How It Ends by Catherine Lo (classic books for 13 year olds .TXT) 📕

with a penchant for medical experimentation, I start in on sketch #42: Buried alive beneath an avalanche of second-rate art supplies.

Jessie

“I know!” Annie shouted, shattering my concentration for the millionth time. “A werewolf who secretly does good deeds . . . like fighting crime. A werewolf superhero.”

“You mean, when he’s not morphing into a cold-blooded killer?”

“Exactly. To make amends for his sins.” Annie pecked away at her laptop and then frowned at the screen. “That’s cheesy, isn’t it? I can’t do cheesy.”

“A werewolf with a heart of gold? Definite cheese potential.”

Annie groaned and pushed her laptop away. “What have you got?”

I held up my brainstorming page for her to see. So far, all it contained was the word Brainstorming underlined twice.

Our assignment was to write a short story that turned an idea on its head. “Give me the unexpected,” Miss Donaghue had enthused. “Make me see the world in a whole new way.”

It had sounded exciting in English class. But trapped here in my room on a Saturday afternoon, it was becoming a nightmare.

I pulled out my laptop and opened my documents folder, scanning its contents for inspiration. I’ve started dozens of stories in the last year. Started being the operative word. I can’t seem to finish any.

I stared hard at the long list of half-written documents lined up accusingly on my screen. I can’t figure it out. Every teacher I’ve ever had has raved about my writing. I can start stories all day long, and they all begin with such promise. I get high off the potential of it all. There always comes a point, though, where everything falls apart and I’m powerless to put it back together.

Basically, I suck at endings.

No. That’s not quite right. I’m incapable of endings.

“You know what we need?” Annie asked, pulling me away from my gloomy thoughts. “Retail therapy.”

I snorted and turned back to my laptop. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious. We need to get out of this room and clear our heads.”

I felt my shoulders tensing up. “I can’t go anywhere,” I said. “This assignment is due Monday. That’s the day after tomorrow.”

“Thank you for the days-of-the-week lesson, Einstein. We still have tonight and all day tomorrow to finish. And you have to admit, we’re just wasting time in here. We’ve been working for two hours, and all we have to show for it is a shitty werewolf idea and a blank brainstorming page.”

Annie grabbed her bag off the floor. “C’mon. Live a little! Come out of your room and step into the real world. Inspiration might be waiting for us at the mall.”

“The mall is the least inspiring place in the world,” I squeaked out unconvincingly. “And I planned to have this finished by tonight.”

“It’s not due till Monday, freakshow. You need to calm your shit down. There are no bonus points for finishing a day early.”

My stomach started to churn. I don’t do last-minute. I always have my assignments finished, printed, and stapled together in the front pocket of my binder at least the day before they’re due.

I looked at the clock and did some quick calculations. It was two o’clock. If we left right away and made it back by four, I could still put in at least a few hours of work before bed. “You’re really not worried about this at all?” I asked her.

She shrugged. “I’ll pull an all-nighter if I have to. I do my best work under pressure.”

“An all-nighter?”

“You’re kidding me, right? Are you telling me you’ve never stayed up all night to finish an assignment?”

I blinked at her, feeling the full weight of my uncoolness.

“You haven’t! My God. Okay. This will be your challenge . . .”

I started shaking my head before she could even finish her sentence.

Annie put her hands on my shoulders and gave me a little shake. “Breathe,” she told me. “You’re starting to wig out, and I haven’t even given you your mission yet.”

“I don’t want a mission.”

“Oh yes you do. It’s my duty as your best friend to introduce you to the joys of the slacker lifestyle. It’s not like I’m making you hand in the assignment late or anything.”

I could feel my eyes bugging out of my head, and Annie burst out laughing. “This’ll be good for you,” she said, handing me my bag. “We’re going to go buy makeup we don’t need, eat fried food on a stick, and then, if you’re really lucky, we’ll hit the bookstore.”

That perked me up. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” she said, slinging an arm around my shoulder. “But the catch is, no homework for the rest of the day. I don’t care if you start your assignment at the buttcrack of dawn tomorrow, but you have to promise me you won’t type a single word today.”

“I will not type a single word,” I promised, smiling brightly.

“Correction. You will not write a single word.”

“Ugh. Fine. You win. But I’m calling you tomorrow when I’m in tears because I’ve left it till too late.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She propelled me toward the door.

“And you’ll explain it to my mom if I get an incomplete because I don’t finish on time.”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“And—”

“Shut it, Jess.”

“Right.”

Two hours later we were at a sticky food-court table, polishing off a disgustingly fantastic bowl of cheese fries and taking quizzes from the magazines Annie bought at the pharmacy. So far, we’d learned that Annie’s ideal boyfriend is a rebel, she was born to be an artist, and she’s destined to live in New York City. I, on the other hand, have a geek as an ideal man, was born to be a writer, and am destined to live out my days in my hometown. I can’t believe they paid someone to come up with that stuff. Although . . . it might make a good fallback plan if I flunk out of school for not finishing my homework.

I held up a limp fry coated in fluorescent-orange cheese sauce. “You know, this is the first time I’ve ever eaten these.”

“Shut up!”

“No, really. My mom is convinced that artificial