The Misadventures of Owen Bonner

Chapter Three

You may (or may not) be wondering what exactly happened during the equal-bagging rights protest. As I've said before, I'm the one who started it. And yes, I am taking full credit of my idea, even if it did sink and made a good one-third of the female population hate me. I still thought of it.

Anyways, it all started with Fisher, on that blasted third week of school. That week was hell, I remember. It was that week where you knew what the next nine months held for you and you knew it would suck and stress you out, but frankly, I never knew how much. But it was the third week, nonetheless, and it was before first period started. Fisher needed to turn in his physical (you know, the doctor appointment where they make you self-conscious of your BMI, ask you if you're eating breakfast regularly, then impale you with vaccines). So, I went with him to the nurse's office, because I didn't really have anything to do for the next twenty minutes.

She told us to sit down and we kinda just sat in silence for a while. There was a girl across from me with a doctor's note and she was all professional as hell (as professional as a high school student can get anyways). I was wearing jeans and a maroon t-shirt for crying out loud, and she was wearing a blazer. But that wasn't what caught my attention, it was the fact I was carrying two textbooks and a binder on my lap while she had this really big, nice purse. I stared at it for a while before Fisher poked my forearm to catch my attention.

I glanced over to him and he lifted his short sleeve on his right arm. He had two small Band-Aids going across his skin.

"Look," he whispered, "battle scars."

I grabbed his arm, where the shots and Band-Aids were, and pinched him hard. He yelped in muffled pain and I laughed. We waited there for approximately fifteen fucking minutes before the nurse finally came out. She glanced at the three of us and shook her head.

"If it's not urgent, get to class and come back during passing period. And by the looks of it, nothing looks urgent! Go!"

So, in conclusion, the old bat took fifteen minutes to tell us to get the fuck out. I was pissed, not just because the nurse was a dried up, bitter prune but also because I had to carry my weight in books to my next three classes. Fisher gave the nurse the stink eye, covered his "battle scars", and followed me out. We didn't have many classes together, including first period, so we separated into our individual paths. The girl, with the blazer and purse, ended up walking in front of me for a good two minutes before we went different ways. I stared at her purse the whole time, and if she had noticed she would have probably thought I was plotting a heist for her bag. But she didn't notice, because people don't notice those things.

Next day, I woke up, took my mom's purse (without asking), and went to school. I received many odd looks that initial day. They ranged from confused to amused in seconds, and before I knew it, a sophomore in my Spanish 1 class wrapped his arm around me and pointed at the purse.

"Is that yours?" He asked, amazed.

Obviously, it's on my fucking desk. Moron. "Yeah."

"That's smart, dude," He said, still not taking his arm off my shoulder. I wish he would, I could feel his pit stains.

"Yeah, well," I shrugged. I really just wanted to count to one hundred in Spanish and end this conversation.

"Mind if I use it?"

"I couldn't care less."

"Sweet. What's your name? I'll give you credit."

"Owen."

"I'm Danny, Danny Camargo."

Danny always introduced himself with his last name. It made him seem like he had an inflated ego. But whatever, he kept bothering me until I ended up giving him my phone number and hung out during the weekend so we could eat fatty foods at a local gym just to torture people (Fisher's idea).

But anyways, the day went on. People noticed, some laughed, others shook their heads. I couldn't care less, frankly because all feeling in my arms had actually returned. The next day, though, was not something I had envisioned when I took those first steps into stealing my mom's personal property. A multitude of my male peers had brought purses, too. I was thoroughly confused. Danny came up to me during Spanish the next day and shook this teal, leather purse in my face.

"Real leather," Danny smiled, "because I'm classy like that."

He then continued to explain to me this uprising revolution for equal-bagging rights and how I was now the official leading activist during this whole movement. Yes, it was stupid. But if it kept me from carrying two textbooks from two flights of stairs, then I was all for it. The day went on smoothly, no one laughed at my purse because I was blended in so freaking well. But no one really slapped me on the back for starting this, either. Fisher wasn't joining the movement, if you were wondering.

"I live with all guys," He explained, "The closest thing we have to a purse is paper bags."

Then, the third day came around, and we got the announcement we had been waiting for. But, unfortunately, the announcement consisted of a different bargain instead of the one I wanted. The school decided to put strict regulations on purses and their size, making it impossible for me to put my textbooks in anything that small. Boys cheered, because they're morons, and girls scowled and complained because they're morons too.

Needless to say, it blew over after a week, and everyone forgot the legendary equal-bagging rights activist, Owen Bonner. This, in hindsight, is a good thing, because there would be a lot of people who would mispronounce my name. I will clear this up now; my last name has nothing to do with the male penis. It's called grammar.

I noticed that week that people just can't leave things be. The nurse couldn't have just told us as we walked through the door that we'd have to come back later, she had to make us wait fifteen minutes, because she had to ruin it. We couldn't let the girls be with their ridiculously large purses and convenient bagging, so we had to ruin it. Students decided they didn't want to wear school colors on Friday like we're supposed to, so instead wore it Thursday, because they had to ruin it. These human instincts to destroy, violate, or just piss off anything it sees is probably a reason why people are such morons. We just can't leave things be.

A/N: True story. - Parker