“Gabby made it quite clear that you were to have this,” Gran said, handing Ophelia a large and rather elaborate-looking book.

Ophelia eyed it suspiciously and asked, “What’s in it?”

“It’s her journal and scrapbook. But don’t show it to the others, you hear? What’s in this is just for you to see.”

“But why? What’s in it that they can’t see?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. I think it’s wonderful that she thought so highly of you to let you know…”

“Know what?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Ophelia raised an eyebrow and said, “Can I ask you something? Are you maybe related to anyone with the last name Marlow? Or maybe Jacobi? That’s my grandma’s maiden name.”

“No, I don’t think so. Why?”

“Because you look a lot like my grandma, and some of the ways you act and say certain things are kind of… familiar.”

“Well, supposedly, we’re all related in one way or another,” Gran replied, laughing.

“Actually, you know who you look like?” Ophelia said, her eyes suddenly widening. “Right now, you’re looking and acting just like Charise when she’s trying to hide something and failing miserably! Like the time she lost my favorite shirt and claimed it was still in the washer.”

“It was red, wasn’t it?” Gran muttered.

Ophelia raised an eyebrow. “That’s what I thought,” she said, smirking ever so slightly.


Dunstan stormed away from the cemetery, his face still stinging from the slap. How dare she? he thought indignantly. I can give her anything she wants, and yet… yet, she prefers that loser. Why? What can he possibly offer her that I can’t?

Angela looked up at him and spoke up. “You know,” she said, “I know this isn’t the best time to tell you this, but I found something out the other day.”

“Yeah, what?”

“You’re going to be a father. I’m about two and a half months along.”

Dunstan stared at her for several seconds, and then fainted.


Ophelia ran her fingers over the journal slowly. What could possibly be so important in here that Ms. Gibson left this to me? she wondered. And why am I not allowed to show it to the others? She stared at the book, a bit fearfully. What if it’s a book of spells or something? Or cursed?

Her cat Elphaba leapt onto the table and lightly batted at the book with her paws.

“Elphie, don’t!” Ophelia pleaded. “If you get possessed or go nuts, I’m going to be upset!”

The cat meowed in response, then batted the book open. Ophelia screamed and covered her face, fearful of what would happen. The cat stared at her, puzzled by her outburst, then padded away to eat. Ophelia peered between her fingers at the journal, afraid of what she might see. She didn’t see any evil-looking images or archaic words. She did, however, see a lot of writing and what looked like newspaper clippings. Puzzled, Ophelia scanned the page. “This makes no sense,” she muttered to herself. “This has to be a fake. Maybe if I start at the beginning…” Ophelia flipped to the beginning of the journal and began to read.


I write this in the hopes that someday, there will be others who will understand my plight, my choices, and why I did what I did. My name is Gabrielle Marlene Gibson, but when I was born, I was named Grace Agnes. I changed my name during adolescence, not long after I had to undergo surgery to have my uterus removed. It was poisoned, damaged y the pollution that surrounded us and even infected our drinking water. But I am getting ahead of myself.

My mother, Artemis, died not long after I was born, as did my father Nathan. My grandmother often suspected her husband of being connected. I say “her husband,” because though she was married to him, he was not my grandfather.

My mother was the result of an affair between my grandmother and her secret lover. When my mother was born with black hair and blue eyes, it was apparent to my grandma’s husband that the child was not his.

My grandmother, Charise Marlow Diggory, who would stand up to her husband when it came to furthering my education, but not when it came to her own personal happiness. Her lover, my true grandfather, was killed in a hit and run a few months after Mother was born. Her lover, whose name she often told me, as she repeated her tale to me: Samuel Verona. A kind man, handsome, highly intelligent, and with the patience of a saint. “And stupid girl that I was, I ignored him in favor of this monster of a husband that I have now,” she often told me.

And monster, he was. The Diggory family has had political influence for generations, and, as a result, were quite influential. A few years before my mother was born, the pollution problem had become more severe than ever before, so much so that people’s life spans were shortening considerably. A great deal of this pollution was caused by Diggory-owned factories and plants. Of course, because of this, there was a great deal of chaos and near-anarchy, at one point. And when the fuss settled down, it was the Diggory family that stood in the leadership positions of the country, and with that came the great brainwashing. A new religion, thought up by none other than Dunstan Diggory himself, claimed that people were dying in such great numbers for a reason, and that those who remained alive were seen as being unwanted by God. While this cult began small, it soon spread and was even taught in schools. This is the environment that my mother and I were born into, a near-apocalyptic state of chaos.

It was while working on Project Wells, a time travel program funded by the government, that the idea came to me: if I were to go back in time and prevent Gran from marrying that terrible Dunstan Diggory, perhaps the chaos and destruction could also be prevented and she could have led a happier life. After all, all of the money he used to fund the religious organizations and so forth was Gran’s money. I knew that I was potentially risking my own existence, even though it did not rely on The Monster and my grandmother marrying, but at least there could be a better future.

So, Gran and I went far back in time, long before I would be obligated to interfere. I needed a legitimate way to get involved. So, I earned my teaching degree and invested in the stock market at the same time. These stocks, I leave to you to do as you wish with, as I obviously have no use for them anymore. I became a full-fledged teacher about five years before Charise-- the adolescent who would someday become my grandmother-- entered high school. I worked at Oakdale High, where Gran said she’d attended, and it was there that I met my “future” grandparents. But here, I pause.

I had brought along a scrapbook, in which Gran had pasted some articles about some kids she’d known. While reading through it one day, I realized that I’d been teaching several people who were doomed, based on the articles. For my own posterity, I made handwritten copies of the articles, which are in the back of the journal. However, after interacting with the teens, I noticed that the “official” versions were changing, often for the better. I made notes on the changes, as you’ll see…

Ophelia’s head swam with all of this strange information. So, Ms. Gibson’s grandparents are Charise and S, but Charise married Dunstan? she thought, struggling to keep everything straight in her mind. She flipped to the bulky section with the newspaper articles and noticed that the page was labeled with Emily’s name. Startled and concerned, Ophelia read the handwritten version, which was the “original” article.

Local Teenager Commits Suicide, Note Blames Bullies

Emily Desjardin, an Oakdale High School student, was found dead on Friday morning at her home. The teen had taken an overdose of sleeping pills. The lengthy suicide note found nearby described how she had been bullied on a regular basis at her school…

Ophelia shut her eyes tightly, not wishing to continue reading. She forced herself to look at the date the article was published, which was written beneath. “That’s… uh… bout a week or two after we started Clique News Crash, I think. Maybe because Ms. Gibson got her to be part of it and because I was there to be her friend, maybe that’s why it didn’t happen.” She shifted her gaze to the next page, where the new article was. This article was dated as being published in about fifteen years. Ophelia smiled to herself as she read:

Prize-Winning Author Gives Talk on Dangers of Bullying

Local writer Emily Desjardin-Rivers has always been known for working for good causes, whether it’s more realistic body types in the media, better conditions in animal shelters, rape victim assistance, or better funding for the arts in schools. Today, Ms. Desjardin-Rivers added one more cause to that list: putting a stop to bullying.

“As a former victim of bullying, I can tell you first hand, it can be really damaging,” the author stated. “People have killed themselves or others because of it. I want to make people aware of just how serious a problem this is.”

Desjardin-Rivers is the author of several books, including Fact Versus Fiction: The Damaging Effects of Media’s Portrayal of Women and best-selling autobiographical work Geek Girl: My Life as a Wallflower. Her newest book, The Role Models, is a look at local philanthropists who’ve flown under the radar, such as Sara Lowry, a local woman who has led several fundraisers to aid in providing better extracurricular activities in schools…

Ophelia smiled, tears in her eyes. “Way to go, Em,” she whispered. She turned a few pages and read the next heading: Aiden James “AJ” Desjardin. “Wonder what kind of fate he missed out on,” Ophelia mused. She began reading:

Drug Overdose Causes Death at Prom After-Party

At 1:30 Saturday morning, emergency services were contacted and sent to a prom after-party in Oakdale. Local high school student Aiden James Desjardin was found dead in one of the bedrooms. Drugs were found on his person, as well as in his system, and they have been confirmed to have been the cause of death.

Desjardin, an athlete at Oakdale High School, had reportedly become depressed after his sister’s suicide, which happened in August of last year…

“Wow,” Ophelia muttered. “So, I guess since Emily didn’t kill herself, AJ didn’t start doing drugs and didn’t die from them.”

She peered at the new article and chuckled to herself.

Local Heroes: Doctor Coaches Little League

Dr. Aiden Desjardin trades in his white coat and stethoscope for a baseball cap and glove on the weekends. Known as “Coach AJ,” Desjardin coaches the local Little League team, the Oakdale Ocelots.

“As a kid, I loved playing sports,” Desjardin stated. “I want these kids to enjoy it, too. I’m trying to put an emphasis on having fun, rather than competing. It bothers me when parents put pressure on their kids to always win. Sometimes, it’s better to just relax and enjoy yourself…”

“Well, that’s nice,” Ophelia said agreeably. She flipped past a few more pages until she located Tiffani’s section. “Bet this is gonna be crazy!”

Local Woman Dies from Complications

Eating disorders have been a growing problem, taking in younger and younger victims over time. Sometimes, these victims can be saved, but all too many times, help arrives far too late.

Local beauty queen Tiffani Royale was found dead in her apartment today. Miss Royale struggled with bulimia nervosa for many years, apparently beginning during high school. When her body was found, Miss Royale weighed seventy pounds…

“Wow,” Ophelia muttered. “That’s brutal.” As she looked over the “improved” article, however, she smiled.

Local Women Lead Protest: Claim Unrealistic Images in Media

“It seems that there is a widening gap between media and real life,” author Emily Desjardin-Rivers stated. “Women in the media are getting thinner and thinner, growing further away from what the average woman looks like. That is what we are speaking out about.”

Desjardin-Rivers, along with local news anchor Tiffani Royale, fashion designer Ophelia Foley-Cloud, novelist and well-known feminist Jessica DeSidiro, and controversial model Charlotte Cloud, led the protest, which occurred in Moriseaux City.

“This was really all Lia’s [Ophelia Foley-Cloud] idea,” Desjardin-Rivers stated. “She and Jessica have always been big on these things, although I find this to be a subject close to my heart.”

“I feel that women need to see more realistic images in the media. Do you realize how few women are skinny sticks with big boobs?” Tiffani Royale remarked, during the rally. “But my sister-in-law [Desjardin-Rivers] doesn’t give herself enough credit. Back in high school, she was worried about these things long before they were a concern to me. She and Ophelia helped to get me involved in these issues…”

Ophelia wiped her eyes. “Wow, what a change,” she whispered. “That is awesome!” She smiled even more when she noticed who had written the article: Jade Gibson. “Guess Jade and Graham got hitched,” she muttered. Then, she frowned. “Gibson. I wonder if… nah, it can’t be.”

She turned a few pages and found a section labeled with her name.

Do I dare? she thought. Maybe I shouldn’t. I already know too much.


Ophelia closed her eyes tightly. “I’ll look at what got cancelled out, not what will really happen,” she whispered. She folded the journal to where the future events would not be visible, then began to read slowly:

Local Adolescent Dies in Car Accident

Oakdale High School student Ophelia Foley, age 17, suffered severe injuries after crashing into a light pole on Oak Street. The victim survived long enough to call for an ambulance before losing consciousness. She was proclaimed dead on the scene after the ambulance arrived. Her family, local…

Ophelia sobbed hysterically, staring at the date the article was written. “That night. It was supposed to be me who died that night, not her, wasn’t it? She slashed my tires so I wouldn’t be driving, isn’t that it? Then it’s my fault… my fault. Oh God…”

She swallowed hard and quickly flipped to the very last page of the journal. Even with her eyes blurry with tears, she could still read the article, and it made her begin to cry even more than before.

Addition to Local High School Promises Hope to Youngsters

“We are here today to honor the memory of a great woman,” fashion designer Ophelia Foley-Cloud began, opening the ceremony.

Foley-Cloud, along with other such locals as Emily Desjardin-Rivers, Charlotte Cloud, Aiden Desjardin, Tiffani Royale, Jessica DeSidiro, Louie Rivers, Jade Gibson, Charise Verona, Graham Gibson, and Samuel Verona, banded together several years before with a single goal in mind.

“We remembered how unhappy we were in high school. We were either unpopular, didn’t like to interact with our peers, or just didn’t feel up to doing typical teen stuff,” Desjardin-Rivers explained. “This is for people like us.”

The Gabrielle Gibson Memorial Annex will house counseling services, scholarships and financial aid information, and a wide variety of activities for students to participate in before and after school, as well as during lunch…

“High school can be a real pain,” Ophelia stated. “My friends and I were treated badly, discriminated against, and made to feel like we didn’t matter. Since we were generally well-behaved, we would have just slipped through the cracks, neglected. While some of us were students here, there was a teacher who made us feel like real people: Gabrielle Gibson. So, it’s in her name that we dedicate this building. It is to you that we pass along her hope for a better future.”

There was thunderous applause. Ophelia smiled and handed the microphone to Emily, who said, “And can we have this year’s Clique News Crash team come up here, please?”

A small group of teenagers clambered onto the stage. Ophelia and Emily exchanged smiled, and Emily remarked, “Sure takes me back to the bad old days. Seriously, though, you are carrying on a legacy. Ophelia, Aiden, Tiffani, and I were the original news crew, and Louie was our camera man for a while. We’ve chipped in and bought your group some new equipment: cameras, lights, microphones, and lots more.”

“Thanks,” one of the students, a shy-looking girl, said softly. Ophelia smiled a little; the girl reminded her of Emily as an adolescent.

One of the more outspoken teens, a strong-looking girl in a jersey-like dress (The new AJ, Ophelia thought, with a grin) spoke up, “On behalf of my fellow Clique News Crash members, we would like to invite you all to be regular guest hosts on our show. Also, we would like to present you with a trophy.”

An intellectual-looking boy stepped forward, holding an award. “Thank you for laying the groundwork for our organization and for providing a way for the voices of all students to be heard,” the athlete said, then grinned and added, “Also, thank you, Victoria and Milton, for writing the mini-speech I just recited.” The quiet-looking girl and the intelligent-looking boy blushed and smiled. “To thank you guys, I also would like to present these $50 gift cards for the local bookstore. Go get some new movies and music; you deserve it.”

Ophelia chuckled softly.

“Our descendants,” Emily whispered.


“I have great hope for the future,” Ophelia replied. To the crowd, she announced, “The Gabrielle Gibson Memorial Annex is now open. May you succeed in all of your endeavors!”

She and the other members of her group stood back and watched the students and reporters rush into the building.

“Looks like another mission of ours was a success,” Emily remarked.

“Well, we had Ms. Gibson to help us through the tough times,” Ophelia replied. “But not everyone has a mentor like that.”

“I guess we have to be Ms. Gibson to these kids,” AJ said.

“You already do that, coaching Little League,” Tiffani pointed out.

“That reminds me,” Charise spoke up. “I applied to be a counselor here at the Annex, and they’ve hired me.”

“Ms. Gibson would be proud of you,” S said. “You’re carrying on her legacy.”

“Well,” Ophelia’s the one who made me decide to try and get the job,” Charise said, giving a secret smile to her cousin. “Kids need someone who will listen to them.”

“You’re doing a good thing,” Ophelia replied, shrugging.

“We all are,” Emily added. “We really are helping people who need it.”

“Here’s to Ms. Gibson, who believed in us and gave us the strength to succeed,” Louie spoke up.

“To Ms. Gibson!” the whole group echoed.

Victoria, the quiet-looking girl, approached the group. “Hey,” she said shyly, “we wanted to take some shots of you inside.”

“Sure,” Ophelia responded, linking arms with Emily and Cy. “Let’s go.”