The Choices We Make

Chapter 4- Surprise Surprise

I stare at the blank document before me; my right-hand drumming on the keyboard of my laptop, my left stuck to my mouth, chewing on my nonexistent nails.

I'm sitting in the school library, trying to pass the time by getting a head start on my college essay while I wait for dad to pick me up, but all I've done for the past twenty minutes is stare at the blinking black line on the page.

Why is it so hard for me to write this stupid essay? Four prompts, and not one of them sounds intriguing enough to write on. I don't have an interesting background or an extraordinary talent that I can talk about. I've never encountered a challenge that I think would one day be vital to my future achievements, nor have I had an epiphany of sorts that has helped shape my personal growth. And dont get me started on prompt number four.

'Think about a time when someone in your life has made you feel happy or thankful when you least expected. How has their act of kindness affected or motivated you?'

Like I could ever think of anything cheerful or happy these days. Now if they had said, 'think about a time when someone in your life has made you feel devastated or crushed your heart into tiny confetti pieces. How has their act of betrayal affected or motivated you?', then I would've been able to write an entire book.

I sigh, closing my eyes as the computer screen goes black once again. I don't even know what I want to do with my life.

My plan was to wing it. Apply to as many schools as possible and hope that at least one of them would turn a blind eye to my mediocre GPA and focus on my spectacular, tear-jerking essay. Then once I got accepted, I would choose whatever seemed most appealing to pursue as a career.

If only I could find something to write about.

The door to the library opens with a squeak. Heavy footsteps on a mission, their destination to the librarian seated at the front desk. The mountainous bookshelves, stocked with thousands of textbooks, block my view of the person who has entered the sacred quiet zone in such a loud and agitated state, but I figure out who the culprit is as soon as he opens his mouth.

"Have you seen a young lady, blonde hair, blue eyes, about yea tall?" he describes to Mrs. Barrow, and I can't help but imagine him struggling to stretch his short, saggy arm above his five-foot stature.

"Many girls with that same description pass through these doors every day, Mr. Maxwell. You'll have to be more specific."

He grumbles in response, his footsteps becoming louder as he approaches the labyrinth of books. He frowns when he rounds the corner and spots me sitting on the cool hardwood floor between the aisles.

"Did it slip your mind that you were supposed to be in detention, Ms. Nightingale?"

Ah yes, detention. The very thing I was trying to avoid had come back to bite me in the butt, and I guess rightfully so, as I had spent all of first period hiding in a bathroom stall.

"Uh, yeah it did. I got so caught up writing my college essay that I lost track of time," I reply, closing my laptop before he can get a glimpse of the blank page on the screen.

He squints his stormy eyes at me. "Well, you can continue to write once you are seated behind the desk in the classroom you were supposed to be in twenty-five minutes ago."

"Can't I just make up for it tomorrow?"

"I have an even better idea," he says with the least genuine smile I've ever seen on his face. "How about I call your parents, tell them you have detention with me again, and that I'll bring you home once the hour is up?"

Yes, the little old bat told on me. It just so happened that he was 'pruning' his dried-up garden the same time mom was taking out the garbage, and my detention 'accidentally' came up in their conversation. Did I expect anything less? Absolutely not.