rhythm of a star

okay, so remember when i had that muli-series story thing going on and epically failed?  the one where i said that i would post on a regular basis, but never really accomplished?  well, i'm just going to make things easier for both you and me: how bout i just put the whole big whopper of a story up in one setting?  sound good?  good, cuz i ain't giving you no other option! grammatical errors are all on my own doing.

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{rhythm of a star}

a short story by elena anunciado.

She walks down the school hallways walks down the school hallways with such poise, her tailored skirt and brunette locks sashaying in rhythm with her leather penny loafers.  Her chocolate brown eyes are fierce, full of intensity and ambition, her honey-toned hand and perfectly manicured nails meeting her silky blouse as her elbow bends, palm placed directly on her left hip.  On the other hand she holds a composition notebook, a How to Make Celebrities Jealous with Your Talent book, and a pencil.  She struts the hall like it’s the red carpet, confidence and pride bubbling through her slim frame as she cockily makes her way to her locker.  The surrounding students roll their eyes, a group of jocks snickering as they pass her by. 

“Hey smart stuff, got a mirror in that locker of yours that you sing into?  Or do you not have one because even you yourself can’t bear to look at your freakishly ugly face looking back?”

She scoffs, ignoring their distasteful comment. She mutters an “And you would know what ugly looks like with a heart like yours,” under her breath, loud enough for them to hear.

“What did you say, little miss ‘I’m so good and you’re not’?  Because let’s face it, I have the power to humiliate you in front of the whole school right now. We all know that I’m popular and you’re just a singing geek.”

She’s more than furious now, screaming a “Then just do it already!  Do whatever you’re going to do and just get it over with!”

“Well it’s her decision, so come on guys,” the jock chuckles to his three other buddies.  He picks her up by the hip and slings her over his shoulder, heading out to the school parking lot. 

Oh no, she thinks, not another dumpster.

            But it’s like her thoughts in her head come exactly true as the jock immediately tosses her into the food and fly infested dump, all four of them laughing their heads off.

            The last thing she hears is a shouted “Have fun with that!” as they stroll back into Milton Massachusetts High School.

“Don’t talk to that thing, Sam.  She’s a walking slug in our presence.  It’s total social suicide if we’re caught talking to her.”

“But she looks so…”

“Moving along Sam, moving along!”

            She hears distant mumbling as her eyes peek open to see one red headed girl poking her arm, while another blonde-headed one is attempting to pull her away but to no avail. Crossing her arms in frustration, the blonde resorts to standing away from the horrid stench.  As she rubs her eyes and slowly regains consciousness, she realizes just who these people are—the two most popular girls at Milton High School: Leah Taylor (popular, flawless, popular, rude, perfect, popular, popular, and did I mention popular?) and her sidekick Samantha Hanson (who, by the way, has an attention span of a goldfish and an IQ lower than that of a second grader.  It’s shameful how our social hierarchy has ranked her above me).  Her brown eyes meet blue ones as the red head squeals, “OMG Leah, she’s awake!” the girl’s face now a foot away from hers.

            Judie’s never been on Leah’s good side—heck, no one usually is, minus the other cheerleaders on the squad and the basketball guys. But with her being the resident ‘school pariah’, it’s no big surprise.  She plucks a browning banana off her head, cursing inwardly about the lack of upkeep at this school.  For heaven’s sake, if the garbage disposal were being brought to the landfill at least once a week, it wouldn’t carry as horrid of an odor, thus creating less stench on her.  Grabbing for the green metal of the trash can, she thrusts herself upward, lifting herself out of the dumpster.  In desperation to get every piece of junk off of her outfit, she dusts her clothing rapidly, lost in the normal cleaning routine as to almost miss the sharp crystalline voice of Leah Taylor. 

“No need to get rid of that garbage on your clothes, it matches your of garbage of an outfit just fine.  Getting some hand-me-downs from your grandmother, Baby Barbara Streisand, or can your single-working Dad and dead mom not afford Talbots?”

She scoffs, a confident, “I’ll have you know that my mother was a strong woman who died during labor.  And you would know what good style is, what with your cheerleading outfit your only source of attire for five days of the week,” bursting through her lips.

“Puh-lease, we all know you’re secretly jealous of the outfit because even you yourself know that you will never be even close to our standards. Let’s just face it, you’ll always have no friends, and you’ll never have what it takes to be popular,” the cheerleader snaps. 

            She hastily starts marching the other direction of Leah Taylor, as to control her nerves of punching the girl’s face through.  Knowing that if her actions were free to do what they pleased, she would be in the principal’s office by now—maybe even in detention— and a mark on her spotless record would be a shame.  But as she performs her famous ‘Judie Melon’ storm out, a banana gets in the way of her foot, resulting in a thunderous fall to hard cement. 

            Judie can hear Leah Taylor’s squeaky laugh, and a “Have fun loser!” uttered from her perfectly glossed red lips.  But as the two girls stalk off in the distance, the red headed one glances aback, a look of sympathy within her pupils.  Is she actually feeling sorry…?  But she stops her words mid-sentence, furiously shaking her head.  She’s stuck in this cliché world of cheerleaders and jocks bullying her, and in her cliché world, one cheerleader doesn’t feel bad for the outcast.  Let’s face it, even her extraordinary voice and talent can’t get her out of this cliché life.  

“Me-me-me-me-me-me-meeeee, Me-me-me-me-me-me-meeeee, Me-me-me-me-me-me-meeeee, Me-me-me-me-me-me-meeeee,” she lets out and exasperated sigh as her voice scales up an octave each set of notes. 

“Only four today, Judie?  I think that’s your lowest record yet, and that’s even counting the day you refused to stay home when you had the flu!” Mrs. Sandy frowns, a look of worry sternly implanted in her face, years of teaching voice lessons for the high-maintenance Judie Melon etched in through wrinkles. 

As expected, Judie lets out an overly dramatic gasp, her eyes bulging out of her sockets as she replies, “I have no idea what you are talking about, Mrs. Sandy.  I was simply taking a break—”

“—but stars like you don’t take breaks, remember?  You’re the one who’s got me livin’ by the rule,” the gray haired woman points out. 

“Yes, yes, yes, but of course, I’m sure there is a clearly understandable reason for that.  Did you ever suppose that my pet hamster could have clawed my throat?  Or, say, I didn’t put an exact dosage of flax seed in my protein shake?”

“I was asking for a true answer, Judie, not fake ones.  But whether they’re in fact provable or not, I think you should take a trip to the doctor’s office.  You’ve been a little off lately, and a quick visit to Dr. Cheng’s office wouldn’t hurt.”

            When her dad comes to pick her up from voice lessons, Mrs. Sandy desperately tries to convince him to set Judie up for an appointment.  Judie rolls her eyes, fully knowing that whatever sickness she may have will pass away in no time, and this visit will do no good.  But as her dad nods in agreement, a look of worry radiating his face, she can’t help but feel slightly the same.

            The scruffy blue material of the hospital waiting room seats are itchy, and she scrapes her leg for the hundredth time that hour. 

“Judie Melon?”

            She arises out of the chair quickly upon hearing her name, and puts on her signature 1000-watt smile (no reason not to practice for when she makes her big break on Broadway, where the paparazzi will be smothering her with cameras and asking for her autograph). 

            The nurse brings her into another room, one with white alabaster walls and a sense of bleakness flowing throughout the minimal space.  The lady sets her down on the examination table, asking some questions about “When did you start feeling this way”’ and “What vitamins have you been taking?”  She can only roll her eyes at the inquisition, assuring the nurse that all will be good and pleasant the very minute she exits the medical structure.  She may or may have not rambled about her future success in becoming a theatrical Broadway sensation, and how speaking this very moment is wasting valuable minutes of her voice that may later affect her in the future, and how dare she do such a thing as to ruin a celebrity’s life by making her talk?  And the nurse may or may have not responded with an “I never asked you to talk, Judie”, accompanied with an “I’ll go check on your test result”’ as to escape her wrath.  But to no matter, as a lab-coated man returns with a sheet of paper and a grim expression imprinted across his aging features.

“Miss Melon?” a middle aged Asian man with a name tag labeled ‘Dr. Cheng’ cautiously approaches, settling in the chair next to her father, herself seated only a mere two feet away. 

He continues, “I took a look at your test results, and it displayed an oddly increasing number of white blood cells circulating within your body.  I took a further look into the charts, and after making a couple calculations, it seems to me that you are currently suffering Acute Promyelocytic leukemia, a rare illness within itself that causes white blood cells to increase rapidly and suddenly.  Causes as to why there are no symptoms shown prior remain unknown as of now, but the sooner we get treating you, the better.”

            She lets in a shaky gasp, this time no dramatic traces to be found within her shocked tone.  And that’s what scares her the most.

            Her first chemotherapy treatment is bloodcurdling (pun intended).  Lying on the hospital bed (she is starting to sense that it’ll be her home for a while) in scrubs and a shower cap, her father’s tear-stained appearance scares her, his headstrong façade slowly chipping off like old paint.  The needle pricks her skin, and it’s the first time she’s felt helpless— her normal confident self distancing itself, as if it’s afraid that she’ll pass the disease. 

The medication slowly pulses itself through her veins, a battle raging within her.  It’s a fight between good and evil, a war between a hero and a villain.  But she’s Judie Melon and she’s strong, so she has no doubt that she’ll win this crusade.    The only thing is will the world be able to face the truth? 

“Nice hat, Indiana Jones.  What is it, Halloween?”

“Got a new look, Melon?  Why don’t you take that hat off your head so we can see your beautiful locks?  Or are you wearing a Bump-it but are too afraid that you won’t look as good as Snookie?” 

She stalks pass the two jocks that are attempting to rip off her French beret.  Obviously, these young and delinquent souls are definitely not prepared for reality. 

            Beep.  Beep.  Beep.  It’s like the rhythm of her life now, the constant beeping of the hospital machine.  A voice booming from the door knocks her heartbeat slightly off its course, causing her head to dart up to the sound.

“I know why you’re starting to wear hats at school, Judie,” a redheaded figure speaks, an uncertainty of her presence looming the room.  Her mind starts jumbling and crashing (something that she strongly blames the chemo for) because what in the world is the second most popular girl in the school doing here? (It’s not that she looks up to her or something, it’s just an unusual occurrence).

“Um… not to try to be offensive or anything, but what are you doing here, Samantha?  And how do you remember my name, considering the rumors of you being a blonde in the heart?” Judie cautiously questions.

“Whaaa… I’m a red head, doofus.  Not blonde,” she speaks dumbly, pointing a finger to her head.  “And I’m here because, well, I know your little secret,” Samantha finishes, a semi- confused expression splaying her features.

Figures.

“Obviously you know my secret; I’m in a hospital bed and you’re watching me get injected,” Judie replies with rolled eyes.

“Well, actually, I mean, okay, no, that came out wrong.  I meant that I know how you feel.  I have cancer too.” 

Judie’s mouth is now agape, shocked at the recent confession.

“But when…?”

“I had my last treatment when I was 8 years old, and since then I haven’t been feeling sick.  I guess I fought it off, eh? But yeah, I saw you the day you found out that you got sick, ‘cuz I was at the hospital too.  Monthly check-ups, you know?  And then I just saw you, ‘cuz I remembered you from the dumpster, and you seemed cool.  But I know how you feel, useless and helpless, if you know what I mean.  Long story short, there’s still hope,” Samantha rambles. 

And then Judie realizes that this girl may not be half-stupid, like she’s heard.

  

            Things progress slowly.  At first, it starts with weekly visits to the hospital.  Then Sam starts asking questions about homework, and gosh, she takes her words back; this girl is stupid (in an academically challenged sort of way).  One thing leads to another, and their friendship is taken off hospital grounds.  The day Sam walks up to her locker at school asking her if she could borrow some lip-gloss, she almost faints.  By now the whole school knows about Judie’s illness, and just standing next to her would automatically make someone’s ‘mojo’ decrease by one thousand.  Sure, they are beginning to get close friends, but did she ever expect it to continue?  Absolutely not.  She knew that the girl’s reputation was in for to big a dent if she were to hang out with her, and didn’t doubt that she’d be ignored.  But that’s what she’d always lacked—faith.  Sure, she was faithful that she’d become a star when she came to that certain stage in her life, and winning a couple of Tony’s was expected.  But being faithful in others; that was a totally different situation in itself.  Maybe that’s why she never had friends, she thinks.  But another half of herself is urging her to think otherwise—it was her bitter and uptight attitude, her feeling of superiority over others.  But now she’s changed.  Chemotherapy has changed her for the better, something even she’s utterly shocked to find.  She knows she’s changed, because when Sammy sends a text message saying, ‘I’ll be there at your chemo treatment today. –sammy, xoxo J’ she replies with an ‘I know. Thanks –*Judie Melon*’ in a heartbeat.

            Sure, her life may not be the cliché one she had made up labels for during sleepless nights spent creating offensive songs about her fellow peers.  Hey, a girl’s got to have some way to vent, right?  But maybe that’s not a bad thing.  Maybe her life was never meant to be ‘cliché’ in the first place.