The Fleeting Happy

Five

It was finally Friday, and we found out first thing in the morning that we had detention on Saturday for skipping. The five of us were supposed to be at school, Saturday morning at 8 AM sharp in Room 107. Carter, Stef, Montana and Owen didn't really mind this turn of events, but I was livid.

"I... have never been to detention before," I hissed. "Not once in my entire life!"

"I've been to a million," Stef yawned nonchalantly. "It's really boring. You wouldn't like it."

I scoffed. "Yeah, well, I can imagine."

"Ah, loosen up, Caples." Carter waved his hand dismissively. "Everyone winds up in detention at some point. It's not the end of the world."

"What about the party tonight?" I pointed out.

Suddenly, they weren't so relaxed anymore.

"Oh, shit," Owen groaned. "I completely forgot. Dude, what are we gonna do?"

Carter frowned. "I'm sure as hell not canceling, people have been talking about this party all week!" His face reddened.

"We'll be hungover," Stef grumbled. "I don't think I'll even be able to wake up that early."

"Let's just not drink, then," Montana said. "Or maybe not a lot. There'll be other parties."

Nobody seemed to like this plan, but there wasn't really any other option. And so we agreed to limit our alcohol consumption because of Saturday's impending detention.

I was still pretty upset at the time-- but it really was my fault all this happened.

And so I couldn't complain.

In English class, after a lengthy lecture, we were given the rest of the block to work on our assignments. It was a loud, raucous work period, but Mr. Forman didn't seem to mind. Montana and I were simply talking and laughing together when he approached our desks with a grin on his face.

"Mr. Forman, what's up?" Montana asked warily. She shot me a concerned look. We already had detention on Saturday. Were we somehow in even more trouble?

"Girls, I have some news for you!" Mr. Forman said giddily, pulling up a chair and sitting on it backwards. "You wanted me to contact Subsect Blue's publisher to inquire about the author of Come Dusk?"

I gasped and immediately glanced over at Montana. We exchanged elated, wide-eyed looks.

"Yes! It's my favorite poem!" Montana enthused. "Did you find out who wrote it?"

Mr. Forman shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. They wouldn't give up the author's identity, but they did tell me they'd contact him and see if he'd be willing to meet with you girls. They also told me that he lives here, in Severn Valley."

Montana and I promptly began to freak out, squealing and talking over each other. We were mostly shocked that the author of Come Dusk walked the same streets we did. Scratch that-- we were excited about the prospect of meeting him.

"THANK YOU SO MUCH, MR. FORMAN!" I squealed.

Montana and I flung our arms around him and hugged him and he made an oof! noise, seeming wholly taken aback by our enthusiasm.

"You're very welcome, girls," Mr. Forman said. "Eager, are we?"

"We just really love that poem," I told him. "Montana's first tattoo is going to be one of its lines. I have a whole lot of stuff I want to ask the author."

Montana nodded vigorously. "Me too. Rory and I are going to comprise a list of questions, actually. Do you think that's a good idea, Mr. Forman?"

"I think that's a great idea!" Mr. Forman exclaimed. "You girls get to it, okay? But not now. Work on your poetic devices for now. Keep the volume down, too." He narrowed his eyes playfully before heading back to his desk.