Popsicles
Dear Diary,
It was a scorching hot summer day a few years ago in June. And the best place to spend a hot day in Gretna? The Gretna pool.
It was small, and crowded, and bugs were common discoveries in the heavily chlorinated water, but it was heaven to a middle schooler with nothing else to do.
I was with a friend of mine and we were fighting for some semblance of space in the pool with far too many kids trying to do the same thing we were.
As we swam past a throng of kids playing basketball, I saw something fly past, heard a loud thud, and suddenly my friend stumbled backward, holding her nose with one hand and pushing the now-harmless floating basketball away with the other.
It all happened so quickly, and there was a panic as her mom ushered us out of the pool, my friend desperately trying to keep the blood dripping from her nose from getting into the water.
The teenaged pool staff crowded my friend, unsure of how to act.
“I can’t tell if it’s broken!” I remember one of them calling out.
They eventually decided it was fine, and deployed their extensive first aid kit: a popsicle for my friend to hold against her nose.
As I sat with her, waiting for the bleeding to stop so we could swim again, a lifeguard walked up to me, holding an offering in his hand.
“Want a popsicle?”
— Ariana Aristy
Counting
Dear Diary:
It was one of the last few days of band camp, and the day was hot and disgustingly humid. The scent of the mix of sunscreen and sweat will never be something I will get out of my nose. The band was graciously allowed a water break. We walked off the turf field, and if I had looked back, I could have seen the air above the field waving and distorting.
I set my trombone down, knowing the metal burning me was in my future, and hid in the shade. Half the band had the same idea, and we crammed under the tiny canopy. The body heat probably nullified the effect of the shade.
During the break, one of the drum majors started playing music over the speaker that normally plays the metronome. One of these songs was “Numbers” by Psychostick. Some people started singing, and, over time, more people joined in. It was less “singing” and more of a yell. Our delusional heat-fried brains could only produce very off-tone and warbled sound. We had amassed a small group of people yelling, “I can only count to four!” over and over.
One of the directors who had taught most of us since sixth grade, Mrs. Tucker, made a face akin to a proud mother, “Spoken like true musicians,” and broke out into a wide smile.
— Quinn Boyle
The Day I Got a $20 Tip
Dear Diary:
Two hours into my shift at Scooters, things started to settle down. Around this time not as many people came through so I sat on my phone in the back. My headset goes off, so I run to the front to take the order.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t need anything, I just need to be here so my ex doesn’t follow me to my parents’ house in Pebblebrooke. Can I just pretend I’m getting something to kill time?” she says in a shaky voice. “He’s in his work truck right behind me.”
My coworker and I looked at each other concerned and then put our faces to the window and saw her small Toyota in front of a big work truck with a ladder in the back. Before we know it, the man comes out of his truck, grabs that ladder from the back, and begins to run up to her car. At this point, we’re all in shock at what just happened.
The girl, out of fear, pulls up to the window before her windows get shattered. Her face is covered in mascara and she can’t even get words out. My coworker quickly dials 911 and we tell her to just stay here until he leaves.
— Lauren Bryant
Submit Your Dragon Diary
Your short essay must be connected to Gretna High School and its community. They should be no longer than 300 words. An editor will contact you if your submission is being considered for publication. Email 2[email protected] to submit your story.
