In The Middle

My town is separated into two social groups: The rich, and the poor. The rich, known as ‘Richies’, are the kids of wealthy ranch owners. They are the ‘popular’ kids who ace every test and have ‘sophisticated’ parties at their parents’ country club. The poor go by the name ‘Townie’. They are the kids of the people who work for the ranch owners. These are the ‘cool’ kids who get street cred by doing inappropriate or illegal things. 

In my town, everything fits into one of these categories. Everyone is constantly in conflict, so everything is always in harmony. 

The only problem is me. I don’t fit anywhere. I’m in the middle, and I hate it. 

Before I found the theatre, I would bounce between groups daily. I felt like I wasn’t wanted. I tried to keep up appearances with both groups; knowing that sometime soon, it would all blow up in my face. 

One day, about a year ago, it did. 

    At the beginning of lunch, I made my way to the Townie hangout; an awkward sort of courtyard near the gym with a giant, overgrown tree surrounded by scraggly bushes. At one point, the school tried to build a ring of cement benches around the tree, but it burst out of its confines ages ago. The tree now towers above everything else, letting little sunlight through. 

The ‘lead’ Townies sat in that tree. Others sat on the crumbling benches or on the moss-covered ground. They all wore tattered, oversized hoodies; ripped jeans; and worn out tennis shoes. From around the corner, I heard the symphony of insults, cursing, and rap music that usually accompanied the Townies. 

As I walked into the wild clearing, time froze. Somebody paused the music. A million unfriendly eyes glared at me. I cautiously took a seat on the edge of a bench. I opened my backpack and got out my lunch. I started to take a bite of my sandwich. A wave of quiet murmuring spread through the crowd. I paused with my mouth open, mid-bite. I slowly lowered my sandwich. One of the Townie leaders hopped off the tree and got right in my face.

    “Whatcha doin’ here, Richie” 

    “E-eating” I replied. “I-I thought–”

    “You thought what?” he snapped, shoving me a little. I dropped my sandwich. “Thought you were one of us, Richie? Well sorry, only Townies allowed here. Why don’t you go run back to your little Richie friends, Richie?”

   “I-I–”

    “Move!” I picked up my backpack and booked it out of the courtyard. 

Once I was around the corner, I heard the music start up again and the conversations continue.

    I sped through the hallway, trying to look calm. The floor was littered with trampled leaves and old posters for spirit weeks or school dances. The walls were covered in flyers for the fall play; probably some modern retelling of Romeo and Juliet. The poster was separated into two sections. One showed a girl in a school uniform standing on a balcony. The other featured a guy in tattered clothes standing in front of a graffiti-covered wall. The title itself was indistinguishable, as it was covered by other posters or graffiti. 

After a while, I realized I was heading to the cafeteria courtyard, the Richie hangout. This courtyard was bigger, if only for the lack of trees and bushes. It was also circular in shape and a whole lot sunnier. Everything was in order. The newly planted trees straight, the hedges trimmed. Six shiny metal picnic tables sat on a square patio.

 As I entered the courtyard, I heard the constant drone of gossiping Richies. They sat on the metal tables, deep in conversation. 

As I approached the patio, I felt out of place. 

People finally started to notice me once I came to the first row of picnic tables. Everyone at the first table quickly adjusted themselves so there were no open seats. 

“Sorry, no room” The cheerleader who noticed me first said. I made my way to the other table.

“Hey! Amy, was it?”  One of the 4H girls called out. “Come sit with us. I think there’s room uh…” she glanced around the table, pretending to look for an open spot. “There!” she pointed to the end of the table. I sat down and got my lunch out. 

Someone near me snickered and quiet giggling spread throughout the table. I looked up each side of the table and everyone went back to their own business. I looked down again and another wave of giggling washed over the table. I ignored them and started to eat. The same girl from earlier grabbed my attention. 

“So Amy,” she said, “what did you think of the Fall Flower’s dance at the Country Club last Saturday?” The entire table turned to look at me.

“Um…” I said, looking down “I’m not actually a member of the Country Club…”

“Oh?” she said, mocking surprise “Then why are you here?” she gestured to the other side of the table. While I wasn’t looking, someone had placed a handmade sign there that read ‘Country Club Planning Committee’.

“I-I, but i-it”

“Shoo,” she said, waving me away. I grabbed my backpack and skedaddled. 

I walked through the halls, thinking over the day. I was angry at the Townie guy and the Richie girls. Then I was angry at myself. Then I was angry at everything. Then I was just angry.

Then, I did something I would never tell anyone about. I cried. I sat down in some school hallway and cried. I thought I was alone. I wanted to be alone. 

So when Ms. Stately’s hand grasped my shoulder, I cried harder. I dreaded the words that came next.

“Are you OK?”    

“No!” I yelled as I ran. I didn’t know where I was running. I was just running away. I heard Ms. Stately’s footsteps behind me. I kept running. I rounded a corner and ran into Mr. Deamon. 

“What’s wrong?” he said.

“I’m fine!” I yelled and ran the other direction. I saw Ms. Stately in front of me and ran into a random door that was propped open. I kicked the wooden block out of the doorway and it slammed shut. I leaned against the door to catch my breath and wipe my tears away. 

As I recovered, I looked around the room. All around me, racks of clothes, furniture, and wheeled platforms made an impossible maze. To my right, a thick red curtain hung a couple feet away from the wall, making a narrow hallway. I walked through the tunnel and found a gap in curtains about halfway through. 

I walked through only to be blinded by a million bright lights. As my eyes adjusted, I realized I was standing on the high school stage. I turned around and saw what must have been the set of the flyer in the hallway. On the left, a small balcony sat on a wheeled platform. To the right, a graffiti-covered wall was mounted on wheels. Between them, a ladder guarded the gap in the curtains. I set my backpack down and was about to sit down myself when something landed with a loud thud in front of me. 

“Hey, person, orange sweatshirt,” someone on top of the ladder called. I pointed to myself, confused. “Yeah, you. Could you hand me that wrench I just dropped?” 

The voice sounded like it came from a guy. I liked it. It wasn’t overly aggressive, but it wasn’t coated in sugar either. 

I picked up the wrench and lifted it as high as I could. The person grabbed it and I heard the squeak of metal against metal and some banging. 

“Thanks, now could you back up a little?” I did as he said. “Perfect!” A beam of light that was pointing to the balcony moved and landed on me. “One minute” a second beam of light moved from the brick wall and landed on me. “There we go! Coming down!” the mystery boy said. 

As he slid down the ladder, I could finally see him. He was wearing a light red sweater and jeans with black sneakers. Thick red gloves hung from his back pocket. His hair was short, messy and dark brown. I admit I might have blushed. 

“Hey, you’re not part of the drama program!” I cringed, preparing to be kicked out again. “Welcome to the theatre!” He stuck out his hand. After a few seconds, I realized he wanted me to shake it. I shook his hand. “And you are…” He looked at me expectantly. 

“Oh. um, Amelia. You can call me Amy…” 

“William,” He said. “Wanna help me with a few more things?”

The Storm

Rain, it falls in steady sheets 

Pitter-patter on the streets

An endless raid of heavy showers 

Lasts throughout the darkest hours 

Wind, like hungry wolves it bays 

Rips through trees and alleyways 

Shutters slam and windows rattle

Swirling gusts of leaves do battle 

Sudden flash of blinding white 

Lights the eerie world of night 

Rolling rumble, thunder booms

A certain sign of pending doom

Hail starts to pound on roofs of tin 

A thousand horrors wanting in

Lifeless showers cold and hard

Fall through the sky in frozen shards

Inside these sturdy walls I rest

Where frightening nightmares only jest

And wrapped in blankets safe and warm 

I sit and watch the passing storm