The Collected Accounts of June Bloomer

Across newspapers and television, seventeen year old June Bloomer is being shredded across the country for the cataclysmic events she caused in the quiet town of Johnston's creek. However months after the horror, in that forgettable village, June's only four friends are determined to tell the truth of June from the causalities they received first hand and nothing less.


20. Entry two:

It all started for me with the school bells. Finally, they droned; with such a dull sound that freed us for an impossibly large sum of days. By then the five of us had become a permanent group. Four of us previously had become a very, very tight alliance before then; but I think it was that summer and the addition of June that truly made us friends. We’d shared lunchtime tables and parties and night-ins, but I had always wondered if we really shared lives. Rose never fully took to June, and avoided her whenever possible, but we didn’t mind because Rose hated almost everyone and it was easy just to knock it off as a friendly argument. Skin deep and easily brushed off.

I am not spending my whole summer with her, Rose said as she pulled her hair back fiercely into a ponytail. I didn’t even ask why, knowing she’d blurt out the reasoning immediately afterward. Then Rose went on to say that 1) June was only in our group because Michael liked her, and I said that 1) sub subsection A) that Michael more than just liked June and subsection B) that she was also in our group because Ky and I liked her. She puffed out her cheeks and told me that why did it matter anyway; because Ky never said a word and that I liked everybody. I tried to defend myself, but I stuttered to find an example. And here is where the divide of my exterior and soul begins:

Outwards Eleanor loves everyone. She is patient and kind even in the worst moments, and is reliable for things like babysitting the neighbourhood kids and letting people skip ahead in queues with their one item.

Inwards Eleanor does all of these things, but under a pretence. No one can love everyone, right? Please tell me that I’m right. In truth I’ve really tried anything, but maybe the Eleanor Green everyone sees is just a mirage. It’s desirable from afar, that sends people running to have friends and have people do them favours but then when they get too close, she just disappears until she’s nothing at all.

But enough about Eleanor, inwards or outwards. These aren’t my accounts; it’s the story of the only person who ever got close enough to see the mirage for what it was. In truth, up to the time of Summer June and I didn’t speak much, mostly because Michael was desperate to cram in any word in his puppy-dog sense of affections and besides, someone had to diffuse the situation with Rose. Ky just watched, as he always does, and carried on both blocking and observing every moving nerve of his surroundings with half a pair of headphones engaged in his brain.

So this is how the group is split up, because everyone’s groups some how split or diffract for at least a while. Ours had patterns of friendships, and even the radical June didn’t quake it much. Michael and Ky had met when they were infants, with moms that pushed each other into a long bond of friendship that even they have admitted they didn’t believe it would last. Michaels says that even at four Ky was silent and watchful, and only had one toy that he played with. The toy was a play camera, and I’m kind of sorry that it wasn’t a real one or there would have been some really great images of a great mind finding his feet in the world. Michael wasn’t so much a social butterfly, and so gratefully had lunch with Ky apart from hockey days, every Monday break, until middle school. The two had broken apart for a year or two through Ky’s club and Michael’s girlfriends. When Noreen left for Alaska, he split himself to eat alone for a while, Michael had said, but then when he met Rose and I Ky gravitated slowly back. Here’s the story of how Rose and I met.

Rose shoved a bunch of papers for her class debate in my face to publicise the event. Okay, maybe it wasn’t a great story, but it was great enough for a tween looking for a single friend on her first day in a new town. There’s nothing worse than moving to a place where all the children started their cliques before they knew how to speak properly. Due to her strong personality, Rose didn’t have many either, and so we joined a two which met the boys in our first class, and after a series of limited seating areas and coincidence, we all had lunch together. Every day. For years.

You can imagine with Ky who hardly speaks at all and Rose who speaks too much and Michael who speaks with a drippy persona and I who was notorious for only speaking praises, it was a new sort of relief to include someone new into our circle. June could coax a mumble out of Ky, and appreciate Michaels’ rambles, and not take the fact I was nice for granted. It was only Rose that she had a negative effect on, but with only a quarter loss we decided we could settle for Rose’s eternal unhappiness. Sorry, Rose.

School stayed the same, at least as much as it could with the sudden death of Aubrie Sommer, and every now and again I popped around to the house or led Eve away for tennis to take her mind off it. But it was forever lodged around her eyes and in her heart. I suppose we all thought the girls had been invincible and immortal in their popular stances, and there was nothing that could blotch the smoothness of their cheeks or glee in their eyes. It turns out there was. Tenfold. The semester came a slow halt, and by then there wasn’t a person in the school that wasn’t pining for some time to themselves. When that school bell rang, it was less with a burst of something new than of a relief to get away from something old. The school had changed, and we were all desperate to rid ourselves of her ghost and to find new amusements to keep us occupied. We ran into the sound of far away mountains, of a quiet that would settle on us for the first time, and the hope we could forget because we didn’t know yet who to forgive.

At this point, Michael hardly left June alone. We didn’t notice how dependent he was becoming on her; because we were all so simply glad he wasn’t heartbroken over Noreen. Boys like Michael never leave time to heal, they just stuff themselves with painkillers of their next girlfriends and slash the wounds again. June wasn’t just a girlfriend though, she was an obsession. I said goodbye to the crowd, including June, tucking a flower into Michael's hair that he shook away with a laugh, and walked along the streets with Rose before parting ways and heading into my house for a quiet night. Dad was busy, mother away, and my brother was coming back in a week or two, so I was in for a silent house. 

However, on that same dull night, two things of great significance happened:

1. The beginning of the ‘The clock is Ticking’ not quite as you would remember it.


2. The night June Bloomer asked me to run away with her.

I'll tell you which I agreed to, when the rain becomes loud enough so my parents won't hear me typing. They're worried again, because the little pitter patter of fingers across the keyboards means I'm not sleeping, which means it's her again that is plaguing my thoughts and keeping me awake. When they will realise there aren't enough sheep to count that will drift a June Bloomer survivor to sleep, I'll never know.

Rose's edit: This is when it will start to become hard to write El, so don't force it. And I know exactly the right thing to help a June Bloomer survivor sleep...

Eleanor's edit on Rose's edit: As long as it isn't that illegal...

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