When Lightning Strikes

Chapter 1 They want me to write it down. All of it. They're calling it my statement.Right. My statement. About how it happened. From the beginning.On TV, when people have to give a statement, there's usually someone sitting there who writes it down for them while they talk, and then all they have to do is just sign it after it's read back to them. Plus they get coffee and doughnuts and stuff. All I've got is a bunch of paper and this leaky pen. Not even so much as a diet Coke.This is just further proof that everything you see on TV is a lie.You want my statement? Okay, here's my statement:It's all Ruth's fault.Really. It is. It all started that afternoon in the burger line in the cafeteria, when Jeff Day told Ruth that she was so fat, they were going to have to bury her in a piano case, just like Elvis.Which is totally stupid, since -- to the best of my knowledge -- Elvis was not buried in a piano case. I don't care how fat he was when he died. I'm sure Priscilla Presley could have afforded a better casket for the King than a piano case.And secondly, where does Jeff Day get off, saying this kind of thing to somebody, especially to my best friend?So I did what any best friend would do under the same circumstances. I hauled off and slugged him.It isn't like Jeff Day doesn't deserve to get slugged, and on a daily basis. The guy is an asshole.And it's not even like I really hurt him. Okay, yeah, he staggered back and fell into the condiments. Big deal. There wasn't any blood. I didn't even get him in the face. He saw my fist coming, and at the last minute he ducked, so instead of punching him in the nose, like I intended, I ended up punching him in the neck.I highly doubt it even left a bruise.But don't you know, a second later this big, meaty paw lands on my shoulder, and Coach Albright swings me around to face him. It turned out he was behind me and Ruth in the burger line, buying a plate of curly fries. He'd seen the whole thing...Only not the part about Jeff telling Ruth she was going to have to be buried in a piano case. Oh, no. Just the part where I punched his star tackle in the neck."Let's go, little lady," Coach Albright said. And he steered me out of the cafeteria and upstairs, to the counselors' offices.My guidance counselor, Mr. Goodhart, was at his desk, eating out of a brown paper bag. Before you get to feeling sorry for him, though, that brown paper bag had golden arches on it. You could smell the fries all the way down the hall. Mr. Goodhart, in the two years that I've been coming to his office, has never seemed to worry a bit about his saturated-fat intake. He says he is fortunate in that his metabolism is naturally very high.He looked up and smiled when Coach Albright said, "Goodhart," in this scary voice."Why, Frank," he said. "And Jessica! What a pleasant surprise. Fry?"He held out a little bucket of fries. Mr. Goodhart had mega-sized his meal."Thanks," I said, and took a few.Coach Albright didn't take any. He went, "Girl here punched my star tackle in the neck just now."Mr. Goodhart looked at me disapprovingly. "Jessica," he said. "Is that true?"I said, "I meant to get him in the face, but he ducked."Mr. Goodhart shook his head. "Jessica," he said, "we've talked about this.""I know," I said with a sigh. I have, according to Mr. Goodhart, some anger-management issues. "But I couldn't help it. The guy's an asshole."This apparently wasn't what either Coach Albright or Mr. Goodhart wanted to hear. Mr. Goodhart rolled his eyes, but Coach Albright actually looked as if he might drop dead of a coronary right there in the guidance office."Okay," Mr. Goodhart said, real fast, I guess in an effort to stop the coach's heart from infarction. "Okay, then. Come in and sit down, Jessica. Thank you, Frank. I'll take care of it."But Coach Albright just kept standing there with his face getting redder and reddCarroll, Jenny is the author of 'When Lightning Strikes', published 2004 under ISBN 9780689868276 and ISBN 0689868278.