Chapter Two: Sincerely, Cousin Dearest

I wake up in the nurse's office and there's a cold pack on my head. The fluorescents shine down into my skull with unrelenting force, ifykyk. I chuckle as the descriptor forms in my head.

"You're up." I hear a rather familiar voice say in front of my bed to the far left corner of the room. But it's not Mrs. Ritzer's. It belongs to my childhood-best friend, by proximity, student council vice-president, eternal pain in my ass, and cousin; Mr. Trenton Walsh. "You're running a fever, and you vomited while you were out." He looks up from a 2" binder he was nose-deep in, "Feel any better?" The prick says with a shit-eating grin. Man, he's become annoying. Or maybe I'm just tired…I don't know.

He looks back down to his sacred text, "Well I told Mrs. Ritzer that you probably just came down with the flu, and that I would watch you while your parents get here."

"You called my parents! What is wrong with you? I'm fine!" There's silence here while he looks up and stares at me blankly with those warm hazel eyes he has, like all the cousins from mom's side. He goes back to his binder flipping through and highlighting super confidential data. He's so annoying. "Going through election poll numbers for your senior year?"

"No."

"Then what are you doing?"

"Compiling an official list of all the reasons why you act the way you do." He holds up a blank piece of paper.

"Results?"

"Completely and utterly inconclusive."

"Oh really?" I say with playful intrigue.

"Yup," he goes along, "a complete mystery to all known sciences and areas of study." He gets up and walks across the room to sit on a bench near a bed I'm positioned on. He left the binder behind and sits in front of me in his blue-collar attire and crosses his legs like a woman, with an expression laced with fascination. "Would you want to help me in the Yellow Room?" The "Yellow Room" is the current place of business of weirdos who think that spending their high-school career in a small, dank, dingy room where they establish a hierarchy of chief editors and amateur journalists that stresses themselves out, all to write on their college resumes that they've participated in traditional media, hopefully, to be given more consideration for the hours wasted. It's the greatest thing ever.

"Would I get one of those yellow pencils you used to fill out I-LEARN test books back in grade school? Or one of those comically small notepads that seem to be a horcrux for every reporter slash journalist displayed on television?" I exclaim emptyly. His expression is unchanged and he gets up to go back to retrieve his binder. "You start tomorrow, come in at 12, you'll work the lunch shift. Bring your laptop and a brain." He blows me a kiss as he walks out. Which prompts me to pleasantly flip him the bird. He smiles back at me and walks out. "I LOVE YOU, DEAR COUSIN OF MINE!" I wanna destroy him. However, the idea of being in on all of the school gossip is enticing. And skipping out on school will sure be fun.

Wait…

Tomorrow is Saturday.