East Chapel Academy

Chapter 10- Nia

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    "I know you, you wrote that article in the paper," Mr. Hobbs said coming from around his desk to shake my hand. "It was very well written," he complimented.

    "Thank you, Mr. Hobbs," I said shaking his hand. Mr. Hobbs wore a dark blue button up, black slacks, and some very shiny dress shoes. His receding hair line left nothing but a strip of gray hair that went from ear to ear, his face was creased with wrinkles, and deep smile lines lined his mouth.

    "Well, you have a seat," he gestured to a seat in the front of the class. This class room wasn't like the others I'd been in. Instead of desks there were couches, and there were a few tables with large desktop computers. There also weren't as many students, only six others attended the class.

    I sat next to a guy, with a buzz cut, and thick black glasses. This is my last class of the day; the two other classes had gone by rather fast. We didn't do much in study hall, I had no homework, so there wasn't much for me to study, but it did give me time to get my textbooks and locker assignment. Shout out to Marge for giving me a kickass locker close to all my classes. But all I did in American History was partially listen to the teacher, and listen to Crystal. She's cool, and I've concluded that her boobs are real. Some of us are just more blessed than others.

    "We have a seasoned journalist in our midst everyone, Nia Owens," Mr. Hobbs said introducing me to the class. All eyes turned to me, I waved timidly. "It's great to have you join us at the East Chapel Gazette."

    "Uh, thanks," I said awkwardly. I don't know if I would consider myself a seasoned journalist, that's the first and only article I've ever written, besides the ones I would write in my journal as a kid. I would pretend that my grandma's frog figurines were people and I would interview them.

    "First, order of business," he said clapping his hands together. "We'll have to get Nia assigned to a beat."

    A what? The confusion must have shown on my face, because the boy sitting next to me leaned over and said, "It's your assigned topic, we all have one."

    "Oh, thanks," I replied.

    Mr. Hobbs picked up a sheet of paper from his desk. "It looks like the only beat left is sports."

    An audible groan of sympathy spread across the room, myself included. I know nothing about sports.

    "Yikes," the guy next to me said under his breath.

    "Are you sure there aren't any other beats left?" I asked Mr. Hobbs.

    "Nope, not unless one of your classmates would like to switch with you."

    No one would meet my eyes, not even the guy next to me. "Looks like you'll be covering sports this semester."

    "Okay," I sighed. I can make a story out of anything, even if it is just a bunch of guys fighting over a ball, because I'm a journalist. Or an aspiring one anyway.

    For the next few minutes, Mr. Hobbs talked about some upcoming deadlines before giving us the rest of the class to work on our beats, well except for me, because obviously, I just got here.