The Summer MonthsSusie Morrison
First off, let me say that this is one of the worst writing prompts ever. Let me guess. You were out on the gold course last week and suddenly thought 'Crap. School starts next week, and I don't have any lesson plans.' So you quickly thought of the most clichéd assignment, the essay of 'What I did this summer'. Then, having gotten that weight off your chest, you moved onto the back nine, and finished the day with a score of what, 105? 110? But that doesn't matter. What matters is how I spent my summer, and transferring that into a five paragraph essay.
So. What did I do this summer? Just regular teen stuff, I suppose. Blared my music, stayed up late, slept too much, watched too much mindless TV, went shopping, went swimming, had parties down on the beach with too much alcohol and not enough clothing. I followed up on my hobby of photography. Well, that and mutilating people's bushes. I've found the best exercise for both mind and body is running from the cops. You always have to be thinking two steps ahead of them, and if they figure out it's you, you gotta run like hell.
Yeah, that's pretty much how I spent my summer. Oh, I also put my parents in jail for twenty-five to life. See, they murdered these guys and then took their money from their bank accounts. It took some investigating, but they were finally caught and convicted. After that, I went to go live with Shawn Spencer, the psychic detective who helped me prove my parents were guilty. Well, I don't know if 'live with' is the correct term. Shawn's legally my guardian, but I don't stay at his apartment. I live at the office he and his best friend/business partner, Gus, own. The judges from the hearing weren't sure if that was the best place for a young girl to be living. But we set them straight. Which is good, because had we lost the 'trial', if you will, I would have ended up in children's services, which would have sucked.
Since being with Shawn, I've helped solve a few cases, some for the Santa Barbara Police Department, and some for civilians who seek our services. Shawn's a great detective, and working with him has certainly changed my life. So, in a weird way, I'm glad my parents were murderers. Don't worry, I don't need therapy. The voices say I'm completely normal. And they've never been wrong. Not even when they told me to start doing drugs.
So, there you have it. My summer in a nutshell. Well, maybe more of a conch shell. And since I have you attention, let me be the first to say I can't wait to see what the rest of the school year holds. I'm sure all your assignments will be as dandy as this one.
Shawn walked into Santa Barbara General High School, quickly walking away from the creepy army man mascot painted on the wall. He followed the room numbers until he found room 107, Advanced English and Composition. He opened the door and found a group of people at the front of the room. An older man sat behind the desk, obviously the teacher, Mr. Keller. On his right and left sat women, mid-fifties, each looking stern, concerned, and like they had eaten a fresh lemon before coming to the meeting. In front of them, sitting in a desk, back turned to Shawn, sat Susie.
"Ah, Mr. Spencer," said Mr. Keller. "Please, come in. Have a seat." The teacher motioned towards the desk next to Susie, while the three females sat, motionless.
Shawn walked up and sat in the appointed seat. He glanced at Susie, who just stared straight ahead, arms crossed, brow slightly furrowed.
"So," Shawn said. "What seems to be the problem?"
"Mr. Spencer, has Ms. Morrison told you anything about her classes?" asked Keller.
"Well, she told me what she was taking when she got her schedule."
"But nothing after that?"
Shawn shrugged. "No, why?"
"Has she told you anything about the assignments she's been given?"
"Not in detail. What is all this about, exactly?"
Mr. Keller opened a folder on his desk. "The first assignment I gave in this class was an essay, telling me about what each student did this summer."
Shawn nodded, and mentally rolled his eyes. They still assigned that essay?
Mr. Keller handed a paper to Shawn. "This," he said. "Was Susie's."
Shawn took the paper and began to read. He smiled slightly at Susie's humor. She certainly knew how to turn a phrase. When he was done, he handed the paper back to the teacher. "Seems pretty good to me. But you should have Gus read it. He'll be able to catch any grammatical errors."
"Mr. Spencer, the problem is not grammar related. We're worried about Susie."
"What are you worried about?"
"They think I'm crazy."
Everyone turned to Susie, this being the first she'd spoken this whole time. "Susie," said the woman on the left. "We don't like to use labels."
Susie simply stared at the woman. "So," Shawn said. "What brings you to this…"
"After reading Susie's paper, I became worried. I took it to Mrs. Bayler, the school psychiatrist." The lady on the left nodded at Shawn. "She shared my concern." said Mr. Keller.
"Sometimes after a traumatic experience, like both parents going to jail, a person, especially an adolescent, can become mentally unstable." said the psychiatrist.
Susie mumbled something that sounded like 'mentally unstable my ass' to Shawn. The psychiatrist continued. "This can be a cry for help. The sooner we can help to diagnose the person, the sooner they can get back to normal."
"And you want to diagnose her why?" asked Shawn.
"She flat out admitted to hearing voices. And that they tell her to do harmful things to herself."
"That's just Susie's humor." Shawn said, laughing slightly. "She's no crazier than any of us."
The school staff exchanged looks, giving Shawn the impression that there was more. "Mr. Spencer, another thought we had was that Susie has been doing drugs."
"Of course not."
"How would you know? You don't live with her. She could easily get some and become addicted."
"Are you saying that I'm a bad parent?"
"No. I'm just saying the evidence is strong. She's a troubled girl, losing her parents to a jail sentence. She's stressed about trying to find a college to go to, and she's just trying to fit in. And police work can be gruesome. No doubt she's seen a fair share of dead bodies and other horrible things while working with you. This can really damage someone like Susie."
"Gee, Shawn, looks like you aren't the only psychic in Santa Barbara." Susie said. "I just learned a hell of a lot about myself that I never knew." She turned to Mrs. Bayler. "You are so good at your job."
"Plus, there's a scar on her neck," Mrs. Bayler said, continuing as if Susie never spoke. "Drug users have the tendency to pick at their skin until it scars."
"This scar is from being stabbed in the neck with an ice pick." Susie said. "Besides, wouldn't I have more than one scar if I was a druggie picking my skin off?"
"Enough." said the other lady. "Either way, this type of behavior cannot continue."
"Yes, Principal Darla." Mr. Keller said. "You're absolutely right."
"What behavior?" asked Shawn.
"Insulting two of my staff members. Saying that they aren't qualified for their jobs."
Shawn stared at the principal. Was she serious? "Okay," he said slowly. "I'll read all her papers, and make sure this doesn't happen again."
The principal nodded curtly. "There's still the issue of punishment."
"No dessert for a week."
"Detention for a week."
"That seems a little much--"
"Shall I make it two weeks?"
Shawn bit his tongue. What was this lady's problem? He shook his head once.
"Very well." Principal Darla said. "For the next week, Susie will remain after school for an hour and a half, assisting Mr. Keller however he needs." Shawn nodded. "You two are free to go."
Shawn looked at Susie, who remained emotionless as she stood. He followed her out of the room, hand on her shoulder.
Once in the hallway, Shawn said, "Susie--"
"Detention for a week." Susie said, with a slight laugh. "The school year's not even a month over and I'm already in trouble. It's gonna be one hell of a year."
