Starting Position

Chapter 26

The February Formal article was met with a reaction I hadn't anticipated. Only few read the monthly newspaper to begin with, so it was a surprise when many of the stacks around campus became depleted. I chocked this up to people wanting to rifle through the pages in hopes of finding a picture of themselves at the dance. However, as the days after its release wore on, I overheard more and more people discussing the article. 

My journalism professor, Mr. Haines, had even gone so far as to congratulate me, calling my piece "a compelling ride of sheer fun and hope". I blushed at the public compliment, but I managed to smile and mutter a quiet thanks.

In my opinion, I hadn't written anything revolutionary. It was a simple piece describing the backdrop of the dance, which allowed for focus on the subtle but interesting activities that took place at the refreshment tables. I hadn't mentioned Ben by name, nor anyone else for that matter, but had gone into detail about the effects both dances and baked goods could account for: a blossoming romance between two teachers, the negotiation of a chemistry lab expedition after an unintentional explosion, and how one volunteer saved a girl from being bullied into dancing with a drunk attendee. This last part was both the easiest and hardest part to write.

In addition, I had included a few pictures, one of which was of Cambrie and Jake, one of which showed Cambrie and Jake dancing amongst other couples. Even though they weren't the main focus, their chemistry shone through the paper. They were sharing a laugh; Cambrie's hands were wrapped tightly around Jake's neck, and their eyes were glued on each other. Maybe the picture would be the proof she required to evaluate her feelings for Jake.

All in all, it was a different spin on an article about a dance, and, much to my astonishment, students on campus were taking notice.

Lifespan Psychology had just let out, which was the class I shared with Cambrie. While we hadn't sat together since our fight, I could usually spot her her shiny, raven hair easily as it was only a small lecture hall. I left the classroom in the first wave, and, detaching myself from the other students, stood against the wall to dig for my recently returned keys.

I looked up just as Cambrie emerged from the door. My eyes glanced at the folded copy of the student paper in her hands, but when I looked back up, our eyes locked. Neither of us looked away. I waited in suspense.

In Cambrie's hand was a copy of the campus paper, as we stared at each other, I wondered if my article would start to mend our relationship or sever it for good. But as I waited for her to make the first move, she backtracked, picking up her pace and stepping into the flow of foot traffic.

Silently chastising myself, I threw my head back. I should have said something; I should have been the one to make the first move. It was I who was truly at fault anyway, wasn't it? Cambrie's point had been valid: it wasn't fair for me to try coaxing out her feelings for Jake when I hadn't so much as spoken on my own feelings once. Friendship, at its core, was a delicate balance of truth and equality.

The remainder of the day was a dizzying fog, and I only had enough clarity to count down the weeks, days, and hours left to endure.

The following day, I had choir practice. We were getting ever closer to our spring concert, and while Jerome was taking it in stride, the stress was getting to Amy. More than once, she had teared up at the conclusion of a song, calling it "the best sound she had ever heard." She had also nearly lost her head when someone snuck into the choir hall five minutes late.

"I had to drop my kids off at my parent's house," the unsuspecting choir member had said. "Sorry, Amy."

"Don't apologize. Be on time! The clock is ticking, and we are nowhere near close to ready!"