Well Written Advice

Marion Prose is having a rough day. I won't go into details, but needless to say it's pretty rough. Perhaps all she needs is a bit of wisdom from a man whose words she actually wants to read...

The words flowed from my pen with ease that I could not find previously that day. While I was rather disappointed that my sudden tsunami of inspiration had to break loose at school, it was a minor bump in the road. At least, that’s what I had come to think until Paige started tapping my shoulder rapidly. This drew me out of the world formed on paper out of ink and back into cold reality.
“Back from the dead, Miss Prose?” the strict, but not entirely straight Ms Wells asked, “You seem to have set a new record in the length of your journeys through idle fiction.” 
Yeesh, did her girlfriend break up with her again?, I thought. Ms Wells was probably the most uptight teacher at the whole school. She ruled her empire of literature with an iron fist and a merciless reputation for bringing students no mercy in the form of the metaphorical gas chamber of an essay question. She was the single most frightening person I’d ever met on the face of the planet. 
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am. I’ll pay more attention from now on,” I said timidly, playing the terrified mouse to her intimidating house cat demeanor.
“You should’ve been paying attention right from the get-go,” the dictator in training snatched up my journal, “You can get this back after you’ve written an essay for me on incompetence.”
I bowed my head, “Yes ma’am. When should I have it finished?”
“The end of the week,” she said, “Now class, don’t forget that you have to read chapter twelve and take notes tonight. Your vocab test is on Friday so study lists seven through ten.” 
The digital school bell blared, releasing a flock of teenagers onto the outside world for the rest of the day. Paige waited for me while I gathered my things and we walked to our lockers.
“You okay?” Paige asked me, “I’ve never seen She-Hitler so ready to unleash a Holocaust before.”
No I’m not. I’m just about ready to kill her off in the next book if not in real life, but I said, “Yeah, I’m fine. I just need to get that essay done,” I said, “And then I’m moving to the back of the class.”
“Assigned seats, remember?”
“Darnit.”
“Mars, I know you’re bent on becoming the next James Attris, but you’ve got to at least humor the teachers by pretending to pay attention if not actually doing so.”
All my anger melted away at the mention of my favorite author’s name. I’d read all nine of his books an uncountable number of times, and his tenth installment was coming out today!
“You’ve got a point. I wonder if he ever had to deal with overbearing high school teachers.”
“I’m sure all the greats did. Has he published anything new?”
“I’m getting Phoenix of the Ice as soon as I leave school. You coming?”
“I wish I could, Mars, you know I do. But that my grade in French is counting on my grade for the next test.”
“Yeah, you should study for that instead. I’m so glad I didn’t take that class.”
“You should be! See you tomorrow!”
“See ya!”
From school I drove to the closest book store that carried the new novel, and once there I waltzed through the doors and up to the costumer service desk.
“Hi, has Phoenix of the Ice by James Attris come in?” I asked the employee.
“They just brought a whole truck of Attris novels to the New Releases table. Why don’t you check there?” he said.
I thanked the man and made a beeline for this New Releases table. Lo and behold, a caravansary of James Attris books were all stacked, and a sign in front of them read, “Out of the Glaciers They Rise. Phoenix of the Ice.”
I searched through the stacks of books endlessly, and right as I was beginning to lose hope, a lone novel was sighted. What wonders of science fiction awaited me this time? What worlds would be visited? Which characters would I love or hate? Unfortunately these questions kept me from reaching for the book before a chubby little kid got his paws on it.
Now, I’m never one to judge a book by its cover, literally or figuratively, but just one look at this kid told me all about him.
The buzzcut under the NFL ball cap and the matching baggy football jersey was more than an ample amount of evidence to prove my point of snobby suburban middle school football jock. He had no business being here, or did he? He scampered ponderously back to his waiting mother, a very well-groomed woman of the same suburban catalog.
I felt like screaming. The one thing that would bring me solace after a horrible experience at school has now become another weight on the scales of optimism and pessimism. However, I knew that wouldn’t be the right thing to do. After all, the kid might actually be an avid reader. So, after a couple deep breaths, I calmed down and walked out of the book store.
Okay, this made me lose all calmness I had built up. My car was being towed. Actually, it wasn’t my car. It was my mom’s car. She only just let me start driving it last month!
“Hey! Hey!” I yelled, running after the already long gone tow truck, but it was too late. He’d already pulled onto the highway.
“Oh that’s just peachy! No, I really needed that!” It was at this point that I just started yelling absurdities to the sky in a never ending rant. Soon, however, I started to grow extremely self-conscious, considering the many people who might be staring down a teenage girl shouting swear words into the distance. And in my self-consciousness I shambled over to the nearest unoccupied bench and pulled on my hoodie.
After a few minutes, the bench creaked and drooped slightly beside me.
Great, someone here to guest at my misery perhaps? I thought.
“Bad day?” an accented voice asked, either Irish or Scottish.
I scoffed, “You don’t know the half of it.”
“I won’t know any of it unless you tell me,” okay, definitely a Scottish accent, “And it’s a bit rude to hide your face from a companion.”
“Companion? I don’t even know who you are!”
“Well maybe that’s best. That way you don’t worry that you’ll run into that person again.”
“Good point, but I’m still not showing you my face for... obvious reasons.”
The Scotsman laughed, “Fair enough. So, what’s so bad about today?”
I don’t know what possessed me, but for some reason I found myself dumping all of the day’s problems onto this stranger. I began with the case of the stolen journal, but was stopped when I mentioned James Attris and his latest book.
“Have you heard of him?” I asked, still staring at the ground beneath me.
“You could say that. Has this guy written much?”
“Only about ten novels. I’ve got them all, and they’ve been read so much that the spines have broken.”
“That’s always a good sign of a smart person. Now, I want to hear more about this Auschwitz-style Literature Class.”
I leaned back against the bench, “Where do I even begin? Perhaps with the fact that she doesn’t do any actual teaching? She just makes us watch videos and take notes that are due for quiz grades! We don’t even read fiction!”
“Oh heaven forbid you actually read in Literature class!”
“Seriously! She even told me today that fiction was idle! The nerve!”
We could’ve gone on like that for ages, but for some reason we stopped the moment a suspicious black car pulled up to the curb. My bench-side companion got up from his seat.
“And I’m afraid that’s my ride. It was nice talking to you. Just one more question though. Which school does this Lit class take place?”
“Northridge High School on Hunting Drive. Why?”
He snickered, “No reason.” With that, the stranger got into the car and rode on his way.
Oh great. I just spent the day planning my a mass homicide at school tomorrow. This is definitely not going to bode well for college applications, I thought.
I managed to get a cab home from the book store, being greeted by a very angry mother. Surprise, surprise. I was grounded from driving ever again which I was kind of glad about, truth be told. What I wasn’t happy about was my punishment of not getting the Phoenix of the Ice. I was still emotional enough from the day’s turmoil to even let a few tears slip. I got a more than cross talking to thanks to my mum, and apparently I’m the most incompetent girl in Chiswick; at least according to her. 
“What would your father think of this?” she roared.
“I don’t know! He’s too dead to care!” I shouted, my voice thick with sorrow. That managed to get me some privacy for the night.
Curse the man who ran him over a thousand times over.
Paige offered to drive me to school the next morning. I admired how good a friend and how even-minded she was. That didn’t mean she wasn’t a force to be reckoned with though. The one time I saw her get angry, you would’ve thought hell itself had been broken loose. Even after that though, she apologized to anyone who witnessed it. She was a mighty oak with the ferocity of an inferno and the sweetness of a rose petal.
The day went by without anything interesting; at least until the dreaded Literature class. We all entered to be greeted by the Headmaster, Mr Bingley. He was probably the most likable guy in the entire school to me because my dad was close friends with him.
“What’s up, Mr Bings?” I asked the blond school-head.
He cleared his throat, “Everyone, I would like to inform you personally that Ms Wells will no longer be teaching at Northridge.”
The whole class would have erupted into spontaneous celebration, but Mr Bingley had more to say.
“Now, until we can find a replacement fit to teach such a class as this, I have called in a very old friend of mine to give some insight on modern science fiction, Mr James Attris.”
My. Mind. Exploded. I was more than certain that I would drop dead on the floor in that instant, but as soon as the mysterious, rugged red-head walked through the class door all thoughts of freaking out or fangirling were tossed from my mind.
“Thank you for the opportunity, Patrick,” the bestselling author said.
That voice. Could it be?
“That’s the stranger I was talking to yesterday!” I whispered excitedly to Paige.
“What!? You spoke to James Attris?! Dude, I’m so jealous!”
Mr Bingley left our class shortly afterwards and Mr Attris took the helm of the HMS Lit.
“So, I understand you were previously reading a biography on Margret Thatcher?” the author asked us; no one answered, “Well you’ll probably be overjoyed to know that you’ll now be reading some real literature.”
I mean, considering the fact that the majority of my class hardly ever picked up books even for a grade, it was pretty understandable as to why they weren’t excited, but come on! Our worst teacher just got canned! Show at least some form of gratitude!
“Wow. Tough crowd. You know what? You’ve got a study hall for the rest of the class. Go nuts.”
With that, the class went into an uproar of about tv shows and video games and gossip. Mr Attris walked out the door to presumably escape the noise, but I saw that he was holding something in his hands, and I, curious as ever, followed him out the door.
I stayed a good distance behind as he walked out to the curb and opened what looked like a book.
Wait a minute. That’s my journal. John freaking Attris is reading my freaking journal! WHAAAT?!?!?!?
“Marion, what are you doing outside of class?” Mr Drewson asked, from seemingly out of nowhere. I practically jumped out of my skin.
“I. Well, you see. I was just...” I stammered.
“It’s all right, Eric. Miss Prose is just out here talking with me about her writing habits,” Mr Attris said, probably saving my hide and ruining my chances of a clear head at the same time.
“About time someone talked some sense into that girl. She never stops with that senseless writing.”
“Need I remind you how I make my earning in this world?”
The Maths teacher went stiff, “Right. Sorry. I’ll just leave you to it then.”
Once Mr Drewson was inside the walls of Northridge, the bestselling author motioned for me to sit next to him on the curb. He then looked me dead in the eye.
“You’ve got a gift for writing, Marion. I hope you know that,” he said.
I was stunned silent for a moment, just as any fan would be after being complimented by their icon.
“Coming from you that means the world, Mr Attris,” I managed to say.
“James, please. There are enough formalities in my life.”
“Okay.” My calm demeanor hid the true freaking out that was going on inside me. We stayed silent for a few moments, when James spoke up.
“Did you ever get your car back?”
“It was actually my mom’s car. Now I can drive neither drive anywhere nor get your new book.”
“Oh we can’t have that, can we? So, I got something for you. It’s not much. Just a way of saying thanks for the best chat I’ve had with a total stranger.”
“You’re telling me? I thought you were a total stranger.”
James laughed and walked to that same black car just across the parking lot. When he came back, he handed me my missing journal as well as a wrapped box-shaped package. He looked pretty eager for me to unwrap it, and when I did, I was greeted by a signed copy of Phoenix of the Ice. 
“I took the liberty of placing a message on the inside of the cover. I’d recommend not showing it to your mother until the punishment passes?”
“Yeah that would be best!” I laughed, “Thank you so much, James.”
From inside, we heard the school bell ring.
“You’re welcome. And consider your essay exempt, Miss Prose. You’re more meant for the story writing genre, not the expository one.”
“Dually noted.”
When I arrived home that night, I hid the newly received book from my mum’s sight, and I planned on not even opening it until the punishment was levied. After all, a recent companion but long admired icon gave me a bit of advice about these things.

People are weird and fickle. We don’t end up meaning most of the things we say, but the things we do mean to say are always the words we wish we could change. It’s best if you just forgive and forget with people, because that way we can all live in peace.

Reviews

[Lizardo]

This is such a great story! I love everything about it!
And the moral message that you left in the end gave it a nice ending
What a wonderful story you have here, great work!