I get home and read over the journal I’ve been rambling into on doctor’s orders. From after tea until 4 a.m., I scour the pages and try to find a story that makes some sort of sense of what’s been happening in my head this year.

I cut out the parts that matter and paste them onto blank paper. I keep compiling it the following night, and the night after that, until I’m satisfied that this fat wad of tree waste is a decent representation of what I am. Then I type it all up, and try to give it some sort of flow like a story.

I clamp the typed pages together with a big black bulldog clip and slide it into Catling’s pigeonhole before school.

Our crew lunch chats aren’t as fun or interesting without Naya. Roles have switched lately, too—I’m now the one constantly looking at my phone.

I refresh Naya’s Instagram for the seventh time today and finally see something new. Words only. No picture.

‘Only those who dare to fail greatly can ever achieve greatly.’

Robert F. Kennedy.

Regular Naya stuff, sure, but it means something to me.

I open my phone notes and read the woeful rhymes I’ve written over the last week. I mumble to myself as I try to improve them. Leon notices me rambling and asks if I’m speaking in tongues.

I’m not happy with the verse, but I let him see it. After reading it, he tries to convince Jimmy to let me perform it with him at the party. With some extra coaxing from Aaleyah and Tyson, Jimmy agrees and it’s on. I’m scared, but excited. It’s what I was hoping for, but I don’t know if I expected to get it.

The last class of the day is with Catling. We watch the Royal Shakespeare Company perform Much Ado About Nothing. We never studied this play, but apparently this is a reward for everyone handing in better ‘My Life Right Now’ stories. I suppose it is a reward, because it means an afternoon nap for most students. Catling doesn’t seem to care; his regular snarl is curling more into smile territory with each sip of the ‘grape juice’ in his coffee mug.

Towards the end of the class he drifts over to my desk with my slab of paper.

‘You’re lucky I had nothing better to do last night.’ He drops my assignment in front of me. ‘Much better, Ben. Truth is indeed stranger than fiction when seen through your eyes.’ A red B+ is circled in the corner. Under it he’s written: Don’t be too upset. This is a huge improvement from the last effort—well done. But I need more pathos to drive home your overarching idea. I wish there were higher stakes! Surely this work can conclude with a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions! Remember, there’s always a death!!

Dude is mental.