The final Chapter! Chapter 7 Mama put the envelope with my poems (manuscripts, she called them) into the mail today. We’ll get a letter back by Friday with my results. I can hardly wait! School is a different story. In homeroom, I’ve still earned myself the nickname “nerd” from Derek, and Miranda still seems to hate me ever since Monday’s homeroom episode. So basically, I’m a friendless nerd. Great. The lunchroom. Every student’s favorite place to be. Miranda comes over and sits down next to me again, but I delve deeper into my book. “Hey, Charlotte? I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry. For what I said before. It was unfair, and just so we’re clear, it was untrue too. I don’t pity you, and I really do want to be your friend. Do you think you can forgive me? I won’t be mad if you’re offended, or if you won’t forgive me, or if you don’t want to be friends with me anymore.” She says all of this really fast and in one breath, like she wants to get it all out quickly. “Please?” She adds. Inwardly, I’m practically glowing. Outwardly, all I do is this: “Yeah, I forgive you. We can be friends.” “REALLY?” she cries, incredulous, “You want to be friends with me?” “Sure! Just don’t do that again. Ever.” I reply. “Definitely.” She says, deadpan. The bell rings, and we go our separate ways. “Call me!” I yell over the raucous chaos and let my words dissipate into the calls of salmon in the river. I make my way over to the ELA room, where Mrs. Morrow is waiting at her desk. I showed her my newer poem, Tears Like a Waterfall, and she said it very nearly brought tears to her eyes. I told her that Mama was going to try to publish it for me, and right then and there, she enveloped me in a hug. Best. Teacher. Ever. I smiled and headed to my desk to get out my books for class. Students started to trickle in, the hallway emptying into nothingness as kids were dissipating into classrooms. To most kids, this class is boring and uninteresting. I, on the other hand, am on the edge of my seat as she announces the new book clubs for the rest of the semester. I’m in two, apparently. I’m in A Mango-Shaped Space, and I’m also in a creative writing group. In the creative writing group, I get to write poems. Here’s the one I made today: Black and White Faded photos on the wall, Empty beds, Closed doors, And all The signs Of life Are gone. Disappeared From places They belong. I used to Dream In black And white, All colors Vanishing Through The night. Now I dream In color The world Seems brighter Now. Words can Open doors And words Can change Lives Just like Dreaming In black And white Closes your Eyes And breaks Your heart. I showed Mrs. Morrow this one, too, and she said I’m one of the most skilled young authors she has ever seen in all her years of teaching. Honestly, I think she’s exaggerating, but I am really proud of these poems. *Beep* “Will Charlotte Strauss please report to the office?” *Beep* Uh-oh. What had I done wrong? I shuffled down the hall to the office. There, standing in front of me, was Mama. “Guess what, Char? There’s a publisher that wants to publish all of your poems!” “Really? You’re kidding!” They say all writing is autobiographical. They’re right.
all writing still by me
