The Photograph of Apparent Reincarnation

Oscar was a rubber spider that I got at Disney World.

I found him on the shelf at the Tiki Store and knew at once that he was the greatest spider in the world, and was also in need of a friend.

I didn't name him Oscar. He told me that was his name.

I persuaded my parents to buy him for me, and took him back to the hotel we were staying at. He became a temporary member of the family; he later posed in a picture we took at Chef Mickey's. He was a big spider, at least a foot across. He was very black.

I believe I lost him, which, when I couldn't find him, convinced me that he must have died.

Nothing really clicked in my mind when my science teacher told me that her fish's name was Oscar. I just nodded and carried on with my conversation.

I realized that Osacr must have been reincarnated as a fish when I came across the photograph we took at Chef Mickey's, in which I was standing in front of my family holding a big, black spider named Oscar in my hands.

Sticks

I sighed in near resignation.

I picked the small glass bottle up from the surface of the dinner table and shook a few of its contents out onto the smooth wood in front of my algebra book. I liked the sound that the toothpicks made when they tapped against the table. It reminded me of glass.

We used to play a game called Pick-up-sticks. There was this little cylinder-shaped tin container full of brightly colored plastic sticks, and you would dump it out on the floor. It was best played on carpet. The object of the game was to take turns picking up each individual stick without moving the other sticks in the process.

I returned the toothpicks to the bottle and attempted problem 13 once again.

It was a fun game.

The Stalker

I walked down the hall, talking to my friend Jessica, who had just moved here from another school. She had actually gone to the same school as me in the fifth grade, but she moved away. Now she was back again.
We were talking about classes or something along those lines when I saw the Mohawk Boy, John, walk into a science classroom. I have that class fourth block, I thought.
I wondered if I would be considered some kind of stalker. Every time I saw this kid I seemed to watch him. Not exactly on purpose, though. I suppose his hair caught my attention, and when I noticed him I would never have any reason to look away, so I ended up watching him.
I bet he would be a little disturbed if he knew I did that, though, I thought.
I suppose anybody would. I would.
It's rather a disturbing kind of thing, though, isn't it? I've never spoken a word to this person and I already know his name, who he hangs out with, and what class he has third block.
I really hope he never finds that out.

A Pale, White Ghost

I was talking to a girl named Heidi when Theresa, who I didn't know very well back then, skated up to me and joined in our little conversation. The subject of a boy named Adam came up and Theresa looked at me.

"You know what he said about you and Josh, right?" she asked me.

I shook my head no. I had only been in public school for about a year and a half, and I suppose you could say I wasn't very social; I didn't know who Adam was.

"Well, he saw you and Josh walking over to your bus, and he said 'Oh, look, there goes Josh and his pale, ghost girlfriend.' He's such a loser."

I looked down at my feet, at a loss for words. I hadn't really ever been insulted like that. I was brought up to believe that everyone is equal, despite the color of their skin. I wasn't aware that people still believed in that kind of thing, racism, I mean.

To my utter horror, I felt big, hot tears welling up inside my eyes. I had never cried at the skating rink before, not in front of everyone. I couldn't cry, that would be so pathetic; he hadn't even said anything bad, I sholdn't be offended by that, he'd probably meant it as a joke anyway.

Heidi and Theresa saw me and comforted me. They tried to make me feel better. I appreciated them doing that, it was sweet. Some people I didn't even know, who I suspected were Heidi and Theresa's friends, came up to me and asked what was wrong. One girl even said she would always love me for who I was, no matter what anybody else said. I tell you, I had never seen this girl before, but I felt much better when she told me that.

It was in spite of that night that I call myself a ghost.

The Runaway's Shirt

I laid in the trundle bed next to my real one, where Emily was lying awake. Suddenly, We heard a phone ring. It was my dad's cell, the one phone Emily hadn't unplugged. We heard half of a conversation from which we drew that the cops knew exactly where Emily was.

"Fuck," she breathed.

She had better not be angry with dad, I thought fiercely. It's her own stupid fault she's in this situation. I felt like I knew the truth, though; she wasn't mad, just scared.

"What am I supposed to do?" she asked.

"I don't guess there's anything for you to do except to wait," I said.

So we waited. I was trembling like mad. I always got like that when I knew somebody was coming to get something. It's just this strange phobia I have.

Eventually, my dad stuck his head in the door and said, "Emily, sweetie, your ride's here." He knew she knew where she was going. He was trying to be kind about it.

She sat up, grabbed her stuff, and walked out the door, like she had done this before. My guess was that she had.

She never came back to school.

She left her shirt, though. Ever since that night, I've carried that shirt around in my school bag, just in case I see her again.

My Boyfriend Broke Up With Me Today

I sat on the bus next to Tyler. I couldn’t decide if I was angry or upset.

I knew he was going to break up with me, I thought. I don’t know why I care so much. This is so pointless.

My eyes shifted in Lindsay’s direction. She had acted so upset when I told her. “I am going to be calling Cody tonight,” she had said angrily, then added almost as an afterthought, “Of course, I call Cody every night.”

Please, I thought, like you’re even mad. Like you even care. You always give Cody a hug before me and you always yell out his name in the mornings as soon as you see him. It’s enough to make me sick.

I started to wonder about Lindsay calling him every day when, for the past week or so, I hadn’t called him once. I decided it was a hopeless cause. I mean, I know Cody wasn’t cheating on me with Lindsay or anything. I was in the eighth grade, for Christ’s sake. Besides, Lindsay was going out with Chris. They loved each other more than anything.

That didn’t stop her from making out with that guy at the dance, though. Oh stop, I told myself. You’re being overdramatic. I suddenly felt terrible about thinking negatively about Lindsay.

I thought about the day when that happened. The dance had been on a Saturday, and we all found out about it on the following Monday. Lindsay told us that she and Chris had broken up and then gotten back together on Sunday night. When Chris got to school, he brought her a ring and proposed to her later that day.

My mind started to wander back to Cody. I knew that would only make me depressed.

Tyler took off his headphones and handed them to me. I smiled in spite of myself for his act of kindness. I wasn’t crying and, as far as I could tell, didn’t appear sad, but Tyler knew me better than that.

Oh, enough with this drama. I’ll be "over it" by Wednesday.

Catfish and Satisfaction

Maybe I’m the only person in here who isn’t satisfied with a mediocre life, I thought.

I was surrounded by people, laughing and eating tons of fried food and having their idea of a good time. I was angry.

Everyone in here has probably lived in the same place all their life. I wondered if anybody has ever even wanted to travel away from the south. That in itself made me mad. I couldn’t for the life of me understand why anyone would ever want to be stuck in this stupid place for their entire life. There was so much more than farms and rednecks and…

Fried food, I thought, pushing the catfish away from me in disgust. How on Earth could anyone be so, so satisfied? It was ridiculous.

As my eyes scanned the room, another image caught my eye. An old lady, apparently a grandmother, had just sat down at a table across the room with a small infant. She was soon joined by a man, who was about the same age as her. They sat there, feeding the baby and talking, just talking. The entire time I watched them, the smile that they both had plastered on their faces never faltered for a moment.

I sat back in my chair. Not only were these people satisfied, they were genuinely happy. I smiled to myself. Maybe there’s more to some people than I can see by watching them eat dinner.

The Mohawk Boy

I sat on Tyler’s couch in his living room, thinking once again about the kid with the glasses. He had a Mohawk-like hairstyle. He had it cut so that there was a little more hair growing down the middle of his head, and he always spiked it up at school. I liked it. I thought it was unusual.

“You know that kid at school with the glasses and weird hair?” I asked Tyler. I immediately felt bad, though; I hadn’t meant to say weird.

“Yeah,” Tyler answered me, “You mean John.”

“John?”

“Yeah.”

I knew Tyler knew who I was talking about. He didn’t mean the John that bothered me during P.E. The guy with the glasses was named John, too.

Jesus, I thought, I know way too many people named John or Joseph or something. People need to stop naming their kids names that start with J.

But now I knew his name. I didn’t really care that his name started with a J at all. I was just glad that I knew it.

Makeovers Really Don't Make Me Look Any Better

I sat in the chair, a little nervously I must admit.

It was only a little makeup, but these girls spoke freely about the recipant of the makeover, and it could be very offensive sometimes. Just a few moments ago I had a friend who said that this one girl had a huge mustache.

"Hold still!"

I tensed up, trying not to move my face.

It was true that the girl had a mustache, but that still didn't give anyone the right to make fun of her. Tons of girls have mustaches.

I suddenly felt worried. What if I have a mustache, too?

I subconsciously licked my upper lip.

"Stop it, you'll ruin your lipstick, you idiot!"

She gave me a corny smile as though to say she had meant it as a joke. I wasn't so sure.

A few minutes later, the girl started putting orange powder on my face.

I heard her mutter, "Wow, you're really pale."

She stood back for a moment, a slight frown on her face. She was looking at my neck, and I could tell right away what she was thinking about. The powder was much darker than my skin.

"We're just going to have to powder your neck."

Who cares that my neck's lighter than my face? I'm not even going anywhere! It doesn't even matter!

"I don't want to put more makeup on. It already feels like a mask," I said quietly.

"It'll look really good. I promise."

"Well, yeah, but it doesn't matter, I mean, I'm not leaving the house or anything."

"Just let me do it, it'll look really good."

"I told you, I don't want to put more makeup on, I'm about to go to sleep..."

I tried to get up to leave, but she kind of sat me back down in the chair. She proceded to apply more of the orange makeup to my neck, smiling the same corny smile she had given me earlier. It wasn't that she was strong or anything, she was the same age and size as me; I was just a pushover.

When I looked in the mirror, I didn't look really good. Perhaps I would have to somebody who put on a pound of makeup themselves every morning, somebody who thought that kind of thing was pretty. But not me.

I suppose that was the night I decided not to be superficial.

Coversation With a Love-Stricken Stranger

“I’m in love with someone I’ve never said a word to,” she said.

I stared at her.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. He’s this guy on my bus. Every time I look behind me, he’s staring at me.”

I smiled.

“It’s not like I’m shallow or anything. I mean, he’s not hot, he’s…”

She paused.

“…beautiful.”

Most people would have found that either pathetic or corny. Maybe both. But I didn’t.

I decided that I wanted to be friends with this girl.

I still don’t know her name, though. I suppose I’m bad with names. I thought about this as I picked up another penny and put it on heads.

Thank You, Chris

As I walked away from the cafeteria doors, I heard somebody call out my name. I recognized his voice at once and spun around.
“You okay?” asked Chris kindly.
I smiled as best as I could manage. I felt so fake.
“Yes, I’m okay. Really.”
He put his arm across my shoulder.
“Look, I’m sorry Cody’s being such an asshole…”
“No,” I interrupted him, “Nobody should be mad at Cody, he didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Nobody’s mad at anybody,” Chris corrected me. “Cody’s not mad at you. Will you please come back to the group?”
I smiled again.
“Yeah, I was going to anyway. I just needed a minute to myself, I suppose.”
Chris nodded. “Well, everybody thought that that’s why you left, because of Cody.”
He suddenly turned around. Lindsay was behind us. I smiled.
“Thanks, Chris,” I said. I don’t think he heard me.

Why I'm Not Like Them

Socially awkward



A group of sixth-grade girls sat around a wooden dinner table at a birthday party.
“Heather’s sweet sometimes, but she just thinks she’s all that, you know? She thinks she’s so freakin’ hot. She just constantly talks about her boobs or Chase McCrory or something,” said a girl who had been Heather’s best friend since the third grade.
“I can’t stand that girl. She gets on my nerves,” said another who only felt that way when she wasn’t crying on Heather’s shoulder about her boyfriend breaking up with her.
“She acts like such a bimbo,” said someone who wanted to be like Heather so bad it wasn’t funny.
“She’s the kind of person who thinks she can get any guy she wants,” announced somebody who felt the exact same way about herself.
All this was being watched and overheard by a girl who, for the first time in her life, didn’t want to be like everyone else.

The Mean Old Lady

A much younger version of myself gazed up at a middle-aged woman.




She was trying to joke with me.




She pretended to sneer as she gazed down her nose in my direction.




“Your daddy’s a rotten old man,” she told me.




I threw furious eyes in her face.




“Yeah, well, you’re a mean old lady!”

Exactly Who Oscar Is

I trudged down the alley, through arms and legs that the younger kids

dangled

off the sides of their seats. One of them, a small, blonde boy, even

offered

me a high five. I think his name was Grahm. I smiled and slapped his

hand

as I walked by. I can’t be mean to little kids. I’d hate myself if I was. I

dropped

down beside Tyler, who was talking to Lindsay. “I had a nice

conversation

with Oscar today,” I said. He looked at me. “Who?” “Oscar,” I

repeated.

“He’s a fish.” He smiled and nodded. “Right,” he said. “She talks to

that

fish every day,” Lindsay added. I grinned. Oscar is the only one who

understands

me, I guess. Tyler put on his headphones and turned his CD player on.

Blue

I laid my head down on Cody’s shoulder. He was talking to Chris about something or another. The morning had been somewhat uneventful so far. It was rather chilly.
Cody had just greeted someone, and I turned around to see who it was. I didn’t recognize him at first. Then it dawned on me that this was the same pale, white-haired boy with the binder I had seen a week or so before. His head was larger than I remembered it, and he was really short. I saw that he had the binder tucked underneath his arm.
“This is Christian,” Cody told us. “He’s in the seventh grade, too.” Everyone in the group glanced around to see who Cody was talking about. We started shooting questions about music and things at him. Sure enough, he had about the same interests as us. The only thing I disagreed with him on was the question about Marilyn Manson. He didn’t like Marilyn Manson; he said he was weird.
Then the question arose as to what Christian’s nickname was going to be. Chris’s was Raven. Tyler always changed his, but as of that day I think it was Turk. Cody’s was Cheese, but I never seemed to be able to call him by it once we started going out. So, of course, Christian needed one, too. We tossed around a couple of names.
“Pop tart!” exclaimed Lorna, “We’ll call him Pop tart!”
I thought that had nothing to do with the kid. He didn’t remind me of a pop tart at all.
“Let’s call him Blue,” somebody said, “then if he stands next to Cheese, they can be Blue Cheese.”
I laughed. Then, as I looked at the kid, I realized it was a little more fitting. He did seem kind of blue in a weird sort of way.
Everyone agreed. His name was officially Blue. Lorna didn’t seem very happy about it, though. I felt sorry for her, but I think it was good anyway.

I love it when things work out.

Oscar

“Hello, Oscar,” I said, sitting down like I did every day in the same
blue, plastic chair.

“Did you have a good day? I know I did. I’m wearing my favorite pants

today. Everybody seemed to be in a good mood today. Especially

Tyler. He and Lorna are going out. I’m so happy for them. None of the

teachers gave us anything hard, either. I had lots of free time to read

my book, A Farewell to Arms. It’s a really good book. I had trouble

understanding it at first, but it’s good. I don’t suppose you read much

do you, Oscar? Do you ever get lonely? I mean, you’re all by yourself

in there except for that other guy. Hmm. I guess you’re the kind of

person that could entertain himself. I rather enjoy it, too, entertaining

myself, I mean.”

The bell rang. I pressed my fingers against the glass as though to say farewell. “Goodbye, Oscar,” I said, rising to leave. I gave him a smile and took off.

My Idea of Vengeance

I was laying with my head on my desk when I heard somebody whisper my name. I looked up and saw it was Casey. She had a rather annoyed frown on her face as she pointed to my bag, which was on the floor by my feet. I looked into the front pocket, and to my complete and total outrage, it had little pieces of pink eraser scattered across my belongings.

I was, of course, furious. I knew exactly who had done it. How dare he, how dare he throw his stupid little erasers into my book bag. He had no right to do it, no right to do it at all. I stuffed my hand into the pocket, which was shaking badly due to my rage, and collected the foul little rubber pieces.

I had to wait for quite a while. I wanted to wait until Mrs. Rivers was done teaching and she had settled down at her desk. Once she had done this, I pressed down on my paper with the tip of my pencil until it snapped. I got up, broken pencil and foul erasers in hand, and walked to the front of the room. The way I handled myself, you never would have known I was plotting revenge.

When I was satisfied that my writing utensil had been sharpened, I began the walk back to my seat. It was one of those things that seems to happen in slow motion. The erasers had gotten sweaty in the palm of my hand. I passed by the immature little child’s desk and triumphantly threw the erasers in his face. “You can have them back,”
I said coldly.

I calmly walked to my desk and sat down as though nothing had happened. He had been stunned; I’ll never forget the look on his face.
Mrs. Rivers hadn’t even noticed. He turned around and threw them back at me. “You can have your erasers back.”

Weak. You can’t steal someone’s brilliant plot and still be cool.

I gathered them again and tossed them at the back of his head. Your erasers? Please. “I don’t want them.” He was about to throw them again when Casey’s voice registered with me. “Chase, stop it.” He scowled and walked to the garbage can. He was mad.

Ah, vengeance is sweet.

Why I Hang Out With John

I tried in vain to read Nicole’s Japanese anime comic book.

John continued to pester me.

“Yeah, it really sucks that you and Cody broke up.”

As though I needed reminding of this.

“Yes, it does.’’

He carried on; I always hid the annoyance in my voice.

“I felt the same way when Nicole broke up with me.”

She had told him that it was “too perfect.”

“Mmmm.”

He and Nicole's relationship had lasted two days.

“I am sorry, though.”

I appreciated John’s kindness.

“Don’t worry about it. Thank you, but, really, I’m fine.”

I wasn’t going to act depressed or bitter if I could help it.

“Chris didn’t do anything about it.”

Of course, I didn’t get what he meant.

“And what exactly was he supposed to do?”

I really didn’t get what John said sometimes.

“He’s the strong one in the group. He could fight him or something.”

I laughed.

This is why I hang out with John.

The Strange Boy

Today…




My eyes followed the pale, white-haired boy until he disappeared from view. I had caught a glimpse of his binder. I thought it was
interesting and wondered briefly where he had
gotten it, until I realized it wasn’t
the binder itself I
liked,
it was what was
written on it. I had seen a band
name I was familiar with, as well as a program
on television that I sometimes watched. Suddenly, I bent over
to examine something shiny and copper that had caught my eye. I pondered what the boy’s name was as I turned the bright, new-
looking penny on its heads side and replaced it.