Name: Kosoko Jackson
Genre: Contemporary Thriller
Title: THE BULLET PROVERB
Pitch: When seventeen-year-old Chase is assaulted at his boarding school, he tells no one. But when his ex finds out and convinces Chase he deserves retribution, Chase becomes judge-and-jury and must decide between justice or mercy.
If I had my way, I'd burn this school to the ground. I'd draw my name in gasoline on the brick walls, claiming my crime with a fiery insignia of pride and vindication. But we rarely have control over our own lives. I learned that the hard way.
Truthfully, I'd rather be holed up in my house, reading as much Shakespeare as I stomach, than standing in front of building that looked like a misplaced set piece in Les Miserables. And trust me, I could stomach a lot of him. Even those darn sonnets
But I had already missed the sign up days for extra curricula activities. Mom wouldn't buy the 'stomach flu' line any longer, even if Alicia did co-sign my story with her own fake flu like symptoms. What else were twin sister's for?
"Here," She said, suddenly appearing out of no where and handing me a crumpled up piece of paper. "You're welcome."
Apparently sweet talking your way into activities on your behalf.
"Unless something changed last year," I muttered. "Newspaper is the complete opposite of the type of activity I told you to get me."
"Next time you can get them yourself. What happened to a thank you?" She asked.
'Cue the 'i'm 2 minutes older than you comment in three...two...one...'
"You should respect your elders, Chase. 2 minutes. 120 seconds. Don't forget it."
"How could I forget it?"
In the list of things I wanted to forget, Alicia's superiority was very low on the list.
She let out a loud sigh of hair through her nose, followed by a string of incoherent words under her breath. Poor, Alicia. Life was just so hard for her. How could she carry the burden of the world on her shoulders?
"C'mon. We're gonna be late for Assembly. And more importantly,"
"Late for the waffles." I finish for her. Harrington Academy Waffles. Crack Waffles. Friendships were broken over the syrupy, fluffy clouds of yeast filled air that were brought out during special occasions. They were the complete opposite of the Harrington Academy health initiative, but who cares when their diabetes inducing sweetness flooded your mouth?
It was a shame I wouldn't be able to enjoy them.
I overheard in the news lately, and especially in our Honors summer readings, about privilege and how to define it. Most people would trip over their own tongues, especially these students, fellow classmates who's parents biggest concerns was which gala they would attend when double booked. Alicia and I were no different and it would be stupid to say otherwise---especially when the gymnasium had "Warner" immortalized on its archway. I had found it amusing, even if Alicia didn't, that the honors class would be discussing privilege and justice, when no one here knew how to define it. Not really, until now.
Privilege was the ability to spend your mornings worried about pancakes, instead of the fighting the suffocating coiling of panic inside your throat that threatened to break you.