Journalism for Dummies: As Told by Casey Summers

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

“Casey, this is the fifth time you've been late this month.” Mr. Brown's calm voice is behind me. I jump a little in my seat before sheepishly turning to face him. He is a tall man, in fact the only student taller than him is Jeremy. His dark brown hair is peppered with gray along with his beard. The last thing I notice are his gray and green eyes looking at me with mild disappointment.

“You are aware that tardies effect your grade in this class, correct?” He goes on to say, but I know he's teasing me, even if a part of him is serious.

I nod my head. “Yes, Mr. Brown. I understand.” I should just comply with what he's saying, but I feel the urge to explain myself. “It's just that I have to walk all the way from the fine arts building to get here. That's the whole campus, sir!”

A small little smirk begins to slip onto his lips. “Then I suggest you start running to class, Ms. Summers.” He pats me on the head before heading away to speak to other students.

I could say that I am one of Mr. Brown's favorite students. He allowed me into his school newspaper editing class my freshman year, which is basically unheard of. Now, as a senior, he has helped form me into the completely amazing and may I say humble editor in chief that I am today.

“You have that shit eating grin on your face.” Jeremy whispers into my ear.

I jump, a little squeal escaping me. Quickly, I compose myself and smack my best friend on the arm. “You darn fool; you scared the crap outta me!”

He only laughs, shaking his head as he pulls his chair over to mine and takes a seat. “Okay, so tell me what you were thinking about.” He speaks after he's had his fill of making fun of me.

“Nothing, just thinking back to freshman year.”

Jeremy rolls his eyes. “Oh, I get it.” He changes his voice to a low, more serious tone. “'The wonderful Casey Summers was graciously allowed into the senior only journalism class and became, from that point on, Mr. Brown's most brightest and favorite-ist student. Ever.'”

I laugh. “'Favorite-ist'? That's not even a word, Jeremy. It's no wonder you take the photographs instead of writing the articles.”

“Shut up.” Jeremy sticks his tongue out at me before heading back to his computer to look over his pictures. With a smirk, I turn back to the article I was writing on the snacks in our vending machines. I hear the classroom door open in the midst of my writing, but I ignore the sound.

Health put aside for a moment, can we ponder the scam we endure each time we buy an item that's valued at about half the amount we pay for it? A dollar for a 4 oz bag of Cheetos is a rip off, not even counting that half this bag is basically oxygen.

Rule Number Eleven of Journalism: Always pay attention to your surroundings. Even if you are in the middle of a heated article.

“Casey, are you even listening to me?” I feel a hand grasp my shoulder and I am startled out of my seat. Somehow, I end up on the floor and I can hear Jeremy guffawing from his desk. With an exasperated sigh, I look up at the person who had caused my mishap. Mr. Brown is standing above me, notably trying to contain his own laughter at my expense.

That's when I notice my favorite teacher is not alone where he is standing. Beside him stands a rather tall boy with dark, disheveled hair. His light brown eyes glance around the room with almost a bored look. A frown is painted on his quite boyish face, nearly perfect eyebrows knitted together, and his hands are clasped behind his back. The dark blue sweater he wears along with dark skinny jeans makes him look almost irresistible, and if it were not for that brat-like pout on his features, he'd be incredibly handsome.

I finally make my way to my feet. “Yes, Mr. Brown?” I ask, fixing my mint-green skirt and black sweater.

“This is Micah McLaren; he's a new student here and, according to the office, he has quite an astounding amount of classes in common with you. Be a dear and help show him around today, please?”

With a small pout of my own, I consent to help him out. Not that I minded showing around the new 'hottie', but judging from his expression, I don't think I'm going to like him that much. I settle back into my seat and turn back to my computer to finish my article. Not like I had to hurry much, seeing as it was due in two days.

Rule Number Twenty: Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today. Okay, so technically I stole that from Thomas Jefferson, the third president of the United States, but whatever. Same deal.

“Well, aren't you going to introduce yourself or something? Ignoring me isn't very polite, you know.” I blinked, turning in my chair to look behind myself. Was that a British accent I just heard from the new kid?

Taking a moment to make sure I wasn't going to make a comment I would later regret, I calmly reply with, “So sorry, Micah. I'm Casey Summers. Editor in Chief of the school newspaper and a senior here at Bonnyville Centralized High School. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Now, I'm a little busy, so if you'll excuse me...” I return my attention to my article.

“Wait, you didn't let me tell you about myself.”

With a sigh, I turn back to Micah. “Your name is Micah McLaren. You're obviously fresh from Great Britain with Irish ancestry. You were probably in an important position back at your old school concerning your school newspaper, which is why you were able to get into this class. Am I right?”

At first, Micah seems ready to start an argument. Jeremy's not-so-suppressed laughter probably isn't helping either, but then the new kid calms himself, smirking at me. “And here I thought you would be like all the other air-head girls I've met here. You're refreshing, Casey Summers. I'm pleased to have met you.” He extends his hand towards me.

“I could say the same to you. Definitely a breath of fresh air after dealing with him all these years.” I jerk my thumb towards Jeremy before laughing and shaking Micah's hand.

Jeremy mocks being hurt, placing a hand over his heart before he begins to laugh as well. “Well, Micah, did you plan on sitting anywhere at lunch? Because you should forget it and sit with us.”

“And why's that?” The Brit asks, a smile playing on his lips.

“We're the cool kids, you can't say no to us.” I say with a grin as the bell rings, signaling the end of the class period. “Come on, let's find your next class.”  

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Well. I don't know how I feel about that, but hey! I uploaded after so long. See? Not all is lost.