This is my brand-new novel, Beautiful Moonlight, and I'd really appreciate it if y'all would comment! Criticism -- good or not-so-great -- always helps me become a better writer! Thanks a lot! So enjoy!
Every student in Mrs. Livingston's 5th period AP Chemistry class bolts out the door as soon as they hear the first bell. Me, I have to stay behind and ask the teacher about last night's homework. As I pass the black tables, I wonder what they're serving in the cafeteria today. I don't have enough time, however, before I reach the desk that's bolted to the tile in the front of the classroom.
"Mrs. Livingston?" I mumble.
My favorite teacher jerks her head up in the middle of eating her chicken salad sandwich, accidentally tearing a piece off that's too big for her mouth. She sucks in the part that I can see quickly, like a vacuum, smiling the whole time.
"Oh, Cory, I'm sorry. I haven't eaten all day and I just could not wait until my lunch period. I have to eat this entire sandwich before my Guided Study class comes in, so that's why I'm literally sucking it down," Mrs. Livingston laughs, "So what can I do you for?"
That's why I absolutely love Mrs. Livingston. She's only twenty six, so she still knows how to be "hip" and "loony," as my mother would say. And not to mention, she's absolutely smart and gorgeous. Her turqoise eyes compliment her strawberry blonde hair perfectly, and she always wears a skirt of some sort, a blouse with some kind of frilly stuff on the chest, and her favorite black tailored blazer, topping the whole look off with either blue or black wedges or ballet flats if she's not in the mood to look good. But no matter how hard she tries, Mrs. Livingston could never not look good.
"I need help with last night's homework. There was an equation that I didn't understand. Number eleven?" I point to the problem in my textbook.
Mrs. Livingston sighs and says, "Ah yes. It would seem that even my best and smartest student would have trouble with that one. Here, let me explain what all this mumbo-jumbo means." Then she tells me about the law the problem is talking about and shows me how to calculate what exactly it wants.
"Oh okay, now it all makes sense. Thanks. Well, I'm starving, so I'll head to the Commons now." Then I see a black-haired, emo-looking boy walk into the room and sit in the very last row, and I know that it's my cue to leave when he looks at me at raises his eyebrow, as if to say, "What do you want?" "I'll see you later, Mrs. Livingston. Thanks again for the homework help!" I yell as I walk out into the hallway.
. . . .
Ugh. Lunch time. The worst period of the day. Everyone has their own cliques that they can sit with at their own allotted table. Not me. I sit in the corner of the cafeteria, alone. Well, not entirely. I sit at the same table as the president of the Wizardry Club and the only other group where geeks can be with people like them, otherwise known as the Chess Club. But I sit at the end of the row, by myself. No one in this entire school talks to me because I'm "that girl who thinks she's smarter than everyone else just because she gets straight A's." Gosh, that pisses me off beyond belief. Not one person knows me, but apparently they still have license to judge me. But I've gotten used to it by now. This has been going on ever since the third grade when I my parents shipped me off to the "smart kids school," Wellington Preparatory Academy. Even my best friend, Mary Win, shut me out.
It really sucks for them that I don't care. They think that they can get to me by acting like immature retards. Yeah, well, if they think that, then I really am smarter than everyone else. But, don't twist my words. I know for a fact that there are smarter kids at Reagan High School than me. Those kids just don't apply themselves. Take Butch Hull, for example. He's the school tough guy, but I've seen his standardized test scores. I work as an aid in the front office, you see. Butch is definitely not as stupid as he lets on. He could probably make it into the Gifted program if he actually wanted to be successful. However, I think everyone at RHS, including Butch and me, knows that he just wants to make it through high school until he can drop out and start his own car shop. It's just how it is. And we all respect that.
"Hey, Doris. Slap me on some mystery meat, please," I tell the chief lunch lady.
"¡Hola, chica! [Hey girl!] Here ya go." She ladles out the mushy substance onto my tray, splattering a little on her flowered apron in the process. "Tomorrow's special is lasagna, but I would avoid it if I were you. Yolanda is making it. Have the pizza instead, hun."
I laugh. "Thanks for the heads-up, Doris. See ya tomorrow!" I walk over to my table and sit down with a sigh. I shove a spoonful of the goop into my mouth and pull out my book. As I continue to chew, I feel something hard. "Can I borrow your napkin, Wally? I'll give you my Merlin's hat card," I ask the president of the Wizardry Club's second-in-command. He agrees, and I finally have something to spit into. When I observe the mush on my tray, I see a bone. Of what? I think. I immediately lose my appetite right then. I push the tray across the table and pick up my copy of Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult, receiving a stare from the emo crowd's leader. Giving her a "What?" look, I stick my nose into the book and am engrossed by the complexity of Peter, Josie, and Alex. But mostly Patrick. Detective DuCharme is my favorite character, and I just can't get enough of him.
. . . .
Twenty minutes later, Wally nudges me with his elbow, gesturing around the lunchroom and all the students swiftly standing and walking to their Guided Study class.
"Hey, Cory, lunch's over," he says.
I shake out of my oblivion and look around the cafeteria. "Wha - Oh, thanks Wally." As I start to stand up, however, I feel someone kick my shin. I look to my right and see Wally staring at me expectantly. "What, Wally? I already said thanks."
"What about my new Merlin's hat? You promised that if I gave you something to spit your nasty body fluids into, you'd give me your Merlin's hat card. So, when you gonna give it to me?" He motions to my messenger bag slung over my shoulder, probably knowing that I always keep my cards in the secret pocket on the inside.
"Oh, right. Here." I reach into my bag and pull out my deck of cards. Then I find what I'm looking for. My one of a kind Merlin's hat card. There are only six in existence. It took me eight years to find it, and now I'm giving it to Wally. I hold it out, and he literally has to yank it out of my fingers I'm holding it so tightly. "See ya tomorrow, Wally." And with that, I head to B Hall, where Mrs. Dyson's Guided Study class is.
I have to make a pit stop at my locker first, though. After Guided Study, I have Pre-Calculus, so I need my textbook and folder. I'm looking around at all the students, walking and yelling the latest gossip at each other, when all of a sudden . . . BAM! I'm falling backwards onto the tiled floor!
"Oh my gosh, are you okay?" I hear a tender, masculine voice. It's so soothing in the hustle and bustle of the hallway. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going. Max, go get the nurse!"
"Man, why don't you do it? Class starts in like, three minutes," I hear someone whine from behind me.
"Because, man, I just ran into a gorgeous girl and I can't leave her like this. Dude, she hit her head! She might have a concussion! Now. Go. Get. The. Nurse."
Did he just say gorgeous?
I hear shuffling heading away from me; that must be Max going to get the nurse. I think this would be a good time to open my eyes. I slowly peel open my eyes, and when I do, I see the most beautiful face I've ever seen looking down at me. When he sees my eyes open, a wave of relief appears to crash down on him.
Then the rambling starts. "Oh, it's so great that you're okay. I got my friend to get the nurse, and when he comes back, I'm gonna tell him to ask your Guided Study teacher to let you skip today. You might have a concussion, and we need to make sure that it's not too bad."
Baffled, and slightly astounded by beauty of the face in front of me, I simply ask, "We?"
He laughs. "Um, yeah. I need to make sure that you're okay so that my conscience is settled."
Well, I wasn't expecting that. Obviously this guy doesn't really care about me, he's just with me so that he'll feel better. Angry, I quickly stand up, stumbling the whole way. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Whatever-Your-Name-Is, but I simply must go now. Buh-bye."
As I walk away, I feel my hand being pulled back behind me. I swear, sparks fly. When I turn around, all I can see is a pair of the clearest, most beautiful blue-green-gray eyes that I have ever seen. This guy is so close to me that I can smell his breath. Mmm, wintergreen. I subconsciously sigh.
"I knew I'd get you to come back. They always come back." He smirks, obviously trying to be sexy. Ha, as if.
This guy is seriously a jerk. "Um, well, I don't think you know that I'm not 'them'. So I'll just go now. And I'm not even gonna waste my time saying how nice it was to meet you. Because it wasn't. So bye." I know I sound rude, but I really don't care. This guy is really pissing me off.
"Wait, babe -"
That's where I reach my breaking point. I zip around and slap him square on his right cheek. "Don't you dare 'babe' me, douche bag! Don't you dare! I've seen your type before. My mother dates jerks like you all the time. You act all sweet, pretending to care, call me 'babe', and then you drop me like a fly. You may be attractive, but you're a self-centered, low minded jerk, and I don't associate with people like that. So, again, and for the final time, good-BYE!" And with that, I march away.
Well, that's it! Please comment below, whatever you have to say! I would really appreciate it! Thanks a lot!