Style | Dallas Winston

Chapter Seven

"They just use your mind, and they never give you credit, It's enough to drive you, crazy if you let it" -9 to 5, Dolly Parton

"You'll do great, don't even worry about it," said Johnny, trying to reassure Maeve.

"I am. I am worrying about it. What if I don't get in?" she said anxiously.

The members of the gang that were trying to make something of their life by going to school or having a job were piled in Darry's work truck like every morning. Usually mornings with the lot of them were stressful enough, trying to get everyone ready and to work or school on time. The six of them having to squeeze in the truck, (often having to put Steve or Johnny in the truck bed), and holding on as Darry ran stop signs and cut corners. Normally he was all about driving safely, but getting to work on time was something he took seriously. Although today was extra stressful for Maeve.

"You will," Johnny continued.

"But what if I don't?"

"Then it won't be the end of the world. Stop worrying about it. Why do you care about getting on the school newspaper away? You just write boring stuff like the next football game," said Sodapop from the front seat.

For most of her life, Maeve wanted to be a journalist. Not one of those annoying reporters who chase celebrities and can't mind their own business, but someone who writes about things that matter. So, many times, when she heard about things going on in her town or the world, she didn't hear about it in the newspaper. It's covered with sports and celebrities, but not enough coverage on the things that really matter—that people really need to hear.

She may only be 16 and not yet make a big difference, but she could start with her school. She was going to make them write about something other than football and bake sales.

"Because it's something I want to do. I want people to hear the things I have to say," she finally replied, "why do you like working at the DX?"

"Cause I like cars and I like money," Sodapop said simply.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

"...during the Industrial Revolution, many changes were made in the manufacturing of..." Mr. Wilkins trailed on.
Maeve wasn't paying too much attention to her history teacher—instead, she decided to continue worrying about the interview she had with the school news editor after school today. She stared off into space, mindlessly tapping her pencil on her notebook.

"Miss. Hartwell! Could you tell me when exactly the Industrial Revolution took place?" Mr. Wilkins asked her expectantly after realizing she wasn't paying attention.

"Uh, early 1800's?" she said, not feeling entirely confident in her answer.

"Yes, but it lasted for nearly a decade around then. Pay attention, Miss. Hartwell," he corrected before continuing.

She tried to pay attention, but still couldn't dismiss the worry and anticipation for what was to come at 3:00.
It was like this for all of her other classes too—even English, which normally she didn't mind.

"Is everything ok?" Becca asked from the desk next to hers.

"Yeah, it's just—I'm worried I won't be able to get in. I don't know what I'll do if I don't,"

"Don't worry," Becca said reassuringly, "you'll get in, and even if you don't, that doesn't mean you can't be a journalist."

"But if I have no references, how would I ever get a job later on?" Maeve said.

"Well... you play the electric guitar right? You could be a rockstar, join the Rolling Stones."

Maeve giggled. "I'm not that good, but being a rockstar is definitely the backup plan."