Set during the 2006-2007 school year, seventeen-year-old Seth Harris is a lazy and angry high school senior who would rather spend his time writing than doing actual schoolwork. When he unexpectedly meets an equally unmotivated and rebellious Tessa, he has one goal: not to give up on his relationship, like his mother did to his father.
Then he meets a bubbly and sweet Marie Burn. When he becomes closer to Marie, everything he was sure of is called into question. Seth has to make a choice between his heart and doing what's right.
Set during the 2006-2007 school year, seventeen-year-old Seth Harris is a lazy and angry high school senior who would rather spend his time writing than doing actual schoolwork. When he unexpectedly meets an equally unmotivated and rebellious Tessa, he has one goal: not to give up on his relationship, like his mother did to his father.
Then he meets a bubbly and sweet Marie Burn. When he becomes closer to Marie, everything he was sure of is called into question. Seth has to make a choice between his heart and doing what's right.
2006-2007 school year
âWell, Seth, itâs not looking good,â my 12th -grade counselor, Mr. Brian Nichol, says with a sigh. He frowns at me over his glasses, brows furrowed, and clearly passing judgment. I already know he doesnât like me, but I honestly canât blame him. Iâm slouched down in a chair at a circular wooden desk, fingerless-gloved hands clasped behind my head, and looking down at my feet in Converse shoes. I reek of not giving a crap.
Because I donât.
I honestly havenât cared in the last couple of months.
Mr. Nichol turns to his computer screen. I peer over his salt-and-pepper head at his impeccable view of Commencement Bay. I have to admit, his office is in such a great spot; nearly half the walls of his office are glass windows, and each windowpane gives a beautiful view of the water. I canât help but admire it.
âItâs only October, and your GPA is in the 1.0 range,â Mr. Nichol continues. âBut in the past, your GPA was between 3.5 and 3.8. What happened there?â
What happened, indeed?
Well, school has always been easy for me. Getting a high GPA in the past was no problem. Iâm fully capable of acing all my classes. The problem is I just donât care anymore. I donât want to talk about the reasons why, and I donât want anyone to try to fix me, either. The only response I muster up is a shrug.
Mr. Nichol twists in his chair to face me. âOkay, well, you still have time to get back on track, though,â he says with a glimmer of hope. âThereâs a couple of options. You can sign up for an athletic season to recover the credits ââ
âNope,â I cut him off, shaking my head vehemently. Nothing sounds worse than being in sports. I firmly believe athletes get high from the torture of exercise.
âOkay, well, if you get a 1.0 this semester, then you must get a 2.0 next semester, and your first semester GPA will change to a 2.0. Then you can still graduate, and it will look better on your transcript when you apply for college.â
A 2.0 is the lowest passing GPA a student can receive and still graduate. College isnât really on my radar anymore; otherwise, I would take this a lot more seriously. Up until recently, I did care about going to college. I had an idea of what classes I wanted to take and where to go. Those plans have flushed themselves down the toilet. It would be a miracle if I made my way back.
âBut if you still refuse to do the work, and you get anything lower than 2.0, youâll have to repeat your senior year. Be a âSuper Senior,â as kids are calling it these days. I really donât want that for you, Seth.â
âSuper Seniorâ is an odd title, considering that it makes you sound better than you really are. As cool as being a âSuper Seniorâ sounds, I donât want to be stuck here for another year. I donât want to disappoint my dad, but the work Iâll have to do to get to where I need to be doesnât appeal to me. Mr. Nichol seems genuinely concerned, which I should appreciate. His concern would be better applied elsewhere, in my opinion.
âIâll think about it. Thank you,â I nod at him as I grab my beat-up backpack off the ground.
âWise choice, Seth,â he replies with a grin and dismisses me with a wave. Outside Mr. Nicholâs office, my redheaded best friend Mason OâConnell sits in the waiting area, texting on his flip phone.
âFinally, youâre done!â he exclaims in triumph when he lifts up his head and pushes his glasses up his nose. âLetâs get out of here and grab some food. Iâm so hungry my stomach is eating itself.â He stands up with his backpack, giving me a full view of his Spiderman T-shirt that Iâm sure heâs had since he was twelve. âWhat did he have to say that was so important that my stomach had to be put on hold?â
We make our way across the brick courtyard, walking over the golden S imprinted on the brick, surrounded by a large royal blue circle. This castle of a school is a historic landmark, so much so that it barely looks like a school from the outside. With the U-shaped building with spires on all the corners of the roof and planted gardens spotting the area, it makes for a postcard-worthy image.
âIâm failing all of my classes, and I can either be a Super Senior, take an athletic course, or actually put in the work.â
âAre you really surprised?â Mason asks in an accusing tone. âMaybe you should actually try putting in the work.â
âMaybe.â
âYour loss, bro. But letâs hurry up and get out of here.â He pats me on the shoulder and walks in front of me as we cross the courtyard.
Mason is the definition of a geek, but heâs extremely smart. Heâs a 4.0 student, a major video game nerd, and wants to go to college and get into Computer Science so he can get into the gaming world. Yeah, he has goals. Youâd think I could learn from his determination. He and I met freshman year. We bonded over video games and Family Guy in Biology class. Normally, I live a reclusive life surrounded by acquaintances, but having Mason in my life is great. Besides my dad, heâs my closest friend.
Mason follows me home to my small, two-story house on the corner of the street. The moment we enter the front door, Mason runs across our 70âs style shag carpeting into the kitchen with yellowing linoleum and chipped countertops. Beyond the kitchen is the laundry and an office space that has turned into a storage unit.
âPizza rolls, come to papa!â Mason hollers while grabbing the bag of pizza rolls from the freezer. Next to the kitchen, I go up the shag-carpeted stairs to my ultra-messy bedroom. Messy is an understatement. It looks like a tornado blew through here. The plastic blinds bent in a few different directions; collecting dust, just proves my point. On the opposite wall lays a spray-painted smiley face with Xâs as eyes, with its tongue sticking out. Apparently, spray painting a smiley face that appeared drunk or dead seemed funny to my friends and me.
Iâm just glad my dad isnât home. The longer I can avoid talking to him about my conversation with Mr. Nichol, the better. I donât have it in me to explain why I chose not to participate in school.
I turn on my dual monitor computer that Iâm sure lived with the dinosaurs, then take off my baggy gray zipper hoodie and sniff it to see if it needs washing. Definitely needs to be washed.
As my computer takes an eternity to load, I take my overflowing hamper and throw some clothes in the washer. I may be lazy when it comes to school or having goals, but I do care about my clothes smelling clean.
I load up Family Guy on YouTube when Mason comes in with a plate of piling pizza rolls and a bag of potato chips. âGood god, did you heat up the entire bag?â I ask.
He shrugs unapologetically, plopping into a beanbag chair. âMy stomach nor I feel sorry,â he smugly retorts.
We go to town on the mountain of fatty snacks and put on an episode of Family Guy. This has been our routine since we met. Normally, we would watch this on a regular TV, but I wanted to use the other monitor for writing on the Gaia Online forum. Writing used to be just a hobby, something that helped me get ideas on paper. Now, itâs my lifeline. People â or avatars that represent actual people â seem to enjoy my work.
I open up my notebook and look at everything I wrote down. Since middle school, I had a system. I would write ideas down in a notebook, then come home and transfer them to a Gaia Online post or put them in a Microsoft Word document. It may seem like an odd system, but every writer has a way of doing things.
Mason peeks at my computer as Iâm transferring my paper ideas into a post. âWhy donât we get out your textbook and go over those assignments?â he says with a wave of his fist, adding a cheesy smile.
Just the idea of putting work into school makes my brain shrivel up into a raisin. âNo thanks.â
âLetâs face it. You and I both know you donât want to be a Super Senior. Whatâs it going to take for you to be motivated? Victorâs just going to lecture you again.â
My dad lectured me at the beginning of the year to get my act together so I could graduate, get into a decent college, and move forward in life. Donât get me wrong, I love my dad and value his opinion, but when it comes to him telling me to get my act together, itâs harder for me to take his advice. Therapy has been his lifeline, as writing has been for me.
âIâll deal with it,â I say, continuing to look between my notebook and computer screen.
Family Guy fills the quiet air and blends with the typing of my keys. Mason puts another pizza roll in his mouth, chewing pensively. âJust an idea,â he starts. I get a sinking feeling in my stomach at what heâs going to say. âHave you thought aboutâŚI donât know, getting a tutor?â
âI donât need a tutor.â
âThen get a girlfriend.â Mason wags his finger.
I spin around in my office chair, confusion clear in my expression. âA girlfriend? Where did that even come from?â
âI hear girlfriends can be a motivating factor.â
âOr they can be a distraction,â I counter.
âAnd how would that be any different from how youâre living now?â Mason counters back.
âFair point. But how do you know if a girl will motivate me?â
Masonâs lips curve sheepishly, avoiding eye contact. âJust what I hear.â
âIs that what Harmony does for you?â I ask. Heâs had a crush on an equally geeky girl named Harmony for a while now. Mason is too shy to tell her, though. Heâs kind of like me.
Hereâs the thing. Generally, I tend to live a reclusive life. Donât get me wrong, I like girls. I may keep to myself, but I do like girls. Iâve had crushes here and there. The problem was I was always one of those people who observed from a distance but never took action. I never knew how to strike up a conversation with a girl out of nowhere. More specifically, a beautiful girl. It never felt comfortable going that route. I always waited for things to happen out of nowhere. Of course, it never did.
âWeâre not talking about me right now,â he changes the subject. âIâm just exploring all options. Iâm the loyal friend trying to avoid another discussion with your dad that I know for a fact you will complain about tomorrow.â
âIâm not even interested in anyone,â I take a pizza roll and turn back to my computer.
âThereâs the first problem,â he points out mid-chew.
With a groan, I turn back to my computer and keep typing. By the time the Family Guy episode ends, Iâve managed to come up with a couple of paragraphs to post.
Mysterious Snowfield: Part 2
The man spotted a figure out in the distance. It wasnât a tree or an animal. No animal stood upright like this figure. He concluded that it was a human. He stepped closer with the grace of a stag, trudging through heavy amounts of snow to get a closer look.
A girl. A little girl. Probably around eleven years old. She doesnât move, though. Just standing there.
"Hello?" the man called out to her.
She didnât move, still as the snow on the ground.
In all honesty, I have no clue where this story is going. Ever since I started it, I wasnât sure how I wanted it to end. I just knew I wanted to keep people hanging with each post. Keep them interested.
Iâm a good writer. I know I am. But it helps to have someone confirm that my story is going in a good direction. If only I had someone to collaborate with to help my stories flow better. Gaia Online is a great community, but I have yet to find someone to share ideas with.
Before I can post it, I hear a gentle knock on the door. âYou boys lookinâ at naked chicks in there?â a deep, gruff voice asks behind my door.
âOh boy, here we go,â Mason says, leaning back in his chair and rolling his eyes. I canât remember a time my dad didnât ask that question before opening any door I find myself on the other side of, even the bathroom. Apparently, being a guy in your teens and living a reclusive life means I must be obsessed with naked chicks. Regardless, he still thinks itâs funny.
âNo, Dad, weâre not,â I reply, exasperated. Thatâs my response every single time, and yet he still wants to ask.
The sound of Dad entering my room blends with his deep chuckle. Victor Harris is the epitome of a blue-collar worker: scuffed-up boots, paint-stained jeans, an old shirt, and a big, strong body. Heâs grown out his beard a bit, and his gray hair is buried under an old baseball hat. I donât know where I got my extra curly brown hair, but it wasnât from him. I got my brown eyes from him for sure, though.
His demeanor changes the moment he sits at the edge of my unmade bed. He leans forward, taking his ball cap off. âI got a call from your Algebra teacher. You havenât been doinâ your assignments, and youâre already failinâ. And I know thatâs not the only class youâre failinâ.â
Crap. The one thing I wanted to keep from him ended up coming to light anyway.
âOkay, so this just got intense,â Mason says uncomfortably. âIâll see myself out.â Just as he leaves my bedroom, he turns and says to my dad, âTo be fair, I did try getting him to do his homework. Heâs still being an idiot.â
âDude, get out of here.â I wave at him with urgency.
âOr what?â Mason says with a taunting gleam in his eye.
âOr Iâll tell Harmony about the birthmark on your butt.â
âOkay, point taken, bye,â he says hurriedly and runs down the hallway. Normally, I would find enjoyment in his scurrying off, but knowing Iâm in trouble has dampened the mood.
Once Mason leaves, I find my dad eyeing me with disappointment and frustration. A look I really hate seeing glaring back at me. I slap my hands on my thighs and jump up from my chair. I need to escape, and quick. âIâm going to grab something to eat.â
âStop,â he says with a stern roar as Iâm close to the doorway. That tone always scared me as a kid, and it still scares me now. Itâs the donât-you-dare-pull-that-crap-on-me kind of tone, and itâs one to take seriously. âSit down.â
Hanging my head, I turn around from the doorway and sit back down on the chair. âBefore you started school,â he begins. âI told you to work hard so you can graduate. The way it is right now, youâre goinâ to repeat your senior year. Is that what you really want? This is your senior year, Seth. You need to get your act together.â
âI donât know what to tell you. I would rather write,â I say. Itâs true. I express myself better in writing. Living in my characterâs story instead of living in my own reality, even for a short while, is my comfort, my biggest escape.
âWell, Iâd rather go on a date with Cameron Diaz, but life donât work that way.â
My face scrunches, questioning his taste in women. âReally, Dad? She smiles like the Joker.â
âSheâs hot. Donât change the subject,â he says firmly, then sighs heavily. âMy point is that somethinâ needs to change. You need somethinâ that motivates you. You need a goal. Iâve been learninâ that in therapy. Youâd learn the same thing if you went with me.â
âIâm not going to therapy with you, Dad.â Voicing my feelings to a shrink who is legally obligated to judge me while being paid a butt ton of money is a hard no for me. He should already know that will be my answer. On the other hand, he doesnât try that hard to get me to go. Heâs okay with having a therapist to himself, and heâs just attempting to play the part of an attentive dad. Either way, Iâm not interested in opening up to anyone.
âYour loss. Even so, you need to do somethinâ.â Dad states with finality. âLetâs try this. Pick a goal. Any goal. Maybe one that involves writin'. See if you can get one of your stories published in those books that have all those short stories.â He snaps his fingers as he tries to think of the title. âChicken somethin'.â
âChicken Soup for the Soul?â
âYeah, that one.â
âThose are chick flicks in book form!â I argue. âI donât write those kinds of stories.â Nor do I want to. Iâd rather punch myself in the nuts. Iâm a guy, for godâs sake.
âOkay, then look up some schools with creative writinâ courses. I want you to pick one that interests you and look at the requirements to get into that school. Start with that,â he demands.
I respond with another shrug. Yes, I shrug a lot. I hear a âpopâ from my Instant Messenger (a.k.a. IM for Instant Message) come through. I donât talk to a lot of people except Mason, so I only have one conclusion as to who is messaging me.
Debra: Hi, honey. I really wish you would respond to me. I really miss you. Call me sometime.
âYour mom still tryinâ to talk to you?â Dad asks.
She messages me at least once a day. Sometimes, sheâll even call me. After everything she put us through, she still has the gall to try to mend things with me. I want nothing to do with the woman that broke my dadâs heart. My heart. Maybe Iâm being petty, but seeing my dad so miserable has been hard to watch, and I fully blame her.
I close the message and twist in my chair to face Dad. âDonât keep holdinâ onto that anger, son,â he advises. âAnd donât let what happened be the excuse that you donât do better in life.â
Easier said than done. The anger is still fresh. Itâs not something I can get over in a day. But if thereâs one thing Iâve learned from all this, itâs that I want to be nothing like her.
âOkay. Get to it,â Dad commands with a wave of his hand. He leaves my room and heads down the hall. I turn back to my computer to keep writing, relieved to be in my home space again.
Truth be told, I donât like letting my dad down. My life consists of just going through the motions. I go to school because I have to. I eat because I have to. I sleep because I have to. I wake up because I have to. The only thing that seems to keep me from sinking deeper into the endless cycle of routine is writing. Writing is the one thing thatâs outside the scope of routine. Each story is different. Each event in the story is different. I can choose how it ends. It keeps me distracted in a way that school hasnât.
âOh, and pick somethinâ close to home!â Dad shouts from the stairs. âAnd not some hotshot university like Yale! Weâre broke, and your old man ainât ready to be alone yet!â
I let out a chuckle. My poor dad. He may be going to therapy, but that doesnât make him any less afraid to be by himself. I wasnât planning to move out anytime soon, anyway. I have a feeling Iâll be here keeping him company for a while.
As Family Guy plays on mute on one screen and my story is laid out in front of me on the other, I ponder my options. This would be a good time to do what my dad says and pick a goalâresearch schools with writing courses. I already know those schools will say I need a good GPA that I need to pass my classes, which requires me to put in the effort, which doesnât interest me. Thanks for nothing, Mom.
Instead, I turned back to my Gaia post and reread the excerpt of my story. Once I post it, I make one last ditch effort for collaboration with a separate post.
Wannabe_peter_griffin: Looking for someone to help me with my story ideas. I need a good hook for the next segment of my story. If you read any of my posts, maybe you can help with the next step.
Another âpopâ from my Instant Messenger sounds on my computer. Praying that itâs not my mom again, I open it.
Mason: I swear if you tell Harmony about my birthmark, I will make you impotent.
I burst into uproarious laughter, forgetting that I threatened to tell his crush about that. I only know about it because he would always change clothes in the locker room after everyone else left P.E. One day, I stayed behind because I kept wondering why my only friend was so private. After he screamed like a little girl when I caught him, he revealed his secret. I laughed because itâs shaped like a heart. People laughing at him was what he was trying to avoid in the first place. He made me swear I would never tell. After three years, his secret has been safe with me.
Ignoring his message, I turn Family Guy back on in search of more uproarious laughs and a further escape from reality.Â
Hungry for fiction that celebrates 90s and early 2000s nostalgia, when I saw that Bloom by Sarah Blynne was set during main character Seth Harris's 2006 senior year (and 2006 was my junior year), I knew I had to give this one a go.
Seth is one of those rebellious teenagers who would rather put his passions (writing stories) before his schoolwork, though his reasons are for you to find out later in the novel (as he is not immediately forthcoming to readers), and he's surrounded by a smart, ambitious, and nerdy best friend and a loyal, rock of a father many of us in the early 2000s would have donated a kidney for. But when he makes a new friend online named Tessa, Seth dives deeper into his passions and finds a slight hint of new motivation for his schoolwork and his future. Seth also endearingly commits to Tessa, claiming that he will not make the same mistakes in his relationships that his parents made.
But when Seth meets another girl named Maria, Seth realizes that his loyalties to his relationships, schoolwork, and passions may not be as straight-forward as he originally thought. Rather, he finds that he will have to decide between what his heart wants and what he believes is the morally right thing to do, and it'll take further exploring the reasons behind why he lost motivation to do his schoolwork in the first place for him to really piece out which path he's comfortable with taking.
This would be a great, relaxing, even comforting read for anyone who has a tough decision coming up in front of them, or for someone who is still haunted by whether or not they made the right decision before. But this is especially fine-tuned for young adults and new adults who are still finding their footing in high school, college, early relationships, and deciding what they want to do with the rest of their lives. It also proved to be the nostalgic read that I was looking for with TV shows, music, games, and even electronic device references that were incredibly true to the early 2000s.