A New Kind of Notebook
Cameron Kingston didn't want to stick out. Didn't want to be noticed, and especially didn't want anyone to sneak peek of the notebook that held his entire life together. But when his brothers fame reached its peak, Cameron realized what he really wanted in his life.
And it wasn't to blend in.
The think about my day usually is that itâ€™s so normal, and yet, not at all. But even starting at the all â€“ too â€“ familiar sign in the principalâ€™s office, there was an unease hanging in the air, a hint of something â€“ maybe a smell â€“ that I just couldnâ€™t put my finger on.
A familiar face, spotted with freckles and layered with a mat of salt-and-pepper hair, poked its head around the doorway. Iâ€™d seen the principal thousands of times, for whatever reason, but somehow this sent a shiver down my spine that I couldnâ€™t explain.
â€œCameron? Are you ready?â€
I took a deep breath and rose to my feet, hefting my horn case up over my shoulder. I was sick of this stupid instrument.
The principal led me into the office.
There was nothing new about Mr. Kitskeyâ€™s office. It had always looked this way, the ceiling and walls decorated with posters and drawings given to him by past and present students. There was the worn blue beanbag in the corner, and the Domo rug, which matched the rest of his Domo accessories. Mr. Kitskey had an odd obsession with Domos.
I almost smelled a waft of cinnamon as I threw myself down into the office chair in front of the lemon-cleaner scented mahogany desk, which was also a familiar sight. But the new smell soon was gone, leaving me with everything Iâ€™d always known.
â€œCameron,â€ Mr. Kitskey ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it, before reclining back into his chair. â€œYouâ€™ve been coming here for a very long time now.â€
This didnâ€™t surprise me. Most of the teachers, all except for the principal, had had this chat with me before. They all thought I was a criminal mastermind of some sort, or maybe I just wanted attention. Although that was fairly the opposite of my goal in life.
â€œItâ€™s my luck.â€ I admitted. â€œIâ€™m always in the wrong place at the wrong time.â€
He looked skeptical, his thin eyebrows raised in a fairly startled expression that wasnâ€™t uncommon on his face. â€œWell, then, donâ€™t you get tired of it?â€
Now it was my turn to be startled. I hadnâ€™t thought much of it, being the way I was. I had thought I was content like this, coming to the principals office for things I hadnâ€™t really done. It was old hat. But now, he was asking me if it got tiring?
I hesitated, running my hand meditatively over my horn case. â€œNot really.â€ I decided. â€œItâ€™s allâ€¦old news. Itâ€™s my life. It would be weird to give it up.â€
He didnâ€™t say anything for a moment, his eyes drifting slightly unfocused. Then he said quietly, â€œSo youâ€™re alright, like this?â€
I shrugged. â€œWellâ€¦yeah. I donâ€™t have much of a choice. Itâ€™s me against the world, that I know, but it seems like a fairly even match.â€
Mr. Kitskey didnâ€™t ask me any more questions after that. He let me leave and watched me all the way down the hall, as I could tell by the prickling on the back of my neck. I was already late for first period and he hadnâ€™t given me a pass, but it almost didnâ€™t matter. I was never on time.
The teacher ignored me completely as I sneaked into the back of the classroom, slipping silently into my seat. The room seemed warmer than usual, and the humidity caused beads of sweat to prickle up at my collar.
I shifted in my seat. There was an ever-growing nipping sensation at the back of my mind that I couldnâ€™t rid myself of, and it was overtaking my thoughts like a brain freeze. I began to sort through my memory, thinking of what may have been bothering me. But it wasnâ€™t until class was over, as all the kids pushed and shoved their ways out of the room, that it dawned on me.
I had left my notebook on the bus.