“Operation Kiss-My-Youdonwannaknowwhat”: Part 1

Here’s a first-person, segmented short story based on the basics of plot designing. Even if you’re not into middle-school-aged girls and their problems, I’m sure that the description will make you laugh. Enjoy!

I hate Creative Writing class. You see, my BFF and I made this secret code with letters that made one word look like another word that made sense with the sentence, but our “worst enemy”, Danielle, got a hold of it, and from now on, she writes poems for the teacher in the secret code, ones that sound completely innocent but make me and Isabelle, my BFF, cherry red with embarrassment. Each day, without fail, a poem would pop up, as regular as a heartbeat, as painful as walking across a tightrope held by two compulsive people ten feet above the ground when the people both decide to drop the tightrope and let you fall–not deadly, but enough to make you wince.

“We need to find out something that’ll throw her off,” I told Isabelle this morning, “Find some way for her to unknowingly embarrass herself but everybody else can tell.”

“Awesome!” Isabelle said, “What should we do? Write ‘kiss me’ on the back of her shirt or something?”

“Nah, Danielle’s been wanting to catch some guy for ages. That won’t work.”

“Yeah, but if he just comes up and kisses her, she’ll be incinerated by the heat of her face,” Isabelle pointed out.

“Well,” I said slowly, “It’s worth a shot. When should we stick ‘er with the page?”

Isabelle did have a sleepover with me, but we spent what might as well have been forever working on the kinks of the plot, ‘Operation Kiss-My-Youdonwannaknowwhat’. At last she and I had decorated a bright red sheet of paper with the words, “Kiss me sweetie” on it in black, with heart and lip stickers on it. I actually found a relatively stiff bottle of Valentine’s Day heart glitter-glue, which worked just fine to hold together the attached-by-lacy-pink-yarn maché heart.

First period’I wrote in my notebook about eight hours later, four periods to execution of Operation Kiss-My-Youdonwannaknowwhat. Danielle had, right after our fifth  period lunch, the class that she looked forward to the most; drama, as if she wasn’t already doing  it 24/7. But most importantly, Creative Writing followed that, so there wouldn’t be a millisecond to lose during lunch.

Phase one: As I forced my way into the cafeteria, I scanned the varyingly sized  craniums for the one I wanted: Danielle. There! She was near the head of the lunch line already. True, I did have a packed lunch in preparation for this moment, but I had to find some way to get close to her, distract her while Isabelle crept up (which was easy during lunch) and taped the sign to Danielle’s back by stumbling into her.

phase 1 complet. target sited @ end of lunline

I texted Isabelle quickly and let her know where I was. The reply came a few moments later: gud. initiat phase 2?

on yur signl u hav the sign n e way

kk.

Silence on my phone for one minute, two, then– bzzt! bzzzt!

go

And I was gone! Having been trained for the entirety of my middle school career, I wove quickly through the people and to the lunch line, so texted ‘lunline’.

Phase two: “Hi Danielle!” I said over the lunchtime din, “How’s it going?” She turned and stared at me as if I was Robin Hood come to say hi. 

“What’re you doing here?” she sneered.

“Oh, I just came to ask if you would stop doing those poems in secret code during Creative Writing.”

“Why? It’s fun.”

Bzzzt! Bzzzt! “Oops, hand on Danielle, I’ve gotta take that.” I glanced down at my vibrating phone.

undrway?

yes I’m taking rite now wait 2 12:15 lik we sed or till I prsuade her

Phase three: My response was brief and badly spelt (or spelled?). but it got the point through. Isabelle and I had coordinated our clocks to hit the same minute at the same second.

“It’s mean, Danielle. If you don’t stop, I’m going to have to do something about it, and you won’t like it.”

Danielle moved forwards a few steps in line as I said it, chose something, turned back to me, threw her head back, and laughed. “Oh, yeah! You and what army? Are you goin’ to tell the teacher or something?”

“Nope; I don’t need them, and I certainly don’t need you being cruel any longer.” I grinned like a shark. We were in the crowd now, and Isabelle was right behind Danielle. The sign was glittering and winking secretly at me.

“I won’t. Not until you get down and beg.”

Phase three:  gogogogogogogogogo! I told Isabelle. She saw her text, but didn’t see the floor, tripped on somebody’s shoe and in slow motion, she fell with a stunned expression on her face. I leaped out of the way, felling like I was jumping through clean peanut butter, and watched as the crowd clattered to the tile like so many dominoes, Isabelle smashing into Danielle and both falling into another person and another and another. Time suddenly resumed its regular speed, and I gasped in shock.

And right there on the tile, Danielle was recovering and staggering to her feet.

To be continued…

Part two comes the next week! For those of you focused on plot, find out if Isabelle got the sign onto Danielle or not, and whether they could get Danielle to stop the secret code poems! For those concerned with the writing, see if I can keep it up until the end of the story!

~Aidyl

PS: Please note that I painstakingly took the time to write this story, so please give me credit to help my accent to a well-known writer and not to rip my hard work off! 😀

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