The Fighter

Chapter 51: Requests

"Hey, Sophie Taylor, right?"

I slammed my locker shut and revealed a small girl with dark features in a bright yellow tank top and glasses. "That's a-me," I said, trying to imitate Nintendo's Mario.

She smiled in this way that told me she had no idea what I was alluding to. "You probably won't recognize me from math, my name's Andrea, I write for the paper." She pulled her phone from her purse. 

I was a never one of those girls who used a purse as a school bag. 

I nodded. "Oh, yeah, I remember you." I actually didn't, but I wanted to be nice. I would have known her because I was supposed to be the editor of the paper this year...but you know, not going to school made it quite hard to do anything other than barely pass.

"Well, we're doing a piece on Xavier Mason, I don't know if you've seen the posters around," she said holding a finger up and twirling it in a circle. "We want to tell his story and we want to get him that last dance."

I sighed. I had seen the posters and they were horrible. Every time I found one and no one was looking, I'd take it down and stuff it in the trash. Someone had managed to get a picture of him in the hospital looking really ill, and plastered the slogan "Prom for our Pitcher," over it. They were pushing a campaign for him to get his 'last dance' as if he had been an integral part of the school and everyone knew him. He had barely gone to Oakwood for five months.

"How did you all find this photo?" I said. "He likes his privacy. If he knew about these posters, I think he'd flip a shit."

"Can I quote that?" She said, clicking the record button. "I'm really liking this brooding vibe he's got going on."

"No, absolutely not, don't quote me, all of this is off the record." I muttered, starting the walk to class. "I'm not interviewing about him, you shouldn't be writing this story without his permission."

Andrea giggled. "We have his permission... he actually requested that you write the piece." She shuffled after me down the hall past clusters of students chatting. "Of course we told him school policy dictates that you can't... but Principal Jones said he'd make an exception if you agreed."

My jaw hit the ground. "What?" Another request of his, and he couldn't even inform me ahead of time.

"I started some interviewing for you, just in case you continued not to show at school," she said, a hint of snideness coming through. "It was really supposed to be my piece, so you don't have to be the hero and write it."

I gripped my books in frustration. "If he wants me to write it, I'll write it."

She raised her eyebrows. "I mean, if you think that's a good idea with all of the schoolwork you'll have to catch up with."

I glared at her.

"What? It's public knowledge that you've dropped off the top ten list." Andrea said, still recording with her stupid phone.

"I'll be fine, Andrea, thanks for you concern though." I gave a pained smile and headed to math.

***

"Hey Sophie. What's up?"

"You requested that I write a piece in the school newspaper about your cancer and your impending death, and your one 'last dance'!" I screamed it into my cellphone, my voice echoed off the tiled walls of the bathroom. "What has gotten into you?"

He cleared his throat. "Just so you know, the phone's on speaker, and my mom's here dressing my wounds." His grin was audible, like it had bent the pitch of his voice.