The Nerdy Girl

Tyson had made Varsity too. Mom and Dad would be going to the game. “I’ll think about it,” I promised Cal.

“How about a movie Saturday night,” he suggested.

He was moving so fast my head was spinning. He rested his chin on his palm and stared at me waiting for an answer. “I’ll ask my parents.”

Safe enough response.

“I’m a good driver,” he declared.

I shook my head at Cal. “I have to ask,” I said.

He leaned across the desk. “If they say no can I come over? We’ll do homework together.”

He was persistent.

“Why?”

“I like you,” he declared.

“We’ll see.”

Miss Hillard wrote in bold letters, WAR. “Right a poem, in your journals, please.”

I was intrigued. You could write about actual fighting and death. You could write about the devastation of war. There was so many topics that were floating about in my brain.

In the silence of the night.

I hear them.

The ghosts of the innocent.

The ones who didn’t want this.

Their voices silenced by the ones who gave them no choice.

The streets are dirty with their blood.

The windows broken by their battles.

I hear them.

The ghosts of the innocent.

I chose to write what I thought war would be like after the fact. Usually writers are told to stick with what they know. What did I know about war? I only knew what I saw when Dad was watching the six o’clock news or CNN, which he watched a lot when he was home. I thought

this was pretty good though.

My mind kept wandering. To last night. To Tyson’s feelings on being my twin and wanting his own identity. We had always felt that way, but he was taking it a step further. A step too far.

I wrote in my journal forgetting about the assignment that was supposed to be my focus. Then I heard my name. I glanced around the room. Then at Miss Hillard.

“You are so intense. Why don’t you read your poem to us?”

No. I didn’t want to. I had only written a few lines. The other stuff was just me writing my feelings about Tyson. I tended to do that. Daydream. Get lost in my thoughts. I began to panic. I cleared my throat.

“Can I?” Cal asked rescuing me for which I was grateful.

“Sure,” Miss Hillard replied.