Photo Credit: David Gutierrez
Photo Credit: David Gutierrez

Gagging on her fresh perm, Rhonda cracked the window of Jeff’s red Chevy. He was yammering about the movie—Texas Chainsaw Massacre–but chances were, they wouldn’t be watching. She eyed the plaid blanket in the back and the way he rested his right hand sloppily on her left thigh. It didn’t matter. She despised horror movies, anyway, and Jeff had full, red lips, which split into a sweet smile. So what if he was in Vo-Tech, tinkering on cars, while she dreamed of Harvard? He had warm hands and an eager bulge, and she had tired of being perfect.

The Day it Didn’t Happen

Photo credit: Wired_gr
Photo credit: wired_gr


When their limbs brushed in the jostle near their lockers, neither made eye contact or apologized, though each craved another such jolt of raw electricity. Would it be possible to lean an inch closer without seeming to do so?

Meredith opened and closed every zippered pocket of her backpack, hardly glancing inside. I could ask Jeremy for a pencil, she thought.

Catching his eye, she struggled to move her lips. What had she been about to say?

“Hey, Merde,” she heard from across the hall. “How’s it going?”

Meredith turned to wave and–spell broken–Jeremy disappeared into the crowd.


This brief foray into fiction brought to you by a friendly dare from my long lost friend Sean. I write quite a bit of fiction, but never in 100 words. Anyone else up for the challenge?

A Slice from High School


Marnie and I hung out at Burger King, downing free refills of Diet Coke and baring our souls. We tried to buy beer; when that failed, we bought Wonder Bread, tucking slices under strangers’ wipers in the parking lot.

We wrote deranged poems and dialed random numbers to recite them. We laughed endlessly, helplessly.

She’s how I survived high school.

When we met again after freshman year of college, I was wearing a t-shirt bearing Ronald Reagan’s face with a line through it.

Marnie studied my shirt for a long moment before asking, “You’re a Democrat?”

“Oh, shit,” I said.

How to Survive High School

©Universal Studios

Watch The Breakfast Club a minimum of five times.

Cry a lot.

Laugh a lot.

Care a lot less about what other people think.

Keep a journal, but tear out the pages and discard. Burn them, if necessary.

Read something provocative.

Sing in the shower.

Make something cool.

Make a sound track for the following situations: heartbreak, euphoria, failure, disillusionment, creative foundering, despondency, envy, stupid people, kicking ass, revenge, and staring at the ceiling.

Be a good friend to your good friends–including you.

Avoid all long-term consequences: pregnancy, herpes, jail, death, and dismemberment.

Whoever you are, be more so.


A shout out to Mr. Maher and his high school class in San Diego. Every November, he challenges his students to write a 100-word story every day for 30 days. He lets them brainstorm suggested topics, and then writes accordingly throughout the entire month. No exceptions–because he is awesome. I can’t help but be inspired to write a few 100-word stories myself. Surviving high school was yesterday’s topic. Feel free to chime in with your own advice in the comments.