The Irresistible Mickey Holly

Entry 4: Eavesdropping. A journalist's most valuable tool

Sorry about the sudden cut off, but I had to start a new page.

Being I owned no computer, I spent most of my researching time in the library. I preferred the company of the librarians over my friends and on days when Jacks was burning incense, I definitely liked the smell of old books better.

The silence, however, was difficult to ignore. It created an atmosphere that any act of sound-making was an unforgivable offense. Every click of the mouse thundered. Every time I coughed, I fought to keep it perfectly muffled in my hands or I just choked it down like a decent human being that wasn't raised in a barn.

And yet, when something did disturb the peace, how could it not stick out?

A girl said, "I'm not going down for this."

Just the phrasing was so sweet, it gave me a cavity. My ear must have grown ten sizes bigger, but not enough. I was snug in one of the sad excuses of a rolling chair. One good thing, however, was that the chairs could lean all the way back like lawn chairs and the more coordinated individuals could take naps here during their breaks. Yes, people not like me. Struggling, I threw my body back, scootching closer to the using-zombies-as-a-metaphor-for-society-section of the library behind me. I peered between the spines and metal bookends, catching a few details like ponytails and jerseys. These were jocks.

"They're going to blame me," the first girl said. I recognized her immediately.

Profile: Barrett Parker

Centre Forward.

Typically stands while she raises her hand in class.

Kicked me out of the LGBTQ+ club for accusing the treasurer of embezzling funds.

The accused.

Her friend, Norah sighed, "No, they're not."

Profile: Norah Khan

The Winger.

Could fit in my pocket.

Mom friend.

"They will," Barrett insisted, her voice hot and full of spit. Funny when people try whispering when they're angry, they just get louder. "Just because of that passive aggressive witch, Chelsea who holds a grudge longer than my mother can and that's saying something."

"Well..." Norah chose her words carefully. "You did break her nose."

"On-" Barrett started, but started again, realizing she was about to start shouting. "On the field! During a game!"

"It's still bent."

"You're supposed to be on my side!"

Finally, my curiosity could not be contained. I had to introduce myself to the conversation. I walked around the corner and raised my hand, "Excuse me?"

I was met with a frown from Barrett and a raised brow from Norah. Clearly, my popularity dwindled after my falling out with the illustrious "Mickey" Holly. I didn't blame them. I was the one who picked a fight with their God. Already reaching for it, I was itching for my notebook. 

And even though they knew me, I introduced myself, "Hello, it's Ben Turney, can I cut in? I couldn't help but overhear your conversation and I'd like to express my concern."

Norah said something like "pareshaan karane se roken", which I believed translates roughly to me needing to keep my nose out of other people's business. Writing and speaking Hindi was not one of my strong suits and my mother reminded me of that every time I called her, which was daily. If not daily, she'd send a black hawk helicopter to check in on me. I know because she has done it before. She denied it, but I know.