• Art Club
• Theater
I think no to this one.
???
I know you remember my disaster semester in theatre class.
Okay but to be fair, Antigone really does look like it should be pronounced Anti-gone.
PIVOT
Tuesday:
Esports - after school
Wednesday:
Yearbook - @ lunch
Band - @ lunch
Thursday:
Art Club - before school
CHAPTERTWOTHE EXTRACURRICULAR SMORGASBORD
Mal had expected to spend their first week of senior year settling in: to their schedule, to the new assortments of the same people in their classes, to different teachers and how loud (or soft) they talked, and most importantly, to their official editor-in-chief duties. But instead, they spent their days scrambling to find something new to slot into The Plan.
Luckily, Mal had two things on their side. One, of course, was Maddie. Maddie’s unique one-two punch of frank pragmatism and unrelenting optimism was almost (if not quite) enough to offset Mal’s catastrophizing and lingering gloom. And two was that it was the start of the school year, so all the extracurriculars and clubs and sports were actively recruiting fresh blood.
On Tuesday, Mal tried what Maddie assured them would be their best option: the brand-new esports club, which met after school in the school library’s small computer lab. The computers had been updated since the last time they’d used the library. Now they were all sleek new towers, lit with internal blue lights and attached to large monitors—some of which had been co-opted and attached instead to consoles thatpeople were setting up when Mal peeked their head through the door.
Immediately, they felt a surge of bitterness that the school didn’t have the budget for a literary magazine yet could somehow afford this makeover. But they needed to replaceCollagewithsomething. And as Maddie had reminded them when they met in the hall, Mal was already a gamer. Acasualgamer, sure—they didn’t have time to play a whole lot, between work and homework and Maddie’s soccer games—but enough that they considered it an actual hobby. They had never thought of gaming as a viable part of The Plan because it didn’t feel academic enough. But since it was a wholeclubnow, they tried to convince themself it was Official. Doable. The Plan–able.
But as the room filled up with mostly boys (and the stale smell of needing a shower), Mal couldn’t help wrinkling their nose. They full-on scrunched it when the club president, a short white boy wearing anAttack on Titanhoodie, stood up and said, “If you’re not a real gamer, you better leave now, because we’llknow,” then glared pointedly at Mal.
But they didn’t wholly give up—theywerea real gamer; the hundreds of hours on theirAnimal Crossingfile could attest—until they learned the sort of games they’d be playing: shooters, mostly, and all with open online play. Mal had tried open online play exactly once, with Maddie. They had been in fourth grade, Maddie in third, when they’d snuck onto their dad’s pawnshop PS4 late one night. As soon as Mal spoke into the headset, a very adult-sounding man told them to do things so vulgar that, even though at ten they didn’t know what theywere, exactly, they knew they were Not Good.
Neither Mal nor Maddie had played online since.
Mal left the lab without taking one of the blood-splatter-printed flyers with future meeting dates.
On Wednesday, Mal had to work at Dollar City after school, so Maddie’s pivot plan had them trying a few options that tabled during lunch hour. After scarfing down their line lunch, they headed toward the tables on the far wall, trying their best to look like someone worthy of joining something.
First, they stopped at the yearbook table. It seemed closest toCollage, in that they would still be working on a publication. And it was an actual class, which Mal liked; they couldn’t think of anything more Official than that. When Adira, a popular and very pretty Black girl in Mal’s grade, talked to them about documenting everyone’s memories of the year, it sounded like a lot of responsibility, but she assured Mal that the team would help them learn.
Yearbook also sounded much more hands-on than Mal really liked. Part of what had madeCollageperfect for them was that its business was conducted largely from the safety of an e-mail inbox, where students sent their pieces for Mal and Ms. Merritt to retrieve. It was easier to hide behind red pen and Word docs than to go out and take pictures of people doing things in the hall (candids, Adria called them). Still, Mal was hopeful.
At least until Adira said it would take a bit of rearranging their schedule—which would likely change their lunch period, because that was when yearbook met. Mal grimaced. They looked back at their lunch table, where Maddie quirked a smile and gave them an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Even if it fixed ThePlan, Mal wasn’t suretheywould be okay without their lunch hour with her.
They trudged toward their second option: the band table, hung with a red tablecloth and a parade-size pennant with an embroidered bulldog.
“Oh hey, Mallory,” said the boy behind the table. Mal remembered him vaguely from a math class years ago. He smiled, but Mal could tell it was the same Not Really Smile they sometimes made when they felt a little grossed out. “Thinking of joining the band?”
“It’s Mal,” they corrected. “And yes. If I can?”
