"He Called Me Bubbles

The One Where We Meet.

The one where we meet

(chapter 1)

(part one)

It was the first day of freshman year. The noise in the hallways was agonizing and my brain hurt from just listening to all the squeals of the five-foot five girls jumping up and down like they hadn't seen each other all summer. I held a small piece of 'scrap' paper in my hand, that would most likely turn into actual scrap paper, that held within my schedule and locker accompanied by the combination. It was obvious wasn't it? I was about to start my first day of hell, and I wasn't planning on enjoying a single minute of it. As I approached my locker, BA109, I couldn't help but notice that it was older, and looked run down, and I doubted it would open, considering the blue paint was peeling off the corners and the bottom edge and small pencil graffiti was spaced out across it.

After five times of trying to same combination over and over again, which in my mind felt like three and a half hours of my life spent wasted, the locker finally opened. Revealing, much like the outside of it, a peeling blue, cliche, high school locker. The thing that didn't make it a 'cliche high school locker' was a piece of pink notebook paper at the bottom of it. It was curling around the edges and was torn in the middle, making it seem old but obviously fake and new.

Dear Incoming Freshman,

I can't tell you my name yet, because I do not know who you are and you do not know who I am. For all you know, I could be a murderer, seeking out bait for my first kill, but I promise! I'm not like that at all. I'm just a lonely upperclassman checking in on my locker that I had freshman year.

Now. I've been at this school for a while, as you can see by my 'upperclassman' title, I am particularly awesome. As I was saying, I thought I would grace you with some tips about how to survive this hell of a high school.

The cafeteria is hell. Befriend a friend or someone who won't lose you and go out because literally, you will get your head torn off if you sit in there. Literally. Not figuratively, literally. Now I just sound like a teenage white girl.

If you MUST eat lunch on school grounds because either you have no friends (happens to the best of us) or you're just broke, come grace us with your presence in room 308 (also know as MS. Polly who is a dear.) We don't bite I promise.

I don't really have a third one, if I did I'm to stupid to remember something like it, oh well.

So freshman! I hope you enjoy your time in hell. Its a great place to be.

Welcome,

Looming, Lonely, Upperclassman.

(If you would like the reply, I'm locker EA84, I like unexpected notes.)

:)

Dear Weird perverted upperclassman,

In response to your letter I am happy to be taking care of your locker that you had freshman year of high school. I am honored to be taking care of it as if it were my child. I am replying because Algebra 1 is boring, and I can't pay attention to anything at all, that why this letter will probably get out of hand and start talking about puppies or parrots like a wikipedia page. I sure hope you are not a murderer or else I am making a terrible decision on giving you this note. I'm just trusting that you will never find me if you are planning to murder someone, and that you feel awful if you do. I will witness and throw you in jail too if that makes you feel any better. I would tell you my name, but I'm actually uncertain about this whole murder thing now, so I'll just hold back for right now.