The Emails

Day 1 Part 1

I come home from school like any other boring Monday, completely unaware that my life is about to change irrevocably.

The first thing I do is get a snack. PBJ sandwich on white bread. Crunchy PB, strawberry jam.

How very boring of me.

Of course, I am a boring person.

I live in Northern Virginia, in the sleepy town of Owl Creek, where I attend Owl Creek High. Home of the, you guessed it, Barn Owls. Caw caw.

But I have just done something I, boring old Lauren Smith, would never normally do.

I have befriended the new girl, April Rett, and we've exchanged emails.

I suppose that, in retrospect, this may have been my first sign that life was about to change for me.

I type in the email to the Create button of my email, and then remember that I have to add 20 to the end.

I type in 20, then the @ sign, then I type gmail.com, and then I start the draft.

Hi April,

It's me, Lauren Smith. I'm just sending you this email so you can double-check that you got my email address. So, what did you think of the pop quiz we had in History class? Crazy, huh? But then again, that's the kind of thing Ms. Namara does. Don't worry if you don't understand her; no one does. That's not a new girl thing, it's an everybody thing. I'm sure you'll get the hang of this place soon.

Bye!
~Lauren

I hit send, and then I open up a new tab and listen to music as I work on a paper for biology.

I've only finished two songs when I see a little 1 at the corner of the tab where my email is still open.

I'm surprised that April has responded so quickly.

I see an email with the subject line Sorry!

I open it up.

Lauren Smith,

So sorry to dissapoint, but I'm not April. My name is Elliott Jager. No jokes, please. I imagine your Ms. Namara is a bit of a kook, what with giving you a pop quiz and all; I feel you, and I think 99% of the high school population does, too. You should probably check with April again tomorrow; you most likely just misspelled April's email. What are the odds that we would have such similar emails? Anyways, you seem like a nice girl; would you reject me if I attempted to contact you more?

Sincerely,
Eli

I'm momentarily shocked, so I reread the email before it sinks in. I've just sent an email to some random guy, who claims to be someone named Eli.

What it he isn't a high schooler? What's if he's a creepy pedo?? What if he's a stalker???

But then I calm down. He doesn't know for sure that my name is Lauren; maybe I can pretend that isn't my name.

So I open up another draft, and start typing.

"Eli,"

How do you know my name is Lauren? How do you know that's my real name?

~Samantha

I send the email, hoping "Eli" will fall for it. Almost immediately I get a response.

Lauren Smith,

I know your name is Lauren because you meant for the email to go to an April. I don't think you would have lied to her about that. For future reference, if you want to talk to me in one-sentence phrases, please use an Instant Messaging system, not email. I'd give you my phone number, but you would have my area code then. If you want more proof that I'm not a 40-year-old pedophile, I have included an attached video. One last thing: while Samantha is a lovely name, it isn't your name.

Sincerely,
Eli

I see the video attachment, which is labeled Proof I am Not a Pedophile

I grin despite myself, and open the attachment.

The video starts with an empty bedroom, and I can see the blue bedsheets and green pillows of someone's bed.

Then, slowly, a head of black hair creeps up from the bottom of the screen.

I force back a laugh as I see a thin boy with black hair with a purple fringe, pale skin, and one green eye. The other is blue.

"Hi," he says, in a nice voice, not too low, and raises a hand. "Hi, Lauren Smith who is not Samantha. It's me, Elliott Jager, who is not a 40-year-old pedophile. Nice to meet you."

Then he slides back down, off camera. The video ends.

I send Eli an email.

Eli,

Well, based on that video, I guess you aren't a pedophile. But that doesn't mean I trust you. How do I know that's you? More importantly for you, how do you know I'm not a 40-year-old pedophile? Am I supposed to send you a video? If so, I warn you; I'm really really boring and average.

~Lauren

I quickly got a response.

Lauren Smith,

While it would be über awesome if you would send a video; you don't have to.

Also, I don't believe for a second that you're boring. And if you think that you're boring and average, I assure you, you've got a weird side. Everybody's got a dark [weird] side. Can you love me? Can you love mine? Nobody's picture perfect. Sorry, I had to. But anyways, that's one of my People Theories.

It's Theory Number 2: everybody has a weird, crazy, insane side of them. Most people keep that side of themselves locked up, but whenever you do something unexpected, sassy, odd, or just plain weird, it's your weird side.

And maybe I can help you find your weird side.

Sincerely,
Eli

I frown, then type a reply.

Eli,

I assure you, that no matter how much you think I have a weird side, I really don't. My name is Lauren Smith; I'm a bit short, with brown hair, freckles, hazel eyes; my favorite color is blue; I like PBJ sandwiches; I live in a small town; I have a younger brother; and I'm as average as can be. I'm living the apple-pie-white-picket-fence-2.5-kids life. I'm not kidding; I actually have a white picket fence around my house. I'll send you a picture. My average grades are B+ and sometimes A- so I'm not overly smart.

The point is, I'm boring. I don't know; maybe I'm an exception to your Theory Number 2.

~Lauren

It didn't take long for me to get a reply back.

Lauren Smith,

Would you believe me if I told you that you seem to be a paradox? If you are as "boring" as you say you are, then you are an exception to my 2nd Theory; therefore making you special; therefore making you fit the Theory; but if you fit the Theory, then you are normal; but this also means that you have a weird side.

So I have taken you on as my challenge. We can talk to each other, and I assure you, I will unlock your weird side. *cue fanfare*

Sincerely,
Eli