Dear Carla,

I had to get back to work. NBC has me under contract. The baby and I only have a verbal agreement

Tina Fey

WE ARE so close to 200 it’s UNREAL. THIS IS SO EXCITING. I can’t believe we’ve done TWO HUNDRED of these smackaroonies! Jeesum crow!

My teeth are in the sort of pain where it feels like if they were bones I would be cracking them a lot.

And LFATP is actually amazing and I love it more than I love bongela.

OKAY. This month is NaNoWriMo (which stands for NATIONAL NOVEL WRITING MONTH). The aim of the month is to write 1500 words a day for ONE MONTH until you have collated 50,000 words. The aim is not to write a fully functioning novel, but to set down the time and effort EACH DAY to write the 1500 words necessary to reach the target. SO, in honour of this – ME AND CARLA ARE STARTING A NEW STORY THINGY TILL WE REACH 50,000 WORDS. I get to start this time, which is megaly cool. The rules are, our words have to add up to 1500 everyday. So if I can only write 200, then Carla will have to do me a favour and do 1300. It’s okay to go over the limit. We just want 50,000 ASAP.

ARGH. I’m worried to start this. I’m going to try to make this amusing and I’m putting it in the first person. I think it’ll be easier to take up room in the first person. It allows for more “thoughts” inside the writing. I’ll make it a female character so it’s easier for us to keep it going (female mains are always more interesting).

I think of the first day of school as some people think of Christmas Eve. You don’t need to read that twice. I’ve always thought of school that way, since before I can remember school has always been a joy to me. I mean, it’s not that I’m thrilled by lessons or anything, and I’m not exactly the Queen Bee, but there’s something about the buzzing orderly fashion of school that makes my inner clock tick.

I love the new surprises that school brings everyday. I love seeing people making out next to the gym. I love seeing who got a haircut and who lost weight. I love making friendly banter by the drinking fountain. I love pep rallies. I love homecoming. I guess you could say that I love everything to do with school that has nothing to do with education.

The 25th of August was no exception.

Our school was a huge yellow building. The city decided to paint it yellow to try and give school a positive feel to students, but all it really did was get dirty in winter and shine too brightly in summer. Otherwise, it was a pretty nice building. The classrooms were modern and up-to-date and the hallways (though a-typical) gave a nice enough vibe to anyone and everyone who walked through them. It smelled clean, too, and that was important in a school. My middle school smelt of sweat, which too often reminded me of that bit in the Roal Dahl book where the kid eats the chocolate cake made of sweat and blood.

I got to school promptly and the schoolyard was already packed. Before my eyes cliques were forming. You know those science experiments you do where you put the two viscous liquids in a tub together and they separate into their different layers of viscosity? Okay, well imagine that in human form, and that’s kind of how a schoolyard looks.

Jocks seperate from geeks. Geeks seperate from stoners. Stoners seperate from preps. Preps seperate from rich-girls. Rich girls seperate from rich boys. Rich boys seperate from sports girls. The list goes on and heaven knows where I fitted in. Probably that lone blob on the side that sort of mopes off the other liquids and just floats there. Yeah, that’s me.

An annoyingly pretty girl approached me through the crowd. She looked like she had had a smile painfully slapped upon her face.

“Hello there!” she beamed. She was guessing my name in her head as she spoke. I just knew it. I bet it wasn’t even a pretty name, either. I bet she thought my name was Olga or Helga or something slavic and manly.

“Hi?” My voice rose at the end of the statement, making it a question. I considered explaining this, but shut my mouth.

“How was your summer?” she asked.

“Really?”

“”Really” what?” she echoed, taken aback.

“You’re trying to win my vote this early?”

“What vote?”

“For school president…”

“What? I was just curious-”

“Oh come on. Voters like me are gold dust to you. If you just act nice and butter me up girls like me’ll vote for you in a flash. Well guess what? I’m not voting this year.” I was lying. I was going to vote. I was going to vote for the candidate who best screamed needy and dork. “School’s not even officially in yet…”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, and turned on her heel to join a gaggle of fem-bots who all looked shockingly similar and pink.

“Oh, and my name’s not Svetlanka or something!” I yelled after her. “It’s Margot, and I bet it’s prettier than your sunovabitch name!”

There was a laugh behind me.

“You’ve already picked a fight? Come on, school’s not even-”

I wheeled around.

“-in yet,” I finished. “I know. God, Bryson, who are you? My mother?”

Bryson flashed me a smile.

Bryson has been my friend ever since I can remember. I’m sure if I ever have grandchildren he’ll be one of those people they just can’t stand to hear about, but he’s that prominent in my life. He’s everything you could want in a friend. To use a cliché: “He just gets me, you know?”. Plus, his house backs onto a majorly fabulous forest which is a nice getaway and a useful place to hide.

Oh, and his name’s not Bryson. It’s actually William, but when I told him I thought Bryson sounded like a superhero name, it kind of stuck.

“Is Malorie coming?” I asked. Malorie completed my circle of close friends. Or to be more accurate, triangle.

“No,” Bryson replied, “she’s with Drew King by the gym.” By the gym was our way of saying “hanging out with” which was most people’s way of saying “making out with”.

“What? Drew KING?!” My screech was ultrasonic. Malorie was not the type to make out with someone, especially not Drew King. “Since when?!“

“I dunno,” Bryson sighed, “they went on summer camp together and they started going out a couple of days ago.”

“That bitch! She blew me off!” I was livid (in high school terms).”We were supposed to meet yesterday, but all that time she was sucking Drew King’s face. Drew King is disgusting. He’s a pig. Oh my god, Drew King of all people!”

“Please stop saying Drew King, Margot,” Bryson said, matter-of-factly, “or I’m going to start to think you like him.”

THERE YOU HAVE IT. By the by, Margot has black short hair (for a girl) and Bryson has mid-length brownish hair. JUST SO YOU KNOW.

ALRIGHT. MY WORK HERE IS DONE.

Lots of love,

Your UP UP AND AWAY friend,

Ben.

P.S. I had more than a lot of fun doing that.