Short Story--V. 1

The Last Task
Melissa Morrison

I stared at the heavy textbook lying in my hands. I had spent entirely way too much of my high school life pouring over the endless paragraphs and pages of the book, taking notes and filling notebooks cover to cover with note outlines. I had carefully selected key points from every chapter I oh-so-carefully read so I could use them later on for late night cramming before huge fifty point tests. This textbook had pretty much taken away any social life I had had.

The truth was, while most kids dreaded the large spined U.S. History textbooks, I secretly loved them. Well, actually it was more of a love/hate relationship. I loved all the interesting tidbits that I learned so that I could use them to spring on my friends, making me seem super smart. But like any other kid, I hated the extra weight they added to my already bulging backpack and the deadpan drone they used to described the political bosses of the late 1800’s.

But this particular textbook I had grown attached to. It was now, as I held it in my hands that I realized how much I enjoyed reading from it all semester, because whoever the previous owner was, they left little notes here and there for me to read—and yes, I checked inside the front cover for the list of previous owners. As far was the list was concerned, I was the first to use this book even though there had been clearly more owners then just me, judging from the worn look of the front cover.

Most of the time, the notes where funny, saying hello loser! or your breath stinks. Although every once in a while, there were little helpful notes saying this next test is a tricky one!—study extra hard! But best of all, the last owner had left tasks and challenges for me to complete. Once the book challenged me to shout during the middle of the class “It sounds like a spaceship!” What exactly sounded like a spaceship, I have no clue, but I didn’t exactly complete that task as it was written anyways—I only whispered it and no one heard me.

I now opened the book up at random and searched for a page that held a note, memorizing the dare—refer to yourself as “The Ambassador” in third person all day—so when I turned the fat text back to the school in one short week, I could remember the stupid challenges it gave me. Having one last chuckle at the ridiculous task on the page, I then turned to the page of my homework assignment.

Chapter twenty-eight, the sixties.

Last chapter of the year! Almost there!

I smiled at the now familiar writing. Analyzing it, I could tell that the block and square-like lettering was a guy’s hand writing and judging the precision of it, he was probably a neat freak. I could faintly see the place where he had erased an “a” and rewrote it, perfecting the new “a,” computer style—Arial font, size 12.

I turned to the actual chapter and started reading.

I flew through the Kennedy presidency and right on through to the main discussion on the Vietnam War. I was rounding on the last few pages of the chapter when I saw the handwriting of the previous owner. I stopped in the middle of a sentence to read the note in the margins.

Last note. Challenge: go find that one person you’re crazy about and go romantic. Find them and take a chance. I stared at the mocking words. This was one challenge I could not do. I had completed every dare in some way or another but this was the one thing every high schooler dreaded. There was no way I could complete it.

I closed the textbook slowly, forgetting about my unfinished chapter.



Well, there was Nick. He was kinda cute, and I did like him last year and I thought he might have liked me too, but recently there was nothing between us. Then there was also Alex, who was nice and funny and cute, but I wasn’t sure if I was that crazy about him. Jake was nice too, but every day when I sat next to him in Spanish I always noticed his fingernails were too long for a guy and they looked like they had ever received a proper wash. The guy I would probably go after if I were to complete the challenge from the book—not that I was going to—would be…

“You counting down till the end of the first semester, sophomore?”

I could only barely see Joey McCarthy over the top of the car-roof as he looked over at me while he unlocked the car door. I was too short, but I could still see his brown hair that was just starting to grow out from his last summer haircut before winter came. Joey on the other hand was tall and could clearly see over the car and at me.

“What?” I asked, snapping out of my thoughts.

“You counting down for the end of the semester? Because you got a pained expression on your face like you were doing something related to math—and I know how much you hate math, sophomore.”

I rolled my eyes at his nickname for me—true, I was a sophomore, but he was a sophomore just last year too. And I knew the nickname would stick with me next year too—while I’m a junior and he’s a senior.

“I only got a year left of high school after this one, how ‘bout you, Kayla?” He teased.

I rearranged my purse and books in my arms, “Just unlock the damn door, Joey.”

Joey opened the driver’s side door then and unlocked the car from the inside, “Can’t take a joke today, can you?” He joked.

I quickly opened my door and threw all my books and stuff in. I then quickly sat down inside the car, cold from sitting in the school parking lot all day in the winter weather. Joey sat down next to me in the driver’s seat, tossing one of my textbooks at me which had spilled onto his seat before sitting down.

I grabbed the book before it slid off my lap and onto the floor. I set it on my lap; it was my U.S. History textbook.

“Sorry,” Joey muttered as he plugged his iPod into the cigarette lighter. He glanced at the textbook in my lap, “hey, find any other notes in that thing recently?”

I looked at the green textbook. I thought about telling him the most recent one—the one about going for the person I liked—but decided against it. I told him about most of notes, but this last task was too daunting for the average sophomore girl, and I didn’t need to let a junior guy who I had known since I was three know all about it.

I shook my head, “No notes worthy of telling about.”

I looked into the eyes of one of my best friends, Joey McCarthy. His eyes were dark brown and gave a soft warm glow. The combined effect was a feeling of a soft cashmere scarf that seemed to wrap around you when ever his large eyes set upon you.

“Hmm…really,” he pondered.

I nodded uncomfortably, “yeah.”

“You can keep telling yourself that, but it’s not the truth,” he grinned, “I can tell you’re lying.”

I turned away from him, yet I could still feel his eyes on me and myself growing warm—damn cashmere scarf. “Nope, no notes.”

“Let me see the book then.”

“Start the car.”

“Not until I see the book.”

“No.”

“Why is this such a big deal?” He asked.

“It’s not,” I said, picking the book up in my arms and cradling it against my chest. “You’re the one who’s making it a big deal.”

“Just let me see the book.”

Joey then lunged over the armrest at me and reached for the book. I turned away from him towards the window, keeping my back to him. One of his hands fell onto my shoulders and one on my arm. I noticed the warmth that his hands gave—maybe his hands were equivalent to a blanket around your shoulders—or a Snuggly—if you were still going with the idea of winter clothing.

I didn’t move at first but rather enjoyed being in his presence.

“Kayla…”

I could hear my name just barely fall from his lips—what those would be, I’m not sure.

“Kayla… I already know what the last task is anyways.”

I turned around to face Joey and found that his face was a lot closer to my face then I thought it was. “What?”

“I already know what the last challenge is.”

I stared at him dumbfounded, “how can you know that? Did you read it already once before when I first got this book?”

Joey seemed to consider his answer for a second, “no.”

“Then how do you know what it is?”

Joey took a deep breath, “I wrote every one of those notes last year while I was in that class—that I was my book last year.”

“Prove it.”

I didn’t believe him. But it was easy enough to prove. All he had to do was show me what his handwriting looked like—because as long as I had known him, I never really paid attention to what his handwriting looked like.

Joey finally took his hand off my shoulder and reached for my book. I let him pull it out of my embrace and he reached for a pen off the dash board. He opened the front cover of the book and under my name, he wrote his. Joey McCarthy.

I looked at the twelve small letters that made up his name—size 12 font, Arial, computer style. Slowly I looked around his car. There was not a single penny left on the floor or a discarded gum wrapper. The seats and floor were all recently vacuumed and the windows were washed from the inside even—neat freak.

“Tell me what the last task is.” I whispered. “Without looking at it.”

Joey returned the book to me, “Does it have to be word for word?”

“No…?” I wasn’t sure what difference it made, I think I already believed him, but I was just trying to wrap my mind around it.

Joey sighed, “It basically says find the person that you like and actually ask them out.” He shrugged.

“Did you actually do these tasks?” I asked.

“All of them—except one.”

“The last one?”

“Yep.”

I stared at the floor of the car before speaking again. “How’d you know I would get this book?”

Joey scratched his head, “I didn’t—it was just chance that you got it. I was just doing it for fun, and I kinda hoped that if I could complete the other tasks, that I could build up the courage to do the last one.”

I stared at him now and I felt his eyes wrap their warmth around me—that cashmere scarf—and it didn’t matter that the car wasn’t turned on yet with no heater on in the middle of the winter. I just felt his eyes on me.

I knew who I had to take the chance on.

I slowly I set my book aside and inched closer to him and pressed my lips on his.
They were warm—like a cup of coffee between your hands, and they were soft, like the petals of a rose across your face. They weren’t a piece of winter clothing at all. His lips were like the first hint of spring.

Reluctantly I withdrew my lips from his. “Who were you trying to get the courage to ask out last year?” I asked.

Joey smiled—it was like the sun rising on the first day of spring, “You,” he whispered.

And then he kissed me.

Task completed—for both of us.



--------QUESTIONS---------
1. I tend to think my readers are complete idiots and I over explain things, are there any places where I do that in the story?--where?

2. Is the story too choppy and moves too fast?

3. Can you connect with the characters are all? Do they seem a bit flat (cuz I think so), how can I add depth to them?