The Jungle Girl

22-The Creative Writing Club

 October is a badass month. It's the month where you can really start feeling fall in the air and also the month before the month it's acceptable to start thinking about Christmas. It's also one of my favorite months because the inspiration for stories this time of year is real. Just looking outside and seeing the color of the leaves and the crispness in the air gives me a million ideas.

I'm currently working on a story for an extra credit assignment Ms.Lopez has given out. The goal is to write a story that will give her the creeps. You get extra credit points just for trying but whoever has the scariest story gets the most points.

Now, my grade isn't that bad, but let's just say I'm not the best with identifying juxtapositions. I'm still skeptical that's even a real word and not just something Ms.Lopez made up. When I heard this was a fiction writing assignment I knew I would cave in and do it. Persuasive essays? Absolutely not. But fiction, I fuck with.

I'm so zoned into my writing I don't even notice the bell rings. People start shuffling out of the room and I scramble to get my papers together and in my bag. I drop a folder and everything spills out. Nice.

Ms.Lopez notices and comes to help. She kneels beside me and starts gathering papers. I give her a grateful smile. She smiles back and looks down at the papers she's holding. She raises an eyebrow. "'I Swear I Didn't Kill My Bestfriend?' Sounds a little suspicious."

It takes me a second to realize she read the title of one of my stories. I let out a laugh as she hands me back the paper, her eyes dancing with amusement. I shove everything in my bag, thank her for helping me and start to leave the room before I hear her smooth voice.

"Bindi, can you stay for a bit? You have lunch next period, right?"

I turn around. "Yeah, I have lunch."

"Perfect." She sits at her desk and gestures for me to take a seat. I sit down and become aware of my hands starting to shake. Is this about the story? I just want to yell out 'I swear I'm not a psycho I'm just a writer!' but before I open my mouth she starts talking.

"I notice you write. A lot." She stops there, like she's expecting me to say something. I just nod.

"I see you, sometimes," she continues. "In study hall or lunch or even in this class when you're done with work. You always seem to be writing."

I nod again.

"But you don't talk much. Your other teachers have told me the same thing."

I feel my face heat up and I refrain from rolling my eyes. It's the same thing over and over. 'You don't talk much.' 'You need to participate more.' I've heard it all a million times. I just though Ms.Lopez was different. I thought she got me. I thought she was ok with me being me. But, I guess not.

She must see the look on my face because she quickly backtracks.

"But, this isn't about that. I couldn't care less about the fact that you don't talk a lot. Other teachers might have a problem with that, but I don't." She makes sure I'm looking at her when she says "I would never force a student to be uncomfortable for the purpose of getting a good mark on a piece of paper that won't even matter in a few years."

I widen my eyes at both the sincerity of the statement and the statement itself. Ms.Lopez gives me a sheepish smile and slaps her palms on the desk, making me jump. "Anyway, Ms.Bindi, we are gathered here today to discuss your love of writing and what you shall do with it."

I feel the corners of my mouth raise at her formal tone and nod. She looks at me like she's trying to solve me. Like I'm a puzzle. Little does she know I have several missing pieces.