mulai {Indonesian} >> start, beginning, commence, set to
09.
A common denominator of Nick and I's friendship is the many rumours we have been part of in the student body.
Before the incident, my name could be heard in whispers and gossips of other popular acquaintances, namely the guys who play sports, key people in choir, theatre and performance, and obviously, the Gazette. This is due to my association with Lena and as a cheerleader. In turn, Nick's exploits were often part of occasional lunchtime conversations, the all-knowing eye roll that he got away with them due to his father's prominence.
This was brought up to my attention the second the dark-haired boy slumped his backpack next to me the following Thursday, the day before our first article upload.
"I was toying with The Scraps," Nick sighed, pulling his laptop on the table, pulling me away from my sandwich.
The Scraps.
"Does it sound too much like crap?" he asked, next. "Because I think it's very fitting considering the circumstances that we are in."
The Scraps. I sounded it out.
"What is The Scraps?" I asked, somewhat confused by the wording. He looked at me as if I grew a second head.
I may have grown a second head from stitching the unicorn horn on Chloe's costume. Or the lack of sleep waiting for Lena to come back to our room.
"I'm pulling the weight for considering the name of our column," he told me. "I thought about it as I was making this as the banner."
He proceeded to show me the newspaper-like words on the page, the words that were highlighted to make it seem more sensational.
"I mean considering we are somewhat scraps in everybody else's stories, I think the title of our column makes sense, right?"
"It's perfect," I told him. "It's fucking perfect."
So he promptly sent the article and banner to Valerie.
By Friday, everyone was talking about me. And specifically, The Scraps.
AUTHORS NOTE:
Thank you for the reads and the love and the patience.
Kenisha.
YOU ARE READING
The Scraps
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