Jack sat down in an uncomfortable chair in a tiny office, tired and slightly confused as to why he was even there. He looked around at the familiar setting, the pictures on the desk in front of him with their backs turned, the pale blue walls and the certificates that hung from them. Not much time passed before a woman walked in from behind him. She was an African American woman, a bit heavy set but beautiful nonetheless. Her short black hair curled a bit at her shoulders. She wore a vibrant pink blazer and a stern expression.

"Alright Medda, are you gonna tell me why you called me down here?" Jack looked up at his counselor.

"Jack, I told you that during school hours you are to address me as Ms. Larkin."

"My sincerest apologies. Now, not that I mind, but why am I not in pre-calc right now?"

"Jack, are you aware that it is a graduation requirement that you participate in at least one extracurricular activity during one of your years here?" she asked him, taking extra care to stress requirement.

Jack sighed. "Yes, Ms. Larkin."

"And you have not participated in any?"

"Yes."

"And that it is your senior year?"

"Yes."

"Jack, do you want a diploma?"

"More than anything in the whole world," he replied sarcastically.

Medda sighed. "Jack, I know that you aren't the biggest fan of school, but your diploma is your ticket out of here. And you cannot graduate if you don't do any extracurriculars."

Jack took the ultimatum lightly. "Medda—Ms. Larkin—what do you want me to do? School's been in for a month. Every club's already started. And there's really nothing that interests me."

"Oh, come on Jack. Can't you join the Art Club or something?"

Jack laughed. "Do you know who's in Art Club?"

"Jack, are you really making fun of your fellow students? And at least they have chances of graduating! Do you not realize how important this is?" Jack sobered up, and just looked at her, unsure of what to say. She sighed. "Jack, you need to take this seriously. I know you want out of here. Somewhere new. Maybe that art school in Santa Fe?" He looked up, and she knew she had him hooked.

Jack cleared his throat. "Alright Ms. Larkin, what club do I have to join so I can get out of this hell hole?"

"Jack, you shouldn't be using language like that during school hours," she admonished, but was betrayed by her smile. "Now, it looks like Journalism is pretty light on members this year," she informed him.

"Ugh, I'm not gonna be writing any articles," Jack said. "I do enough writing in English."

"Jack, an article for the school paper does not have to be like an English essay. And what really matters is your participation." Jack still looked disgusted. Medda sighed a third time. "You could sign up as the photographer."

"Sounds reasonable," Jack decided. "I'd just need to take pictures? That's it?" Medda nodded. "Alright, then it looks like I'll be joining Journalism!" Jack said, standing up. "Alright Medda, it's been real, can't wait to see ya later—"

"Not so fast, Jack," Medda stopped him. "You're going to have to speak with the Journalism's president before you sign on."

Jack sighed. "Alright, who would that be and when can I see him?"

"Her name is Katherine Plumber. You can talk to her at the meeting after school today."

"Alright, sounds like a plan," Jack said. The name was somewhat familiar, but he couldn't really place it. His mind was already occupied with his distaste for clubs, anyway. He took a pass from Medda's hand, leaving the counselor's office and heading back to his math class. He got there within a few minutes and took his usual seat by the window. He liked to look outside, pretend he wasn't stuck in school for a moment, that he was really experiencing the world.

"Hey Jack, what did ya get called down for?" a freckle-faced, sandy-haired boy whispered from Jack's left.

"I'm going to be joining Journalism, Crutch," Jack informed his friend matter-of-factly.

Crutchie stifled a laugh and furrowed his brow . "But, Jack, you hate writing."

"Look, I need some sorta extracurricular, or I can't graduate."

"Why don't you just join Art Club?"

"Why does everyone have to ask that?"

"Kelly, Morris, can you boys pay attention?" Mr. Seitz asked impatiently.

"Yes, sir," Jack replied without the slightest bit of respect.

Seitz frowned, but turned back to the board.

"You know, maybe I'll join Journalism, too," Crutchie said.

"Why? You already did an extracurricular freshman year," Jack responded.

"Well band was not exactly my cup of tea. And I never do anything after school and I obviously can't do sports"—he gestured toward the crutch by his desk—"and it'd be cool to hang out, right?"

"I guess," Jack shrugged.

Mr. Seitz was just about to scold the two again when he noticed the time. "Peter, you and Jack may leave," he said, a bit defeated.

Jack rose from his seat and helped Crutchie up. They always got to leave class a bit early because of Crutchie's leg. They got to Crutchie's next class not long before the bell rang. Jack handed Crutchie his bag once he was seated, then left the room for his own class a few doors down. A boy with dark hair and a large nose walked in a couple minutes after Jack. He had never seen the boy before.

"You must be David," Mr. Nunzio said. "It's nice to have you with us. Now you can sit right there between Albert and Max." Nunzio pointed to an empty seat in between two of Jack's friends. One of them tapped David on the shoulder, and he turned around.

"So you're new?" he asked, and David nodded. "You just move here or something?"

"Uh, no, I transferred from private school," David replied.

"Huh, you ever been to public school before?"

"Nope," David said.

"Weird. Well, my name is Maxwell Higgins. But you may call me Race," he announced.

"Oh," David said, slightly confused by the nickname. "Well, I'm David Jacobs, but people call me Davey."