Alex Is Euphoric — Stunning Everyone, Including Herself
Lit Up — June’s Prompt: Lucky Sentence
“Is Alex all right?” from Hilary Boyd’s Thursdays in the Park
Alex unleashed her hair from the elastic ponytail holder, ran her fingers through, rubbing the sensitive spot. No more twisting strands of muddy brown hair around her finger and yanking hard to keep herself awake.
Finally.
Finally it was over.
Bethany poked her between the shoulder blades, the way she’d been doing since they were second grade. If she weren’t Alex’s best friend, Alex would have to get her in trouble. But that wasn’t how things were. Bethany was fun and interesting and popular, always had her back. Without her and her mother’s brownies, Alex never would have made it through middle school.
“You in?” Bethany hissed.
Alex leaned back, keeping a careful eye on Ms. Petrie. The crabbed old thing was yammering on as if it weren’t the last day of school and the last time they had to sit through her drone on about dead poets and stuff that no one wanted to read. She could still get you in trouble with the principal though — summer detention was still being held over their heads.
Alex nodded her head.
Bethany sighed. “Good. Meet us at the doors outside the gym.”
Petrie reminded the students that they still had another 32 minutes of class. Let’s make this time count, she said, clapping her hands.
An explosion shook the building. Flash of brilliant white light and then the lights went out and the school went silent. Rain seethed against the windows.
Andy whooped. Half the class charged over to the windows to stare at sheets of rain deluging the fields. The other half sat stunned in their seats, shocked and not sure what to do next.
Ms. Petrie clapped her hands again. Thunder rumbled overhead and lightning flashed across the sky.
Bethany laughed. “It’s like she’s making the storm!”
Alex snickered. “Old witch!”
Ms. Petrie clapped her hands, ordering everyone back to their seats. How about we make the most of this opportunity, she drawled. Who has a story that they’d like to share?
The kids shuffled back to their seats, grumbling, shoving up against one another.
Tim brushed past Alex, murmuring that he hoped she was in. He dropped a tube of lipstick on her desk. Alex stared at it. This could not be happening.
Bethany giggled and poked Alex in the back. He’s mine, she hissed fiercely. Alex shrugged her shoulders. She had no control over what he did. To shut Bethany up, she passed back the lipstick.
“Ms. Michaels?” Ms. Petrie was glaring at Alex with beady vulture eyes. “Do you have something that you would like to share with the class?”
The class stopped shuffling and muttering. Perfect Alex with the perfect everything was in trouble. The shouts and the clatter out in the hallway boomed. The rain raged against the building. The silence in the classroom deepened.
Alex swallowed. Her mind raced. What would keep her out of trouble? Where were the dead poets when she needed them?
She was stunned to hear herself speak. “The Dust did scoop itself like Hands — And threw away the Road.”
Ms. Petrie’s mouth curved. Was it a smile?
“Emily Dickinson,” Ms. Petrie grinned. “Glad to see something sunk in that pretty little head of yours this year.” She winked at Alex, resumed pacing in front of the class, back in drone mode.
Bethany blew out the breath she’d been holding, stirring Alex’s hair. Beluga Whale Belinda, the weird girl with thick glasses and bad skin, turned and stared. In the back of the room, the boys snickered.
Alex found herself raising her hand. She stood beside her desk. “Ms. Petrie, I don’t feel so good. May I go to the nurse?”
Ms. Petrie paused, considered. “Yes, of course. Do you need someone to help you there?” She looked somber, concerned about a student for the first time in the history of the school.
Volunteers raised their hands, urged Alex to choose them.
“Belinda,” said Ms. Petrie. “Would you be so kind as to escort Ms. Michaels down to the nurse?”
Alex slung her backpack over her shoulder, waited for Belinda to ease out of her desk. Bewildered silence followed Alex and Belinda out of the classroom while Ms. Petrie resumed her lecture.
The emergency lights flooded the hall with bright, uncompromising glare. A janitor jiggled the electrical panel at the end of the hall.
“Emily Dickinson, huh?” said Belinda, shambling along beside Alex. “Nice save. So, you actually read that stuff?”
Alex shot her a look. This escort was not her idea. Even if it was, she would rather take care of things for herself. Beluga was an unexpected problem.
“Yeah, you think I can’t read?” She shoved open the doors to the first floor, not waiting for Beluga, thundered down the brilliantly-lit stairs.
“No, no, it’s not that. It’s that…Wait, where are you going?”
Alex rammed open the emergency doors at the bottom of the stairs. The alarm shrilled.
Belinda stopped in the doorway, staring at the torrential rain. “What are you doing? Are you all right?”
“Never better,” said Alex, stomping into the biggest, muddiest puddle behind the basketball court. She jumped as high as she could, flung her backpack onto the grass and jumped again.
Belinda hesitated, then charged out into the rain and joined the riotous dance. They danced hard, they whooped, and flung handfuls of water toward the sky.
Ten minutes later, muddied Belinda slunk into Ms. Petrie’s classroom. The kids burst into the baby beluga song they used on her. Ms. Petrie ordered silence, stared at the soaked girl.
“Is Alex all right?” Her voice cracked.
Belinda slid into her desk, pushing her backpack away from the puddle forming under her seat.
“Never better,” she said. Then she smiled.
