) is a former make-love-not-war hippie who has been both the junior honors English teacher and The Seagull’s Voice’s advisor for thirty years. To her, the lack of interest in this fine publication was simply "a travesty." Don’t we realize that "the school paper is a forum for discussing the issues that are important to us? The school paper provides a platform for voicing criticism of school policies and procedures! The school paper is an outlet for creativity! The school paper gives us the opportunity to resuscitate the written word!"
Blah-diddy-blah-blah-blah.
Needless to say, no one was moved by her speech. We figured The Seagull’s Voice had squawked for the last time. Oh, how wrong we were. Havisham announced that starting today, participation on the school paper would be mandatory for all juniors and seniors in honors English. Juniors are responsible for writing and reporting all the stories. Seniors are responsible for editing and laying it out. We were all pretty pissed off.
Our class is known for being particularly apathetic, debunking the media myth that Gen-Y is made up of a bunch of optimistic, wanna-do-gooders. But goddamn, do we galvanize against any oppressive force that wants to better us through academics. The Clueless Crew spoke up first, saying they couldn’t possibly work on the paper because they needed to devote their after-school hours to perfecting their cheerleading routines and planning the homecoming festivities. Scotty and P.J. complained that it would interfere with football practice. Soccer guys, field-hockey girls, and band nerds voiced similar objections.
The class was too busy whining to hear Havisham explain that we’d use class time to work on our stories. When it finally hit them that the paper could be a time-waster extraordinaire, most of the bitch-and-moaners quieted down. Then Havisham revealed that she had most of the stories for the first issue already planned out because of the time crunch. We just needed to decide which ones we wanted to write. So the rest of the period was spent determining which intrepid reporters would write such groundbreaking stories as, "Cheerleaders Work Hard on Homecoming" and "Football Team Gears Up for Winning Season."
I refused to volunteer for any of these sorry-ass stories. Miss Hyacinth Anastasia Wallace gets a six-figure book deal, while I get to write for The Seagull’s Voice? Thanks, but no thanks. As the period wore on and we got down to the less plum assignments ("Cafeteria Gets New Pepsi Machine"), I was happy as hell when I could make my early break for it. I was almost out the door when Havisham said, "Jessica, I’d like to talk to you after class. I’ll give you a pass."
That’s when I knew my luck had run out.
Once we were alone, Havisham sat down at the desk next to me. I could literally hear her bones creaking.
"How important is free speech to you?"
"Uh … free speech?"
"Yes."
"Uh … I don’t really think about free speech."
Havisham’s nose twitched involuntarily, like a rabbit. She often does this when she’s disgusted with today’s youth.
"Well, you should think about it more," she said.
"I’ll take that under advisement," I said, reaching for my crutches.
"I’ve been very impressed with your writing," she said, placing her bumpy, veiny