Read Online Struck by Lightning: The Carson Phillips Journal by Chris Colfer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Chris Colfer
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shit.
“It’s going to be titled The Glover High School Yearbook , thanks to the bad handwriting of a freshman girl whose name I won’t say but rhymes with Dally Dester-field , so you have her to thank,” Remy said. She made evil eyes at Sally Chesterfield, who shivered in the front row.
The last time I saw Sally she weighed an easy two hundred pounds, but the petrified girl I was looking atnow couldn’t have been more than ninety. It must have been a rough week.
“But the good news is, I was able to knock off ten dollars from the price!” Remy happily announced. “So they’ll be sixty dollars each, not seventy. All preorders are still final.”
She was done, and it was my turn. I had one shot at inspiring the people of my school to submit to my literary magazine. One chance to further cement my future…
“Hello, future farmers and inmates!” I said into the mic. “I’m Carson Phillips from the Clover High Chronicle , and I’m here with some very exciting news! This year for the first time ever, Clover High will release its first literary magazine !”
I clapped after the announcement. I was alone.
“Now, I know most of you can’t read, let alone write,” I continued. “But for all the secret writers out there, please submit any original work into the box outside the journalism classroom and it will be published. Poems, essays, short stories…hit lists, anything!”
I felt like George W. Bush campaigning at a SanFrancisco town hall. It was awkward—really awkward.
“Thank you,” I added to the ever-still crowd. “God bless.”
Okay…so a couple of things I learned today after speaking at the assembly: Number one, know your audience. Number two, if you open with a joke, make sure not to offend everyone in the room with that joke. Number three, DON’T SPEAK AT AN ASSEMBLY. WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING?!?!?
I was completely desolate until after school, when I went to collect the submission box from outside. It was heavy and full! Maybe I had inspired people at the assembly after all.
I brought it into the journalism classroom. Malerie was there helping me build our float for homecoming—which is gonna be great. I can’t wait to see it finished!
“I’m so excited for homecoming!” Malerie said. “Our float is going to be flawless.”
“Yeah, the crowd is gonna love it!” I said, and opened the submission box.
The room instantly filled with a grotesque odor. Afamily of flies flew out of the box and circled the room. The submission box had been used as a hazardous-waste basket.
Candy wrappers, tissues, used gum, half-eaten hamburgers, and the remains of what looked like a back-alley abortion filled the box, but there wasn’t a literary submission in sight.
“Oh, no!” Malerie said. “ Shiterary magazine.” She pointed to the side of the box where some asshole had gotten creative with a Sharpie.
“Typical,” I said, and sat down next to her. “I can’t even run a school newspaper. I don’t know why I thought I could start a literary magazine.”
I felt a rush of defeat surge through my body. The big bright neon Northwestern sign in my brain went dark. I felt like it was over, there was nothing else I could do; I just had to sit and wait and hope for an acceptance letter the traditional way . It was the worst feeling ever—I felt like everyone else .
“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Malerie said. “If you can get Nicholas Forbes and Scott Thomas to join the Chronicle , you can do anything.”
“I’m blackmailing them,” I admitted. “I caughtthem playing Lewis and Clark in the boys’ bathroom. Don’t ask.”
I know I had promised them I wouldn’t say anything, but it was Malerie. I knew their secret would be safe with a girl who still believes in Santa.
“Oh,” Malerie said. It took her a moment to realize what I meant by Lewis and Clark. “There seems to be a lot of that going around. I caught Coach Walker and Claire Mathews bonking each other in the
“It’s going to be titled The Glover High School Yearbook , thanks to the bad handwriting of a freshman girl whose name I won’t say but rhymes with Dally Dester-field , so you have her to thank,” Remy said. She made evil eyes at Sally Chesterfield, who shivered in the front row.
The last time I saw Sally she weighed an easy two hundred pounds, but the petrified girl I was looking atnow couldn’t have been more than ninety. It must have been a rough week.
“But the good news is, I was able to knock off ten dollars from the price!” Remy happily announced. “So they’ll be sixty dollars each, not seventy. All preorders are still final.”
She was done, and it was my turn. I had one shot at inspiring the people of my school to submit to my literary magazine. One chance to further cement my future…
“Hello, future farmers and inmates!” I said into the mic. “I’m Carson Phillips from the Clover High Chronicle , and I’m here with some very exciting news! This year for the first time ever, Clover High will release its first literary magazine !”
I clapped after the announcement. I was alone.
“Now, I know most of you can’t read, let alone write,” I continued. “But for all the secret writers out there, please submit any original work into the box outside the journalism classroom and it will be published. Poems, essays, short stories…hit lists, anything!”
I felt like George W. Bush campaigning at a SanFrancisco town hall. It was awkward—really awkward.
“Thank you,” I added to the ever-still crowd. “God bless.”
Okay…so a couple of things I learned today after speaking at the assembly: Number one, know your audience. Number two, if you open with a joke, make sure not to offend everyone in the room with that joke. Number three, DON’T SPEAK AT AN ASSEMBLY. WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING?!?!?
I was completely desolate until after school, when I went to collect the submission box from outside. It was heavy and full! Maybe I had inspired people at the assembly after all.
I brought it into the journalism classroom. Malerie was there helping me build our float for homecoming—which is gonna be great. I can’t wait to see it finished!
“I’m so excited for homecoming!” Malerie said. “Our float is going to be flawless.”
“Yeah, the crowd is gonna love it!” I said, and opened the submission box.
The room instantly filled with a grotesque odor. Afamily of flies flew out of the box and circled the room. The submission box had been used as a hazardous-waste basket.
Candy wrappers, tissues, used gum, half-eaten hamburgers, and the remains of what looked like a back-alley abortion filled the box, but there wasn’t a literary submission in sight.
“Oh, no!” Malerie said. “ Shiterary magazine.” She pointed to the side of the box where some asshole had gotten creative with a Sharpie.
“Typical,” I said, and sat down next to her. “I can’t even run a school newspaper. I don’t know why I thought I could start a literary magazine.”
I felt a rush of defeat surge through my body. The big bright neon Northwestern sign in my brain went dark. I felt like it was over, there was nothing else I could do; I just had to sit and wait and hope for an acceptance letter the traditional way . It was the worst feeling ever—I felt like everyone else .
“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Malerie said. “If you can get Nicholas Forbes and Scott Thomas to join the Chronicle , you can do anything.”
“I’m blackmailing them,” I admitted. “I caughtthem playing Lewis and Clark in the boys’ bathroom. Don’t ask.”
I know I had promised them I wouldn’t say anything, but it was Malerie. I knew their secret would be safe with a girl who still believes in Santa.
“Oh,” Malerie said. It took her a moment to realize what I meant by Lewis and Clark. “There seems to be a lot of that going around. I caught Coach Walker and Claire Mathews bonking each other in the
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