Sloppy Firsts_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [71]
She was referring to the latest of the snooze-fest writing assignments designed to prepare us for these proficiency exams that all eleventh-graders are forced to take in the third marking period. Screw the SATs; the majority of PHS students struggle to pass these basic equivalency exams. A humiliating one-third of the Class of ’01 failed the English section last year, so now the administrators are trying to make up for it with relentless essay writing, vocab memorization, and reading comprehension. They’re only about ten years too late.
"You noted how no advance in technology can be a substitute for real interpersonal interaction. I was particularly touched by your admission that being able to get in touch with your long-distance friend twenty-four hours a day is sometimes more of a burden than a blessing because it just makes you wish she were here."
"Thanks." I squirmed in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable. Whenever I turned in an essay, I generally forgot about it until I got the paper back with an A on it, then I promptly forgot about it again. Hearing Havisham talk about Hope reminded me that someone actually read what I wrote. I had shared something personal, and the very idea of it made me kind of queasy.
"Not many students can imagine a world without E-mail and the Internet," she said. "Let alone see the advantages to the way things used to be."
I started wondering what Marcus had said in his essay. I know how he feels about technology, yet Havisham hadn’t called him after class to talk about it.
Havisham waved a wrinkled finger at my cast, snapping me out of my reverie. "The Seagull’s Voice needs your voice, Jessica."
"My voice? What voice?"
"I think you would make an outstanding op-ed columnist …"
Oh, Christ. I really, really didn’t want to do this. Why waste my time writing for a paper that no one reads? And besides, I’m not a writer. I don’t go to coffeehouses and smoke, wear black, and analyze Sylvia Plath to the point of depression. Okay. I do get depressed. But not for amusement’s sake.
"And I assume that you won’t be up and running any time soon."
"Well, uh, yeah," I said, grasping for any excuse to get me out of this, "But I’m still really overloaded.…"
"It will look very impressive on your college transcript."
She was a shrewd woman, this Havisham. She knew this would suck me in. I had the athletic stuff, the service stuff, and the leadership stuff, but I didn’t have any creative stuff on my transcript to make me the type of well-rounded person that Ivy League schools love.
So that’s how I ended up the op-ed columnist for The Seagull’s Voice. I have to come up with a topic for my piece by the end of the week. Havisham already ruled out my first idea, "Why Forced Participation in School Activities Sucks." Free speech, my ass.
Finally, an interesting little P.S. To help me brainstorm, Havisham gave me a list of all the stories in the issue and who was writing them. As I scanned it, I discovered that I wasn’t the only one who hadn’t volunteered for a story. Yet I was the only one Havisham noticed, or cared about. Marcus Flutie’s name was missing. I thought, Good for him, too bad for us. The Seagull’s Voice needs his voice, too. Or at the very least, I do.
the sixteenth
Indulge me, as I document the transcript of this evening’s telephone glory:
Miss Hyacinth Anastasia Wallace: Hi, Jess.
Me: This isn’t Hope! My dad said Hope was on the phone!
MHAW: I lied to get you to take the call.
Me: Lying is what you do best, isn’t it? Bye-b—
MHAW: Don’t hang up! Let me explain.…
Me: Why should I?
MHAW: Because you’re the only one I feel guilty about …
Me: You have ten seconds …
MHAW: I genuinely like you. Why do you think I stopped rollin’ with you?
Me: Five seconds …
MHAW: Manda and Sara gave me much better material.…
Me: Time’s up.
MHAW: I wanna talk to you.…
Me: Why? So I can provide the plot of your TV-movie-in-the-making?
MHAW: