《The Going-Home Club》Neil Velazquez Introduces Himself

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September 2, 20XX

Heyo. My name's Neil Velazquez, a senior at Palomar High, but you should know that already.

We're told to write a short introduction about ourselves in this journal. I don't really like it, but I'm told we don't have to turn these in. It's a participation thing, so, I'm just going to write whatever I want.

There's not really much to me. I'll keep this brief.

Things I like: peace and quiet, ramen (the professional kind), NBA, the occasional power fantasy.

Things I dislike: fake people, distractions, driving.

That should be good. But, there's still time left and the others around me are still writing, so I'm going to add some fluff.

The view outside of the windows is extraordinary. Sometimes I don't believe I'm attending Palomar. Even now, I wonder how I ended up in such a school. The room has a perfect view of the campus fountain and park. Trees sway under a bright, clear sky. Not a cloud in sight. Nice and cool.

As a senior, I should start seriously thinking about what I want to do in life. I still have time later in the year anyway.

Stealing glances at the others, I think this is about the oddest group of people you can assemble. By group, I mean there's only three of us, minus the supervisor. I only just met them, so I can't say much. This is the first of many days.

Here are my first impressions of them.

Claire de Leon: an infamous character. She's well known as the only person seriously competing with our current valedictorian. She's also pretty strange. That's the impression I get. She seems to be lost in thought half the time, the other half decidedly enthusiastic.

Mark Rodgers: he doesn't say much. He's in my human anatomy class. "Get out of my way" is about the only thing I got from him. I sense trouble.

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Like I said, this is still the first day, and we've only been together for about half an hour. All in all they don't seem that bad. Just... kind of strange.

Though I suppose I shouldn't be talking.

Right at the end, Mark rolls up to Mr. Kafka asking if there's a Keurig nearby. Mr. Kafka leaves and returns with one. "Go wild," he says.

Then, Mark pulls out a cup of instant ramen.

He's a troubling person, for sure. I respect his initiative (even though I don't respect his food choice).

And with that, Mr. Kafka calls the journalling time to a wrap.

Off we go. The end of the beginning.

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