Sloppy Firsts_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [74]
the twentieth
I had no trouble convincing Havisham to let me tweak my essay, as long as I turned it in by 9 A.M.this morning so it could be sent to the printer.
"What a perfect idea!" she said. "It’s still topical, but will affect readers on a personal level. It might even inspire some changes around here."
"I doubt it," I said. "No one even reads the paper."
She twitched her nose. "Then why do it at all?" she asked, with great gravity.
I wasn’t sure of the answer. Maybe I assumed Havisham would shoot me down and I wouldn’t have to go through with my idea. As soon as I got her approval for the eleventh-hour change, I had no clue how to say what I wanted to say without sounding trite. I’d had no problem dissing Hy in my first draft. But now that I wanted to lay a school-wide guilt-trip, 400 words might as well have been four bizillion.
The annoying thing is, I have no trouble going on and on in here whenever I can’t fall asleep. Of course, the difference is, none of this stuff really matters. This is just stupid stuff that I can’t burden Hope with because she’s got heavy issues of her own to deal with or because she wouldn’t approve or understand. This is the stuff I shouldn’t give a damn about, but keeps me awake anyway. The editorial is different. It’s important, even if no one reads it but me.
Anyway, after two sleepless nights at my computer, too much cutting and pasting and deleting to keep track of, and the final spell check, which almost killed me, I turned it in. Now excuse me while I go into a weekend-long catch-up-on-sleep coma.
Miss Hyacinth Anastasia Wallace: Just Another Poseur
By Jessica Darling
By now, everyone knows the true identity of the PHS student we knew as Hy Wallace. But those who thought they were tight with Hy or Cinthia or The Artist Formerly Known As Miss Hyacinth Anastasia Wallace (or whatever she’s calling herself these days) were shocked by the September 2 New York Times article revealing that the street-smart, straight-up homegirl was actually a former junkie and private-school flunkie with a fat trust fund.
Even those who weren’t friendly with Miss Wallace were peeved about getting played, especially when they found out that the book she’s writing about her PHS experience is called Bubble-Gum Bimbos and Assembly-Line Meatballers.
"I would never lie like that," students cried. "That’s the lowest of the low!"
Hy faked her way through friendships because she thought that was the only way she could get what she wanted. She morphed her identity in order to win favor with the people she wanted to pimp out. She sold out her "friends" to get ahead. It’s easy for us to get all high and mighty and point a disappointed finger at her. But ask yourself this: Is her deception any different than the lies we tell each other—and ourselves?
Think of cliques whose members smile in each other’s faces, then whip out the knives when backs are turned. Jocks who act like jerks and can still buy dozens of donuts. Social Climbers who drop less popular buds as they move their way up to the Upper Crust.
Sure I’m tired of all the backstabbing and social climbing and B.S. that goes on here. But how can I expect it to stop unless I stop doing it myself? I’ve looked in the mirror and faced the sad truth: I’m as big a poseur as Miss Hyacinth Anastasia Wallace.
Since my best friend moved away, I’ve censored my true feelings more and more, replacing them with lies that I know everyone wants to hear. I’ve felt like I’ve lost my right to have an opinion, just because I know no one will back me up. But we should all have the courage to speak out about what’s bothering us about this school and beyond. Maybe people won’t like what you have to say. Perhaps you’ll find that you’re not alone.
Be willing to take the risk. Because if we continue to keep our mouths shut about all the nasty stuff we do to each other on a daily basis, then Miss Wallace is right. We are bubble-gum bimbos and assembly-line meatballers. Every last one of us.
the twenty-third