Magic Notebook part 1

    I clutch my red spiral to my chest as I lean in for a drink of water. It's passing time, and I have but four minutes to make it to History of Western Civilization from "the stupid math", the level of math that means I'm just average. They happen to be on opposite sides of the poorly designed, oblong campus. At a leisurely pace, it takes easily six minutes. I'll have to jog part of the way, because there is no chance I am going to let my mouth stay as dry as that math class was. I really should start bringing a water bottle.
    "Kim, we gotta go!" someone says right before they pull my backpack in the direction of History. I get a little water sprinkled on my notebook and shirt.
    "Thanks," I reply a little sarcastically before I turn to my friend.  I see that it's Michelle: brown hair, blue eyes, befreckled. She must have hooked my backpack right after coming out of the bathroom.

    She speaks as if continuing a conversation, "-and why is it so far away? Why is it on the other freaking side of this frickin' building?" I smile, knowing the distinction between what Michelle means by "freaking" and "fricking". "I have to have the skills of a NASCAR pit crew to relieve myself and be on time."
    I nod. Michelle's first period, English in a portable across the parking lot, was even further away from History than mine.
    "Have we reached ancient Egypt yet?" she asks, her feet kicking forward in a speed walk. She was absent on Friday.
    I flip open my notebook to find exactly where we had left off. I use this spiral for both History and "Myth and Modern hero". Open it left to right and you'll see my elegant notes detailing Mesopotamia, open it right to left and see my summaries and sketches of Gilgamesh, Esfandyar and Hercules. I find the page with last Friday's date.
    "No," I answer. "We haven't finished this section yet. I think he said Egypt is coming tomorrow."
    "Too bad."
    "Why?"
    "Cause I did the questions for the first section on Egypt."
    "Too bad," I echo.
    We make it to class at the bell, I trailing Michelle. We take our seats by a mutual friend without a glance at the teacher. A "Hey" escapes from the side of Liam's mouth.  Liam; "black" Irish and still wearing clothes too large.
    Mr. Brennan launches into lecture: Hammurabi's code. I turn the page, rewrite today’s date on the back and start writing the same bullets listed on the PowerPoint.
    1  If any ensnare...then he that ensnared shall be put to death
    2  Trial by river, if accuser sinks his stuff goes to accused/floats the accused is put      to death
    3                     
    I put my pen down for the third law,
^    ^    ^   
<<< > < > < >>>
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when my pulse suddenly skyrockets and I feel as if an important thought has just slipped my mind. My pen falls to the floor. A panic attack? I retrieve my pen and try to move on, to keep taking notes, but where the third law should have been I find I had written something else.
4/1  Lunch- stay out of cafeteria
    The muscles in my forehead tense. This is my writing. My eyes jump to the PowerPoint. Brennan clicks and the slide changes past the Code, having given us the rough idea in the first five laws. There was no time for me to have fallen asleep and perhaps have scribbled this nonsense.  There was no time for somebody to have snatched it away to play a prank on me. Since I had opened it for Michelle while coming to class, the spiral had not left my hands. Then again, this had been on a different page than Friday’s notes. Maybe I just hadn’t seen it.
    I try to shake the eeriness and finally start writing again. Maybe it is some April Fool’s joke. I’m always teasing people for not being able to read my writing. It could be that someone went to the length to imitate my script and plant this inane bit of advice.
    Stay out of the cafeteria? I recoil at the thought of following somebody else's idea of fun in my notebook. I won't have my time wasted, least of all lunch time.


    "Why do you keep looking around like a meerkat?" Michelle asks me after clearing just enough sandwich from her mouth. Her eyebrow is raised. "You that eager for Liam and Jared to get here?"
    "I have the feeling that something might happen," I answer her, still craning my neck.
    Becca, curly hair and sundress, is my friend in the "smart" math and "smart" chemistry and smart everything else. She shakes her head, not empathizing. "Nothing ever happens. No one has the ambition or plan to pull something for April Fool's. And no one is fool enough to try anything in the cafeteria."
    "So what if something did happen?" I pose. "It'd be remembered forever, wouldn't it?"
    Becca returns with, "The same if the principal strolled by in his underwear, but it's not going to happen."
    "Touché," interjects Michelle.
    "You're not allowed to say that," I frown at her. I tuck my head and dig into my pudding, conceding. My typical lunch table is not yet completely set. In addition to Michelle and Becca, Liam and Jared join us on the days their schedules allow: Monday, Wednesday, Friday. On Tuesday and Thursday they're replaced by Valentina (Val and Tina), the Sarkozi sisters. A grade apart and a world different, they finish each other's sentences even as they bicker about everything.
    Liam and Jared join us shortly. Jared, obsessed with plaid and encompassing the unique combination of javelin thrower and piano player, arrives with a school lunch. Liam is holding a Tupperware of steaming water in one hand and Cup of Noodles in the other.
    "Is there something you want to tell us, Kim?" Liam asks with a grin.
    "Enlighten me."
    "About your crack habit."
    I look up at him, totally lost. "What are you talking about?"
    "I'm sure Michelle noticed today. In History you were tweaking out." Liam starts to peel the paper lid to his Cup of Noodles.
    Michelle laughs but quickly adds, "No, it was nothing. I think he's talking about that one time you twitched and knocked your pen to the floor."
    Becca shakes her head, "I'm disappointed in you. I had no idea you would steal my stuff."
    “Darn this thing,” Liam grunts, not being able to handle the lid to his instant noodles. He exerts a great effort, and as he finally succeeds in ripping it off his elbow rams into the Tupperware of water. A geyser erupts onto my crotch.
    “Kim! I’m so sorry!” He flies away to acquire something to dry myself with.
    “Um, ow,” I state, feeling the pain. It’s scalding. I sense my inner thighs turning pink and swelling in my jeans.
    “Don’t you dare. Just hand them over,” I glare at Liam's handfuls of paper towels upon his return.
    I unwisely stand to get off of the wet chair and begin padding my soaked jeans. I remark how much it looks as though I peed myself. I then notice Don “The Hue” walking by with an odd expression on his face; Don, hair bleached almost white and destined for the lead in this year’s musical despite it. I also happen to have a major crush on him.
    “Liam, I’ll just say it now. I’m not talking to you.”
    He was about to respond when, inexplicably, a cacophony of clucking begins playing over the intercom and feathers blow down from the vents. This, I think to myself, could be messy.


    I lift my red spiral high into the light. I fall under its shadow. “My dear notebook, I’ll never ignore you again.” So goes the ending to my dramatic tale of the previous day’s events. I then kiss it and set it down as the Mythology teacher, Mr. Pendleton, walks in.
    “Why does the interesting stuff always happen at the Mondaywednesdayfriday lunch table?” Val laments.
    “Because we’re not there,” answers Tina, the year younger. 
    Valentina. They both have identical long, straight strawberry blonde hair and refuse to cut it or style it differently from the other, for the first one to change on the account of the other was the one who lost. They take what electives they can together, presumably so that they always have each other’s back if one is absent or struggling. I know better than to think it’s entirely out of good will; they use it mostly as competition and a bargaining tool.
    Val doubts the power of the spiral. “I wouldn’t put it past you to write a note to yourself far in advance, though. And you sleep walk. You could have written it one night on a random page and it happened to be the one you wrote on for April 1st.”
    “You don’t have to stretch so far, Val. It’s an interesting story. Leave it at that,” comments Tina.
    I’m not sure how I should feel. Val doesn’t doubt the note, just its significance, and Tina regulates the significance to ‘an interesting story’. She probably doesn’t think the note exists.
    Pendleton addresses the class after peeling some feathers from his seat, “Let’s begin where we left off yesterday. What are some commonalities of our heroes so far?”
    “A mentor!”
    “A quest.”
    “The hero’s journey!” - “Right, we’ll be getting into that full force today. Anything else?”
    I raise my hand. “An artifact.”


    Pendleton hands out worksheets for us to detail Simba’s “heroic journey” as we watch The Lion King. As quick as I can, I fill in the blanks so that I can zone out once the movie starts. A quick survey of the class reveals I’m not the only one with the idea. Pendleton probably should have chosen a movie that most kids our age didn’t already know by heart. I lean my chin on my left fist, while my right plays with the spine of my spiral.
    The sun rises, the birds fly, and the music stirs my soul. Such a masterpiece. I dreamily consider the animation that hasn’t aged. No Disney work before or since The Lion King has such a impeccable palate of colors, nor a score that even by itself I could listen to without end. 
    Simba...who was he voiced by again? JTT, Jonathan Taylor Thomas, I remember first graders swooning over him.
    And who was adult Simba? Matthew Broderick? For years I hadn’t made the connection that Ferris Buehler was the-
^    ^    ^   
<<< > < > < >>>
\/    \/    \/
    I’m standing, open mouthed, eyes wide, and spiral clutched in my left hand. Something cascades from my right, my pen I think.
    “Kim, are you alright?” Mr. Pendleton asks, concerned.
    I look around slower than I would have liked, but I’m confused. Everyone is staring at me, their faces blinking due to the film. Valentina seem in shock that I’m standing, as if they had previously thought I was paraplegic. (“Hakuna Matata? Hakuna Matata- it means no worries”) I kneel down to grab my pen.
    “Um, no, I’m sorry. I think I was just falling asleep,” I answer.
    Pendleton chuckles and tells me to sit back down. (“It means no worries for the rest of your days/ it’s our problem free, philosophy”)
    “Well?” Val whispers into my ear.
    I mouth back to her, in conjunction with the music, “Hakuna Matata.”
    I open my spiral to where my fingers were holding my place. In my writing:
Keep paper always on hand
btw don’t eat raw spinach
    No way. Somehow I’m channeling something. Or I have a prophetic pen. Oh, man. What’s going on? Why can’t I eat me spinach?!