Quite an Undertaking - Devon's Story Read Online Free

student newspaper—the Grasse River High School Gazette. The September/October issue had just come out, and we were currently working on the November/ December issue. Of course, my article on the environment was late since it had been due two days ago, the day of Grandma’s wake.
    I tried, once again, to focus on the words on my computer screen. My dad’s company, Alum Castings, was one of the biggest employers in this part of northern New York, and they had begun a series of environmental projects. One of the projects—the one I was trying to write about—proposed to replant thousands of black ash trees in the wetlands. This was the same article I’d been working on the Sunday Grandma died. No wonder I couldn’t finish it. I closed my eyes and gave up with a sigh.
    I opened my eyes when I heard Mrs. Gibson approaching. My fingers hit the keyboard, and I started typing about the benefits of the Black Ash tree on the Northern New York environment. I’d go back and fix it later, but I had to look busy. Mrs. Gibson stood right behind me as my fingers typed away furiously.
    “Devon,” she said in her shrill voice, “I see you’re busy, but let me interrupt you for a second.”
    “Okay.” I kept my eyes on the screen for a moment more and finished my made up sentence. I hit the period on the keyboard hard as if to finish an important thought and then swiveled in my chair to give her my full attention.
    “I know you’ve been out for a few days—sorry for your loss—and I’ll let you settle in today, but on Monday we need to talk about your future with the newspaper. Okay?”
    My future? What did she mean by that? I simply said, “Okay.”
    “Okay,” she repeated and headed to her next victim.
    I had never been late with an article before. In fact, I usually turned them in early. How could she question my future with the newspaper? Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mike watching me. His closed-lipped smile and sympathetic puppy dog eyes were more than I could take at that moment, so I turned away and rubbed the bridge of my nose. I wanted to go home, but knew I couldn’t because I had to survive long enough to make it to my eighth period French class. That’s where Rebecca would be.
     
     
    THE DRIZZLING RAIN had pretty much stopped by lunchtime, so Gail and I commandeered one of the six round lunch tables under the overhang outside. Seniors were allowed to leave campus for lunch, so by default the cafeteria courtyard became the juniors’ unofficial domain. The fenced in area constantly reminded us of our lower status, but I didn’t care. Hanging out there made us feel like the top dogs of the school for a while.
    I had already tackled the semi-long line and gotten my usual turkey sandwich and fruit cup. Most of the other kids got french fries or chips, but greasy food never sat well on my stomach, so I always tried for something healthier. Missy would have approved because ditching the greasy stuff helped keep my acne under control.
    Gail sat down next to me and opened her brown bag lunch. Gail Marsters had been my best friend ever since the fourth grade when we were in Mrs. Johnson’s class together. Old Mrs. Johnson assigned us as reading partners and ever since then we’d been as thick as thieves. At least that’s how my mom referred to us. In middle school, Gail weighed all of ninety pounds, so I used to think I was fat at a hundred and ten. Missy helped me understand that Gail and I had different body types, but I took up jogging just to be sure. Running always made me feel good. Gail and I practically shared the same kind of hair, too. Plain old brown and shoulder length, but Gail managed to make her hair look good with barrettes and clips and bands and curling irons. I couldn’t be bothered with that stuff, except when I went running. That’s when I’d throw a rubber band around my hair or put on my Plattsburgh Cardinals baseball hat.
    Gail pulled out a sandwich from her paper bag and