Pause

by CJ Adler

  If I could open a wormhole and have him drown in it, I would. He's the one who should lose little Max on his stomach over there. Food before the dude!

  I roll my eyes at him before picking up the thing nearest to me, which just so happens to be a stapler. On impulse, I chuck it in his direction, except, he dodges it just in time. I'm forced to watch it fly past his head and hit Melinda in the face instead.

  Oopsies!

  I gasp aloud, placing a hand over my mouth in shock. “Whoopsy daisy!”

  I've really dropped the ball on this one.

  ***

  “You threw her with a stapler?” Bells asks, astonished, the rumors already soaring across the school.

  Yes, because I'm that strong! People are stupid. I'm powerful, but I'm not Superman.

  I bang my head repeatedly against the table. I've been over this with at least six different people now . “I wouldn 't say that I threw a stapler at her, more like gently chucked the stapler in her direction, but, in my defense, it barely touched her, and she has a really humongous forehead. I mean, seriously, how her mother gave birth to—”

  “Aqueela.” Bells glares at me in reprimand, implying that I should not dare finish my next sentence. “How can you say it barely touched her when she has a gigantic bruise across her forehead? I'm surprised she didn't slap you right there and then.”

  I'm about to reply when the intercom comes on, the voice blaring across the school speakers. “Aqueela Lawson, please report to the principal's office immediately.”

  People send me looks and gossip among each other, trying to guess what I'm in for this time.

  I glance at Bells to see her shaking her head at me. Way to be supportive. However, I can't say that this is a new thing. I can't say that I'm not used to being reported over the intercom. This is not my first rodeo. In fact, I'm quite experienced.

  Ah well, time to manipulate my way out of this.

  The teacher gives me a look before staring up at the ceiling, mumbling complaints beneath her breath. “Why, Lawson, why?” she mutters aloud to herself, audible enough for me and the rest of the class to hear. “Just go,” she says and gestures to the door, having given up on me.

  Well, a goodbye would have been nice, even a good riddance would have sufficed.

  ***

  “So, we meet again?” I ask deviously as I lean on my elbows across the principal's table with a smug smirk on my face, thoroughly enjoying his company.

  “I was hoping it would be under better circumstances,” Principal Long replies, a stern look on his face.

  I shrug and slouch back in my chair. “I can't really think of any better circumstances than this.”

  “You do realize that you're here because you threw another student with a stapler?”

  He asks, unbelieving of my audacity. In all honesty, he should be used to me after all this time. My audacity is never ending. I have an infinite supply of nerve. people really got the story all wrong. As if I could pick up Melinda and toss her across the classroom…I wish.

  I press my lips into a thin line as I kick my feet up onto the table, making myself feel more at home.

  “Meh.” I shrug again. “All hearsay,” I retort, casually brushing off the idea.

  Principal Long sighs, clearly fed up with me. It doesn't take long for him to give in. Over the years, I've learned his weak spots. I give special attention to anything that tests his patience.

  He frowns and glances at my flats propped up on his table. He seems to be contemplating if it's worth telling me off or not. Turns out, he knows me well because he doesn 't say anything and goes back to the reason why I'm here in the first place. “So, you are denying Melinda's claims then?”

  “Alleged claims,” I correct only for him to grumble something to himself, running out of patience.

  “Did you or did you not throw a stapler at Melinda?” He repeats, frustrated.

  “I did,” I reply simply.

  His eyes widen. “Then why did you just deny it.” “Deny what?” I question, at a loss.

  “Never mind.” He sighs aloud and pulls at his hair in aggravation. “So you hit Melinda with the stapler and then—”

  “I did not hit her with the stapler,” I correct him yet again.

  His mouth falls agape. “But you just said—”

  “I threw a stapler and it happened to hit her forehead. I did not walk up to her and physically hit her with the stapler,” I clarify and then add under my breath, “...well, not yet anyway.”

  Principal Long runs a hand down his face in frustration. “I'm just going to let you go with a warning and call it quits because if I try to reason with you any longer, I'll be in a coffin. You will be the one to drive me to my grave early.”

  I've done it again. I stand up, ready to leave, but I'm stopped by Max's influence:

  “Early? Don't you think you're running on overtime? That's coming from the gray hair sprouting and the wrinkles, not me. Also, have you by any chance budged on the whole 'wearing capes to school' thing? I fight crime,” I say to him, soon finding myself standing outside his office with a familiar slip in hand— detention.

  So much for getting out of that one.

  ***

  “You're not serious, are you?” Mason asks, glancing from Bells to me, bewildered. When I don't answer, his impatience drives him to look at Bells instead. “She's not serious, is she?”

  Bell shrugs and takes a guess. “Knowing Aqueela, she's dead serious.”

  That I am.

  I ignore the both of them and continue on with my posters and colorful pens.

  From the corner of my eye, I notice Bells looking around wea-rily at the mass of people joining me in my rebellion. She voices her thoughts, “I don't know how I feel about sitting at the delinquent’s table. It feels…” she trails off when Mavis, a goth chick, gives her a cool glare as if daring her to finish her sentence “…different,” she concludes awkwardly.

  I hold back a grin. Bells has been taken out of her comfort zone, out of the realms of popularity, and now she doesn't know how to fit in with the street kids.

  “You got that right,” Mason agrees with her. “Only Aqueela I tell you, only Aqueela.” He winks at me, tapping my shoulder playfully before swinging his backpack onto his shoulder, leaving our busy table to go and join his stupid friends.

  Bells, with her beautiful big heart, takes her chances in staying a while longer despite her evident unease with the situation and the people surrounding her. She continues to sit in pure discomfort as if too afraid to even move or breathe.

  I chuck my pen down in enthusiasm as I finally finish up the last of our posters. I clap in excitement before jumping up onto our delinquent table, my group silencing as I, their leader, address them. “Now I know we're labeled as the delinquents, rebellious kids, detention freaks, the outlaws, the—”

  “I'd say you're going overboard with the whole outlaw thing. You're acting like you're a group of murders or serial killers or something to that extreme,” Bell whispers into my ear from below me and attempts in pulling me off of the table.

  “Let the woman work.” Mavis narrows her eyes at Bells in warning, pushing her away from me so that I may talk to my people. She's all for the cause and I appreciate her vote of confidence in me.

  I continue. “But we're done taking orders from the nerds, bookworms, goody-two-shoes, cheerleaders, jocks, and every damn clique out there! Every clique is evil!”

  My followers chant after me and raise their fists in anger as the clique of skateboarders not too far away, overhear us shouting. They give us confused expressions as they grip onto their precious skateboards tighter as if genuinely afraid.

  The skateboarders are a peaceful group and are usually chill with everyone.

  I think we may just have offended them. “Except the skateboarders!” I add quickly.

  My people seem befuddled by my next words but do not hesitate in repeating after me. “Except the skateboarders!” They chant aloud in u
nison.

  Bells rolls her eyes at us, or more specifically, me.

  One of the skateboarders raises her eyebrow at me, puzzled by what's going on.

  “Word!” I acknowledge her and the other skateboarders with a nod, folding my arms across my chest as a sign of respect. “Peace out.” I use my arms and 'dab'at her, much to her growing amusement. I speak their language.

  My minions copy me and mimic the 'dab' in the skateboarders' direction.

  “Order shall be restored in the land! No more detention for us! No more staying after school for something we may or may not have done or deserved—”

  “Detention kind of implies that you did do something wrong and that you deserve punishment, hence detention being the consequence in the first place,” Bell chips in yet again. I give her a fierce glare to which she holds up her hands apologetically. “Just sayin'.”

  “I say to hell with detention! Let the rebellion arise!” I shout at the top of my voice as my followers erupt in cheers and clapping, all fist pumping the air aggressively and way too passionately.

  Bell manages to successfully pull me off the table this time. “You realize that your little rebellion is going to get you expelled, right?” She's my Achilles heel. “I say it with all due respect,” Bell feels the need to add.

  “Well, with no respect to you, whatsoever…” I grin at her teasingly before informing her of the facts, “I'm way ahead of you.”

  “I'm listening—” she gestures to me, “—proceed.”

  “Colby,” I call and motion to the muscular meathead to bring me my stack of untidy papers.

  He instantly obeys. I smirk in satisfaction. I could get used to this.

  “Your head is the size of a hot air balloon right now.” Bells scoffs at my arrogance.

  “I have no idea what you're talking about,” I lie. It's a good day to be me.

  “You have Mavis painting your nails black, Colby running your personal errands, Brice filling in as your bodyguard, and that little scrawny kid has been polishing your flats this entire time we've been talking,” she points out in a matter- of-fact way.

  His name is David.

  I don't pay attention and, instead, skim over the papers in my hand before handing them over to her. “The law states that I have freedom of speech. Protesting is allowed. I've already contacted my lawyers.”

  “Yes, and where is proof of this document, mhm? And who are your lawyers? Are they even qualified?” she questions as she goes through the papers, her rare smart side rearing its ugly head.

  Bill of Rights, for starters, is proof enough. “The proof is somewhere in there. If they want it, they find it. My lawyer is obviously myself, nuh-duh. I only trust myself to get out of a situation as such,” I say as if it is obviously obvious. “Know what I'm saying?”

  “You only trust yourself to get out the situation that you first got yourself into? Interesting. And how can you be a lawyer when you haven't even read through all these papers yet?” she asks, seemingly unsurprised at my brilliant solution.

  “You're overanalyzing it all, Bells. Just go with the flow.”

  ***

  Approximately an hour later...

  I glance around the school giddily as my loyal protesters yell aloud and wave posters around not only in students' faces, but teachers' as well, including Principal Long's.

  Principal Long marches my way after finding out that I'm the instigator behind it all. “I'm not impressed, Ms. Lawson. Within half an hour after giving you detention, you have already raised up a clang of protesters who started a food fight, blocked hallways, and sprayed graffiti all over the school detention room.”

  “What can I say?” I shrug carelessly. “I work fast.”

  How is all that not impressive? This man is crazy.

  He scowls. “This behavior is downright despicable and I will not tolerate it in my school. As the one who started this all, you better have a way to end it all, or I'm ending your time in this school. In fact, why don't I just end it right—”

  A strong arm wraps around my shoulders. I glance up to find Mason sweet-talking Principal Long. “Principal L, please let me have a word with this savage and I can promise you that this will all be over soon. There is no need for any expulsions today,” he reasons, his reputation for being the golden boy preceding him.

  I scoff at his words, only for Mason to glance down at me in warning, mouthing to me to zip it before I screw this up any further.

  “Extend an olive branch. She'll have it all cleaned up very soon. No need for drastic measures such as suspension or expulsion,” Mason adds, making his intentions of saving me known.

  Principal Long eyes Mason skeptically for a second or two before giving in with a stern nod. “Just see to it that it gets done, Mr. Montry. I'm only holding back on expulsion due to the fact that you have a relatively good track record. Don't make me regret my leniency.”

  And with that, Principal Long walks away, leaving me at the mercy of Mason.

  Here it comes…

  I peek up through my lashes. He immediately removes his arm off of my shoulders once he's sure that Long isn't coming back anytime soon. He stares down at me with ferocity, clearly angry. It's not like I asked him to swoop in and save me.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asks sharply and bluntly. “No, seriously, what is it? Because I've been hellbent on trying to figure you out for years but, I swear, I will never understand you.”

  “And that's the way I like it!” I say bitterly, peeling myself away from him.

  “Now, if you excuse me, I have got some things to take care of.” I begin walking away.

  “I hope that when you say you're taking care of things, it means that you're fixing the mess you've created!” he shouts after me, but I ignore him, having more pressing matters to attend to. “Otherwise it will be me who takes the fall for you!”

  “How unfortunate for you,” I mutter under my breath as I head for the detention room, school having ended for the day.

  I glance around, pleased to see that there is practically no space to walk. All my minions have stuck to the plan, sitting in front of the detention room in order to block access. They're all still yelling and raising their posters to the ceiling, making me proud.

  I'm just spitballing here, but I could run for president someday.

  I join my precious minions, sitting down right in the center of them all as we chant our song together. “Detention must die for us to fly! So just try, and along with detention you will die! So goodbye! It's no lie that detention will die! Just try and stop us and it could be your eye!”

  I think that even if I wanted to end this all, like Mason requested, I wouldn't be able to now. My groupies seem to have developed a mind of their own. It's been made personal. They have been brainwashed by me into brainwashing me. I've created beautiful monsters. I'm their Frankenstein.

  My rebellion fantasies come tumbling down when an icy voice simply commands them in one word. “Move.”

  I glance up into his steely blue eyes to find that he's already looking at me. “C'mon, Jay. Don't fight us. You're one of us. Join our rebellion, join the revolution.” I try to sway him over to our side.

  He glances down at all of us surrounding the classroom as if contemplating the idea before he shakes his head, adamant in his decision. “I distinctly recall telling you that I don't plan on sticking around, especially not for your vendettas. Now get out my way so I can get this over with. I have better places to be as is.”

  “Yeah, like the bar.” I scoff in mockery. It's only when his face drops that I realize what I've just said. I know working at a bar isn't ideal, but it's the only thing that gets him by. “Wait, Jay!” I get up to my feet. “I never meant—”

  “Take a shot at my job, nice. Glad that you think so highly of me despite knowing my circumstances. If this is your way of talking me into your little childish riot, then you can forget it,” he replies in a bitter tone as he moves through us, forcing his wa
y to the room.

  He's going against the rebellion.

  Brice, the bodyguard, takes the liberty to stand up, joining my side as he venomously hovers his bulky form over Jay's defined one. “Don't talk to our leader like that, you piece of garbage, you garbage child!” he snaps in fury.

  Let's just say that he hasn't got much going for him, except muscles. He isn't the brightest crayon in the coloring box. However, he is extremely possessive and aggressive when he becomes highly attached to people, people being me.

  Jay restrains himself from knocking Brice out. He stays silent, fixing a piercing glare on Brice as if telling him to back down without the use of words. For Brice's own sake, I place my hand on his arm and command him to sit down.

  Brice reluctantly obeys and steps out of Jay's way, as do the others, all now feeling uneasy and restless in his presence. His reputation, just like Mason, precedes him. But in Jay's case, he's the black sheep, not the golden kid.

  I guess I'm the only one that's crazy enough to try and befriend him, what with all the rumors that follow him. Then again, I've never been one to participate in gossiping, way overrated in my opinion. It won't fly with me.

  They all make space for him to get through.

  Jay takes delight in squashing me under his foot with his next words of conviction, “Keep listening to this delusional girl and you're all gonna land up expelled.” With those being his parting words, he confidently enters the detention room.

  I watch on in horror as people begin to question my authority. It's not long before the rebellion dies. One sentence and he manages to crush me and my rebellion risers. How the hell does his word have such a drastic impact on others?

  Sadly, my minions arise from their seated positions, chucking their posters and protester boards away as they follow after Jay and enter the detention room too, some grumbling curse words beneath their breaths as they give up on the worthwhile cause.

  Weaklings!

  And just like that, my rebellion is forgotten through one single sentence uttered by one single person. Jay Taylor. The true rebellion leader. The Mockingjay.