The Girl on the Train is NOT about a orphan girl who has adventures on a train, meets new people, and gets adopted by a rich family during the great depression.

Hey! So sorry it took almost three weeks for me to post, but here's a short version of what I endured.

• Two musicals, I was in one, and one of them lasted until 12:00 am
• Mic Tape on my new jazz shoes
• Seeing 4 friend from the past, that you thought you would never see again #ICKward!
• The Rose and The Dagger By Renee Ahdieh, fan feels. 
• The Girl From Everywhere, feels
• Finding out that The Girl on the Train is NOT about a orphan girl who has adventures on a train, meets new people, and gets adopted by a rich family during the great depression.
• Finding out last minute that you have Sunday School duty. whhhhhhhhhy

But overall, the past three weeks have been pretty swell folks! *cries

Anyway, here's a kinda-new story by yours truly! ME

p.s. Don't forget to send in your own story! YOU could become the next collaborator! 

FAUX FRIDAY, and it’s not-so-helpful- ’90S-oriented-psuedo-insprirational hamster posters.

Honestly, I’ve always been irked by ridiculous school holidays. The teachers think it’s for the fun of it, in fact a direct quote from Mrs. Holiday-totally not making this up, just an uncanny coincidence- “Spirit is what drives us here at Yesterfield Junior High! What else do we have to hope for…” she actually mumbled that last part. Back to what I was saying, school holidays are a complete waste, especially spirit week. Now I’m not saying I’m against Taco Tuesday, even though I’m 90% sure the meat is some sort of unnecessarily over processed meat by-product made some where west, but your milking it when you have; Faux Friday, March’n Monday-the principle thinks it’s ‘cool’ to not fully spell words, in replacement, ‘, for instance: Rock’n Runway festival, Bang’n Burrito weekend, and The Perio’ic t’ble of El’ments, Thrumm’n Thursday, and finally: Faux Friday.

The goal of this, somewhat, cheesy event, was to be happy, it didn’t matter what mood you were in. Happy. Like grinning from ear to ear. To make it even worse, there were unbelievably tacky, pseudo inspirational posters of small rodents lifting weights, and casually eating healthy food. Basically, anything that the normal 7^th-9^th grader wouldn’t do. I don’t even know why I wrote about that. Never mind. So these things are plastered all over the walls during gym class distracting me, because, hey! Who can resist intently staring at a neon pink poster with a hamster lifting weights, spattered with neon pink paint? The coach is harping over the fact that we have the lowest GPA in the whole county for physical activity. It’s pretty embarrassing and we’re all standing there like immobilized sloths, when the coach dramatically pauses and projects, “Greg!” now, if I were a theater geek-which I am not- I would appreciate his perfect diction, and how he didn’t linger on the ‘e’ for too long. Or he projection skills, I mean come on you could have heard him from the library, but since I am not a theater geek, and never will be, I did not appreciate any of these things. I was terrified. 

“Greg! Please demonstrate for the class, since you were so clearly paying attention!” jeez Louise, this guy could project…. “Uh, what would I be projecting your honor, I mean, um, sir, highness, coach?” looking back, this was one of my many failures of attempting to speak in public. This is why I don’t do theater, notice line 9, I collapse under any source of pressure, including/especially, pressure from coaches. “Bars!” he earsplittingly bellowed, kind of like Peter Boyle in Young Frankenstein, Anyway, I gave him a signature Greg ‘I-don’t-know-whatever-you’re –talking-about-because-I simply-wasn’t-listening’ look. “You.” He pointed in a robot like nature to punctuate every word. “Go. Lift. Weights. NOW!!!” At that point, I was quivering like Bert Lahr, who had really lost his courage. This event was going either of two ways. I could fail, or I could fail with my chin held high. In this event, of Greg’s Tragic mental decisions, I chose the latter.

I hauled my body to the other side of the gym where the weights-of-doom laid. “Just five boost, and you’re done.” The way this coach could have mood swings was really getting on my nerves. “Yes, sir.” I quivered, like the limp noodle I am, I couldn’t just go, “Oh sir, actually, I don’t want to, so how about you pick on someone who genuinely wants to do this so I don’t make a bigger fool of myself.” But of course, I just said that in my head. So there I was, under some intricate equipment I had no idea how to use, and a creepy hamster poster staring me down. “Lift, Greg. Like, Up. Down. Move. Your. Arms.” I nodded best I could, which wasn’t very much considering I was under a thirty pound dumbbell. Okay. I mentally prepared myself. Just, up, and down. CRASH! Okay, that did not sound good. “Greg.” The coach was holding back a tsunami of rage behind his eyes. Oh gosh, oh gosh, ohgoshohgoshohgos- “Yes, um, coach?” here it comes…. “You just broke my thirty-pounder.” I am sweating like Chip Zien, from that one number in Into the Woods. “Do you know what you should do?” I fervently shook my head.  “I think you should visit the principal’s office.” He stated in an eerily calm, state. I felt like a debunked victim of Judge Judy. So here I am. In detention because of the evil gym equipment, the creepy/distracting hamster poster, which was just because of Faux Friday, basically, it was all the hamster’s fault.