“Is that it?”
“Is that the book?”
"My goodness! I can't believe how lucky you are, Jess!"
"Is it true that you're going to have a newspaper article done on you?"
Once again, the outcasts swarm, but this time on someone different. One could suppose that is life, and the attention span of typical teenagers; easily jumping from topic to topic without stopping.
"Guys... Please, let me through. Yes it is. But-" A hand goes out to quell the noisy crowd gathering around, “But, it’s only an advanced copy. And I’m giving it to Ezme.”
The crowd groans, deflating like a balloon, dispersing like ants.
The winter plays have been done, (as has one term of Year 10), many tests have been taken (through the trials of life and school), and now we start to head towards the summer term. Flowers of red, yellow, blue and pink have sprouted in patches around the school; the seasonal Daffodils may have died, but the new season’s Poppies are just starting to flourish their leaves out into the sunlight.
This said golden sunlight breaks through into our form room, casting dainty shadows like a candle would, but illuminating even the smallest of objects that may be scattered across a desk: Shona’s calculator, Emma’s mirror, a highlighter borrowed from Nickie, that book lifted out-of-reach above everyone’s head…
Ezme walks into the classroom. Her expression is blank, but her eyes show that her mind is working 200% more than usual. She does see us, but makes no attempt to talk. So it’s up to me to start this conversation, then?
We present Ezme with the hardback book, all finished up with an author biography at the back, and the word ‘Ezme’ printed onto the front cover in lacy pink writing. The covers themselves are a dark navy blue, almost black, though the blurb is written in white and what looks like the standard Times New Roman font.
“Here it is!”
“What is this?” The shock and horror is evident on Ezme’s face once she sees what is written down on the little ‘present’.
“I did it, Ezme. I achieved my dream, and had a proper publisher accept my book for publishing. It goes on sale in less than a month.”
“No,” Ezme repeats, “I mean what is this? Why am I the subject of some story which has taken the truth of my life and woven in lies?”
“It’s not like that-”
“Whatever. I still don’t get it, Jess. Why me?”
“Because… Because, Ezme, you’re special.”
“No, I’m not!” The girl yells and, throwing down the book, storms off in the direction another Year 10 form room. Anybody passing in the corridor would have heard her mutter:
“I’m useless. Stupid girls who flock around me! I don’t need them, I have other pursuits!”
“That was bad…” muttered Emma.
“Hmm, perhaps.” We watch the curious faces from form members who never associated themselves with ‘our type’.
“But now, we need to call in the big guns. Get me the number for… Daniel Swift!”