I am not God, nor did I write the Bible. And I don't think the Bible would have turned out as good if I had written it anyways.
P.S. Schuyler, Nebraska is a real place, but the social system I have devised is purely fictional.
P.P.S. I chose Nebraska at random. I was simply lucky enough to find that there was a city named Schuyler in it, which, in my opinion, sounds pretty close to Sychar, the actual place in the Bible. :)
Being an outcast is hard. But you get used to it once you've lived as one all your life. I have always been treated unfairly, even as a child. It isn't any different now that I'm fourteen, and in high school. Every year in September I think it's going to change; I think, maybe, just maybe, someone important will treat me with respect for once. Yeah, right.
My name is Emily Stone. I'm a Scottsdale. That's right: I'm a Scottsdale. You're probably thinking, No wonder she's an outcast. If you're not, you obviously don't know much about Gala, Nebraska.
If you live in Gala, you have two choices for education. You could go to Jefferson Drive or Scottsdale Center. Both schools are the same in one thing. They are each made up of three buildings: one for elementary, one for middle, and one for high school. Once you choose a school, you go there until you hit university or college. Besides that, the schools couldn't be more different.
Jefferson Drive is a private school. It costs an excess amount of money and you have to wear a uniform. The kids who go there are super smart and super snobby. They hold their noses up with pride because they're so much better than us. They beat us in all of the sports. They have all the spelling bee trophies. The kids who grow up in that school go on to become Olympic champions, famous chefs, bestseller writers.
Then there's my school. Scottsdale Center. A public school for all the kids who can't afford Jefferson and the kids who aren't as smart. Applied as opposed to academic. Maybe even applied as opposed to enriched. No one expects much of us.
But it's not just the schools. Once you choose a school, your entire social status is affected. The city is pretty much divided into two parts: the Jeffersons and the Scottsdales. The Jeffersons live in big fancy houses with spacious yards; we live in tiny, cramped subdivisions -- or worse. They're extremely exclusive. We would do anything to be friends with them, but they barely give us a second glance. If one of them talks to us, they're almost considered one of us, and for a while they get the same treatment as us.
Not fun.
It was the last football game of the season: a home game. The Jeffersons were winning by thirty points. Big surprise.
"I'm gonna go get a drink," I told my friend Sami, getting up and weaving through the crowds of spectators to make my way into Scottsdale high school. When I got into the doors, it was surprisingly calm. Not a single student wandered the halls: they were all watching the game.
I made my way over to the vending machines and surveyed my choices: Coke, Cream Soda, flavoured carbonated water . . . ah, Root Beer! I smiled and counted out a dollar's worth of quarters from the assortment of change I had left over from buying that day's lunch.
"Hey, umm . . . Could you get me a Cream Soda? I forgot my money at home." I turned around to see a young man in a navy blue Jefferson school uniform standing behind me. His soft brown eyes twinkled and his short dark hair curled around his ears, framing his face in short waves. He was clean shaven and he smelled like sawdust (he probably took woodworking class). I looked at him incredulously.
"You -- a Jefferson -- are asking me for a drink? You, one of the people who always go around telling everybody how much money you have, are asking me to buy you something? You, risking the very way you're treated by your friends, just to talk to me." I snorted. "You're crazy." Even still, I marveled at the opportunity to brag to my friends and bought him the drink.
"Thanks. You know, I always think it's so pointless to have to drink all of the time," he said, popping the can open.
"What?" I asked. I didn't have a clue what he was talking about.
"Well, every time you drink, you just get thirsty again! Why go through all of the trouble of having to drink every time you get thirsty?" I didn't see his logic.
"Well, that's the point," I argued. "We're made that way. Being thirsty is normal. It happens, just like being hungry!"
"But why? Why not just drink one time and never be thirsty again?" he asked.
"How can we do that? Nobody's invented anything weird like that, yet," I said.
"Well, that's not entirely true. I know where you could get it," he began. "When I asked you for a drink, you should have asked me for one." I didn't understand. He was talking gibberish!
"How? You said yourself, you don't have any money!"
"You don't need money to get Living Water," he said, calm as could be.
"Well, can you get me some, then?" I asked.
Right then, the bell rang. The young man's friends came up behind him and said, "Whoa, man, why are you talking to her? We'd better get going, or you'll be an outcast or something!"
"Uh oh. I'll be late for my bus home. Hey, umm . . . I know! I'll come back tomorrow! I'll try to make to understand then," he said, backing away with his friends. Then he stopped and walked towards me again. "Oh! Here," he said, pressing two crisp one-dollar bills into my hands. He had just bought me a can of Root Beer.
I stood there with my mouth open for what seemed like half an hour. I was shaken out of my state of disbelief when Sami strode up to me, her ponytail wagging.
"Where did you go, Em? You missed the rest of the game! We won! For the first time in five years!" she informed me excitedly. "Whoa, are you okay? You look . . . sick." I nodded.
"Well, the strangest thing just happened to me . . ."
Thanks for reading! Comment and tell me what you think! :)
