Sitting
two seats away from each other, my best friend Emily and I exchanged sideways
glances. Her dirty blonde hair almost identical to my own was on the very top
of her head in a perky messy ponytail while my own was fashioned in a messy
bun. In my striped purple shirt and sparkly studded jeans she was my
counterpart in her hot pink skirt and jean skort. It was the fifth grade and
that Christmas we had attended a Mary-Kay party teaching us the essential
techniques in order to fashion our make-up with style and grace. You could see
this by our matching shimmery baby pink lip gloss and our use of clear mascara;
we weren’t allowed to use black yet. Emily had just begun crushing on the boy
that sat one row ahead of us and two seats to the left, Miguel. Oh, dear
Miguel. He was one of the smartest in the class, in not only that he knew all
the answers to our long division problems but he also was the class clown.
Perching her chin in her palm she gazed at him contently and gaze a dramatic
sigh. Then jumping as if startled, she started feverishly writing on a piece of
lined paper as our teacher, with her back facing the class, wrote instructions
of our next task on the blackboard. Giraffe-like, I stretched up and over
trying to make out what the heck she was doing. Folding it with
perfection we both became lost in her origami creation of the perfect note for
passing. She slid it to the person next to her and before another blink had
settled our teacher made both of us jump this time as she snatched the note right
from the desk and walked back to the front of the class. My jaw dropped
contrasting with the jolt of both my eyebrows to the crown of my forehead.
Another sideways glance at Emily told me that she was as red as the lipstick
Jordy Rhorman had worn to school without her mother’s permission. She slowly
slid deep into her seat and all I could think about was what could possibly be
in that note. Being the best friend that I am, I exclaimed loudly and
dramatically, ”Please don’t read it! We’ll do anything!”
Oh my God, I remember passing notes in elementary school. My friends and I somehow always got in trouble... I guess we were never really able to perfect our methods. I'm so glad you wrote about this because, now that I think about it, it totally was a fad. Passing notes has now been replaced by sending text messages underneath desks or behind pencil cases. But shoot, I remember having a fancy little notebook reserved for passing notes, and each page even had its own cute little design.
ReplyDeleteI like the vibe I'm getting from this blog post. Fondly reminiscing. Your descriptions are great as well. I can relate so much with the whole fashion and makeup thing. Wanting to grow up so quickly. This story is really cute and I enjoyed it. Great job!
"... as red as the lipstick Jordy Rhorman had worn to school without her mother's permission" GREAT!!!!
ReplyDeleteWhat happened next?!!
I wanted more... who was the note to? Did the teacher read it or have mercy?
At first I thought your clothes were the Fad: but I guess the note passing in class is the fad.
The long sort of rambling story is very young girl like. Nice job on keeping it strong and steady throughout the piece.
Denise
The voice in this was fantastic. It immediately brought me back to grade school and middle school and the rush that you'd get when passing notes.
ReplyDeleteI would have liked more on the note passing. I have to agree with Denise that at first it seemed like it could be about Mary-Kay parties. It was an interesting detail but it took up too much of the story since it was just a detail to the scene.
I loved the scene you painted for us. I was picturing fifth grade girls and notes and such. Nice. I think this is a great story, but could have had some information of note passing being a fad and why it is dying or dead or should be dead. Otherwise, nice writing!
ReplyDelete