The Yearbook Committee Read Online Free Page B

you go to a couple of meetings, write a couple of poems and you’re done.’
    â€˜I don’t even get the point of a yearbook. And I have enough going on in my life as it is.’
    â€˜Like what? You’re an only child, your parents are loaded, you’re passing all your exams . . . Why are you so stressed?’
    I shake my head. ‘Why don’t you do it then?’
    â€˜Because I’m on the formal committee, remember? We can’t both do it.’
    â€˜Yeah, but it will be so much work, and you know I’m busy with the clown job my ’rents don’t know about.’
    She shrugs. ‘Come on, it’s the only way I can have control over what goes in the yearbook,’ she pleads.
    â€˜What does it matter? They just collect dust in boxes under people’s beds anyway.’
    â€˜Yeah, but in twenty years’ time I might wanna show my kids how awesome I was in high school,’ she says, pulling her lip gloss out of her pocket and puckering her lips.
    â€˜You’ll probably be awesome then too, so I’m sure they’ll believe you,’ I mumble.
    â€˜Hey, it’s a lot of hard work staying on top,’ she says.
    I give her a face and walk out of the cubicle, shaking my head.
    â€˜Come on, just do it. That stupid cow Gillian Cummings is on the committee, and if I have no friends on it, who knows what she’ll write about me.’
    â€˜So that’s what this is about,’ I say, walking over the mirror. ‘Do you have any gum?’
    She shakes her head and I turn to the sink. She stands there while I rinse my mouth out, then grabs some paper towel and hands it to me.
    â€˜Whoever’s in there better make their way to class before I start waving detention forms,’ Mr Broderick calls from outside. ‘The bell rang ten minutes ago.’
    â€˜She probably won’t write anything about you if you leave her alone,’ I point out, picking up my bag.
    â€˜Maybe,’ she says. ‘But that’s not any fun, is it?’

Gillian
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Gillian Cummings ‘All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.’ — Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Lauren Pappas You’re not going to throw yourself in front of a train are you? #Didntthinkyoucouldgetmoretragic
    The horn blares for the second time and I know my dad’s starting to get worked up. Why did I decide to change my outfit at the last minute? Oh, I know, because Sammy decided Mum’s spaghetti tasted like crap and hurled it at me when I tried to get him to finish it. Because, as usual, I was the only one taking care of him.
    Sigh. I shouldn’t get angry at Sammy. It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault we have to do these ridiculous photo shoots. And it’s definitely not his fault that I have nothing to wear.
    I hear the car engine turn off from my bedroom window and moments later my door swings open as I’m wrestling with a shirt.
    â€˜Aww, come on, Mum, can’t you knock?’ I ask, pulling the shirt up in front of my chest.
    â€˜Relax, Gill, it’s not like I don’t have boobs myself,’ she says, exasperated. ‘They just look completely different now.’
    She admires her recent breast lift in the mirror, then shakes her head as if she’s just remembering why she’s there.
    I turn away. Nothing I own seems classy enough for this stupid photo shoot for my father’s campaign.
    Seemingly reading my mind, Mum flicks through the sundresses, t-shirts and denim shorts in my closet. She shakes her head in frustration. ‘Your clothes are more suited to concerts, not campaigns,’ she says, walking away.
    â€˜Wait, don’t go,’ I plead. ‘You know nothing I own is good enough.’
    She sighs, and returns to the closet.
    â€˜Don’t you have a black dress?’ she asks. ‘That