Raven Hill Bridget Russell by Melinda Marie Alexander

“Come on in, Miss Quinn,” Mr. Goodwin smiled. “We’ve been waiting for you. Have a seat right there,” he pointed to the seat right in front of a girl with long blonde hair and piercing green eyes. She gave me a weird look. I instantly disliked her, and I had to sit right in front of her. Oh, crap! I wonder if that’s Bridget or Miranda? I took a deep breath. I guess it really doesn’t matter. As I walked down the aisle to get to my seat, I tripped over someone’s foot and almost fell. Everyone laughed except Robin and Matt. I turned around to see who had stuck out they’re foot, and saw a girl with dark brown hair and brown eyes laughing at me. It was the other girl I had seen before, talking with Emily. I narrowed my eyes and gave her a dirty look. She laughed even harder. I clenched my teeth and balled up my hands. I wanted to hit her so bad. I took my seat and sat down.

“Okay, enough!” Mr. Goodwin said. “Lacy are you okay?”

“Yes, Mr. Goodwin,” I looked up at him and smiled.

“Class, if you don’t stop laughing…right this minute, I will start passing out detention slips and sending people to the office. Do you understand?”

Suddenly everyone was quiet. I glanced at Robin, who thankfully was sitting in the seat right next to me, and gave her a little smile. She smiled back, and then looked toward the front of the classroom. When Mr. Goodwin started writing on the chalk board, she reached across the aisle and handed me something. It was a note. I glanced at Robin, and then looked at Mr. Goodwin who was still writing on the chalk board. I looked down at the note in my hand.

 Meet at the tree after lunch. You know where!

I glanced at Robin and mouthed, “What tree? Who sent this?”

“I’ll tell you later,” she whispered, and then she looked at her book when Mr. Goodwin turned around. I glanced up at the chalk board. In really large letters, Mr. Goodwin had written…

To Kill a Mockingbird

Then Mr. Goodwin looked at me, “Miss Quinn, have you read To Kill a Mockingbird yet?” he pointed to the board.

“No, not yet,” I replied.

“What book were you reading at your last school?” he opened his desk drawer and pulled out a book and some notebook paper.

“A Tale of Two Cities,”

“Ahh…a wonderful classic depicting the plight of the French peasantry demoralized by the French aristocracy in the years leading up to the revolution, and the corresponding brutality demonstrated by the revolutionaries toward the aristocrats. Sadly, we haven’t started that book yet.” He walked down the aisle and handed me a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird and gave me some paper. “Do you think you can catch up to us? We are on page 19.”

“Yes,” I grabbed the book and the paper. “Thank you,” I smiled.

 “You are most welcome,” he smiled back, and then he headed back to the front of the class. “Okay, everyone open your books to page 19. I would advise you to take some notes,” then he started reading.

The old house was the same, droopy and sick, but as we stared down the street we thought we saw an inside shutter move. 

Suddenly Bridget kicked the back of my chair. I looked over my shoulder and gave her a dirty look. She leaned forward and whispered. “You better not be talking about me,” I narrowed my eyes. “Why would I be talking about you? I don’t even know you.”

Copyright TXu 1-905-288


4 thoughts on “Bridget

  1. keithsramblings

    Just love your style of writing. An interesting and intriguing tale leaving me wanting more. It’s also great to find another short story teller – we seem to be few and far between this year!



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