A/N: I HATE to read/write OC, but the plot bunny bit me hard. So I chased it;)
Un-Betad, so all mistakes are me own. Im not really happy with it, so Idk if Ill finish it. Tell me if you want another chapter.
Sometimes life gives you lemons, and it's up to you to make lemonade.
Other times, life gives you a cup and sugar water and says "Good luck findin lemons asshole!"
This is one of those times.
The NY Times lead investigative journalist, Keri somethin-or-other, announced her pending retirement, and since than I have been unable to sleep. Or focus. Or care about anything else. It has been my dream since I was 9 years old to be an investigative journalist with the Times, and this was my shot.
The window of opportunity was open, and I wasn't gonna miss this chance.
"Define 'Never in a million years'."
"Look kid, theres is no way I am going to hire a 17 year old high school student, hell a *public* high school student, to replace Keri Jova." (Jova! Her last name was Jova!)
The management at the NY Times was awfully blunt...
"Come on! There must be something, *anything*, that I can do to have this job!"
"You know what it would take for me to hire you? It would take the story of the century. The kind of story that made people *read* again. The kind of story that makes atheists find god, and Christians question their sexuality. Bring me that, and I'll consider, *consider*, hiring. Maybe."
"The story of the century?.. I can do that. I can do that! Just don't count me out yet, I'm gonna find that story, and it will blow. you. away."
"Sure kid, whatever"
Why do old people always call me kid, anyways?
The second I got home I was on the phone.
It took 5, Five *whole* rings, for Kenna to answer. What Kind of a best friend is that?
"HE SAID YES!"
"No he didn't Clyde."
"Yes he did! He practically guaranteed me the job!"
"On what condition?"
"All he wanted was a story..."
"Uh-huh, What kind of story did he want Clyde?"
I hate when she sounds smug.
"Stop talking to me like that! I'm an adult damnit and I" - "Clyde..."
In retrospect, the high pitched whine I was speaking in definitely didn't help matters.
"Fiiiiiiiiine! He wants the story of the century."
"The kind that makes atheists religious and Christians queer?"
"Yeah. Like that..."
"Look, Clyde, I'm gonna tell you this because I love you. It's not gonna happen. Just finish out your senior year, go to college, get a degree, and work your way up the corporate ladder. It works for everyone else, and it will work for you too. Your time will come, I promise. But this just isn't it. I just don't understand why you're so dead set on this..."
"Because! If I can find a story he'll hire me, and then all of my wildest dreams will come true!"
"Dude, it's job at the Times, not Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory."
"YOU'RE GONNA BE LATE!"
God Mondays suck. I'm always late getting up, and end up doing my daily tasks on zombie mode. Gel my already-graying black hair up (Graying. At 17. God hates me.), put in my contacts on my green eyes (Practically blind. At 17. God hates me.), put in my invisiline (Crooked teeth. At 17. God hates me.), put on my class ring and clothes (Try lookin trendy in hand-me-downs. At 17. God hates me.), and run out the door (Not enough time to eat Breakfast).
Have I mentioned that God hates me?
Ever since I totaled my car in June, Kenna and I have been forced to walk to school. And today, like every day, Kenna is sitting on my front porch waiting. The air is still pretty humid (The weather hasn't quite caught up with the season), but the leaves are finally starting to change. During September Kenna practically lives outside. Between coaching and playing tennis she doesn't have much free time. So moments like this, were it's just the two of us, are rare.
It tends to be the highlight of my day.
"I just updated my status to 'Clyde made me late. Again. Thanks asshole.'
I tagged you in it, but I thought you deserved to know in advance."
Here Kenna gave me her copyrighted wink. One eyebrow raised, lips pouched in an almost kissy-face, and a wink of her brown eye. Her blue eye remained open, peircing as always.
"But seriously, did you sleep at all? You look like pounded shit."
Why are blonde girls always such smart-asses?
"Gee. Thanks."
"What I'm here for. Now spill."
"I was up all night trying to think of what my story should be about. I don't even know where to start. I need something to investigate if I'm gonna be an investigative reporter, ya know?"
"You still on that?.. God I'll honestly be glad when they hire someone. Maybe than you'll start sleeping again."
I didn't really have anything to say to that. I felt crushed, but I calmed my features. I knew she was just worried for me, so I shouldn't let what she said hurt me, right?
After that we just walked silence for a while. After about fifteen minutes we came upon our halfway mark. The Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters stood tall and proud on our right. After the new of the existence of mutants broke, this spot in front of the building had been covered with protesters and news crew, but these days things had calmed down a lot. There was still the occasional tourist looking for a photo op, or a conservative religious group to come preach the impending doom, but in general it was just like any other house.
Or rather, any other giant, eerie mansion full of super powered kinda sorta human being like creatures.
"You know Kenna, this place really gives me the creeps..."
"Forrr Sureee, I would pay good money to see what goes on in there. That place is huge. Even weirder, half of the kids in there are *our* age. Imagine if you lived in a house like that.
Hell, Imagine getting super powers at our age. As if puberty wasn't hard enough already. Right Clyde...Clyde?"
Kenna had continued walking and was at the end of the fence by now, but I hadn't.
I had stopped dead in the center of the front gate. She was right. No one knew what went on in there, but everyone wanted to know.
The stuff going on in there could probably make atheists find god.
Sometimes finding the perfect story is hard, like finding Waldo without my contacts in.
This wasn't one of those times. This was like finding Waldo in the oft forgotten book 'Waldo goes to Africa'.
Easy. Real easy.
"Damnit Clyde! Come on! We're already running late! Hello! Snap out of it!"
Kenna was at my side now, she had grabbed my arm and was shaking me trying to get me to regain conciousness.
"Hey, Kenna, go on without me, okay? I'm gonna skip first period."
"Dude, you can't skip first period. Its AP US History, you miss a day in that and you're screwed on the test at the end of the week."
"Madeline skipped first period once, and she still did just fine!"
"Yeah, well, Madeline got her first period when she was like, nine. She was due to skip one."
"I bet you think you're pretty funny, don't you?
"I don't think, I know. Now come *on* Clyde. CLYDE? God damnit!"
It was to late, I was already running full speed back towards my house. I had my story, now I just had to find a way to get in the middle of it.