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Alright, read this bit of a potential short novel; particularly you young adults. Be kind.Any good? Want more?

Match grasped her binder to her chest as she weaved through the throngs of students. Finally reaching her locker, she fumbled with the lock three times before successfully opening the metal door. With relief, she crammed her head inside, closed her eyes, and took several deep breaths. The sound of squeaking shoes, yelling teenagers, and slamming doors began to drift away. She could stay here forever. Zen. Too soon, her meditation was interrupted by a voice behind her.
“What are you doing?”
Scrunching her eyes tightly for just a moment longer, she took one last deep breath and came out from her sanctuary. She turned to see Drue, looking amused.
“What were you doing?” she repeated.
“Just…looking for…my pen. I dropped it.. … In the back.”
Silence.
“…The way back,” Match’s eyes shifted.
Drue raised her eyebrows skeptically. “Is that so?”
“Yes. It’s so.” Match hastily grabbed the books for her next class, slammed her locker closed, and began walking with Drue. “So, whatever happened with Mr. Stokes?”
“Smooth subject change, Match. Well, he said that it didn’t matter if I “thought” about doing the paper, it only matters if I actually “do” the paper. But I think that’s just ridiculous. I mean, since when do we only get credit for actually doing something. In the real world, it’s the thought that counts.”
“And is this what you told him?”
“Well, yeah. And you can imagine how that turned out…”
“I told you to just do it on Wednesday. You know, instead of sitting on my couch complaining there was nothing to do.”
“That doesn’t sound like me. What have I told you about exaggeration, Match?”
“…and then acting out your dramatic scene, Death by Boredom…”
“That’s gonna get an award someday, and you’ll be sorry when I won’t let you spit-shine my Oscar.”
“Great Drue. I’ll start holding my breath now, then.”
Drue’s laugh was cut short by a Kamikaze seventh-grader shoving past them, his arms stretched out for take off, spitting off airplane sound effects.
Drue picked up her fallen papers as yet another zoomed past her. “What is wrong with this batch? I’m telling you, seventh grade is no better than kindergarten.”
Match absently agreed as they walked briskly to Earth Sciences. They passed the threshold just as the bell sounded over the intercom. Mr. Stokes raised his eyebrows and pointed to his watch.
“Sorry!” Drue mouthed as she shrugged into her seat.
Match took her seat in the second row and began opening her books. As Mr. Stokes began discussing solar winds, Match glanced up and saw an open palm in front of her. The words “May I offer you a mint?” were scrawled across it, and a small, round mint was placed in the middle. She glanced up to see a boy looking at her. Her eyes widened to circles, not knowing how to react, just as Mr. Stokes’ voice boomed from behind him.
“Mr. Marko. Was something more interesting than solar flares or do you really have so poor a sense of direction?”
He grinned at Match before he turned slowly around.
“My apologies, Sir. You won’t see it happen again,” he said politely.
“Oh, I won’t see it, will I…” Mr. Stokes trailed off, muttering to himself.
Match couldn’t help but tug the corners of her mouth upwards. This new kid was strange, no doubt, but Match had to admit to herself that she was flattered by his small, yet refreshing offering. His name was Bill, she thought, or maybe it was Steve…
As Mr. Stokes began to drone on about the solar and lunar cycles, Match’s pencil began to slowly slide from her grip. Her head lilted to one side and she was on her way home. She was bounding up the steps, two giant leaps and she was soaring over them, picking up momentum, picking up altitude. Soon, she saw the rooftops of houses and squinted her eyes to search for her own…
“Need glasses?”
Match was jolted back to reality and was again face to face with Drue.
“What?” Match asked, bewildered.
“You’re sitting here squinting at the board–blank, by they way–the bell rang three minutes ago, and you ask me that like I’m crazy.”
Match narrowed her eyes dramatically but couldn’t help a smirk. “Let’s go.”
They headed to the crowded lunch room and got in line. Match found herself scanning the hoards of students. The goths were sitting huddled together with no food on their table, probably discussing the profound lack of meaning in life. The smart kids had their homework out, arguing over a math problem. Jim Dial had a pencil in one hand, a breadstick in the other and was heatedly tapping a piece of paper with it. The popular kids were admiring themselves in their compacts and pristinely sipping their diet sodas.
Match grabbed a puke-colored tray as she reached the front of the line. The lunch lady unceremoniously dumped a heap of discolored mashed potatoes on top of her slab of mystery meat and handed it back with a scowl. Lunch ladies, always the same.
As Match and Drue swip

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soccerchick010795JamesSarah B Recent comment authors
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soccerchick010795
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soccerchick010795

I like the dialogue a lot but the prose could use some work and it got a bit confusing towards the end.

Answer mine? http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index;_ylt=AqXtFpDb3OTTEjxWuhLVu7fsy6IX;_ylv=3?qid=20090630204127AAJHxdK

James
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James

This is really good. U said this was a short story? are u sure? it seems like it could be a good book. really it could. i really like your characters. idk about everyone else but i really like this. i think you should continue with this story. I believe it will be a good read when it is finished. Good Job

Sarah B
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Sarah B

I like it, and would honestly be interested in seeing where it goes.

Check out my question: http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20090630201331AA2wheI