The Scarab Notebook

April was an ordinary girl. Every morning she woke up at 7:30am, an ordinary time to wake up she always thought, to the cry of whatever default alarm her iPhone came with. She would get dressed, in attires made of neither high-end retail nor charity shop items and head downstairs to have breakfast with her parents. At breakfast she would pour herself a bowl of Wheaties and add 1% skimmed milk. April had often asked to change the cereal, on account of its bland taste and boring character. However, no matter how well-constructed the request April’s Mom always responded the same way: "Wheaties! Helping you through ‘til lunch April!"

And so, every morning, April sat with her Dad at the kitchen table in silence whilst he scrolled through his phone, trying to delay the inevitable, inexorable, inescapable start to each day. April’s Dad always ate his Wheaties the same way he lived his life, without complaint. This was April’s understanding of the world before she lost herself, lost herself in everchanging worlds that were never routine, worlds made of words. April would open her book (usually a new one each morning or at least every other morning) and eat her bowl of slightly soggy cardboard. She had come to realize that it was the only way she could make it through the inevitable, inexorable, inescapable Wheaties.

Her Dad would occasionally look up from his phone to ask, “And where are we this morning?” to which April would quickly try and describe what was happening in her book. She would always try and keep her summaries short and brief so as not to bore him, but he would always smile through the answer and reply, “Can’t wait to read yours one day”. It was one of those rare mundane moments in life that April would cherish in future years. But for now, April would smile as she knew she would never write. She longed for it. But could not dispute that she just couldn’t do it.

April was completely unaware however, that today’s bowl of wood-shavings would be one she would remember forever. That it was the only morning in the last 7 years that she would remember vividly what she, her Dad and her Mom wore. How they moved, every word that was said and even the smell of the kitchen this particular morning. After all, it was the morning of the day that changed her life.

But for now, it was just an ordinary morning, of an extraordinary day.

Like any ordinary weekday breakfast, it was swiftly followed by putting the bowl in the dish washer and the mandatory rearranging of said dish washer by the father figure of the house: Mom; before walking to school. During her walk April re-read one of her favorite books by her favorite author; ‘Fortune’ by Jacqueline Asquire. It was a story about a young girl who discovered a ‘Scarab Notebook’; small black notebooks that could magically make anyone a best-selling author. It was the fantasy that April longed for because in that world, she could be an author.

April didn’t look up until she was at the gates of school. A small group of students had gathered around a poster that had been fixed to the gate. She curiously made her way through the gaggle of gossiping girls until she could read what it said;

Meet Jacqueline Asquire!

Book Signing for New Sequel: “Future”!

4pm Tuesday!

Waterstones!

April looked at the poster, then at the book in her hands. It was as though someone had placed her right here. Right now. It was magic.

The rest of the school day was a blur. She went back to check the poster between classes. Reciting the words over and over in disbelief. 4pm. Tuesday. Waterstones... 4pm. April spent all day daydreaming about meeting Jacqueline Asquire later. She imagined scenarios of Jacqueline Asquire laughing at a funny joke, giving April a compliment, even as far as hugging her tight and saying, ‘You and I are cut from the same cloth’. Some students had Tom Brady, Will Smith or Beyonce, but April had Jaqueline. She was her Beyonce.

April barely heard the school bell echoing behind her as she sprinted for the Waterstones at 3pm. When she arrived, there was already a queue out the door. April joined the queue as quickly as a wave of panic joined her. It was going to happen; it wasn’t a daydream anymore. Eventually she was stood at the store entrance. The hot AC blew down on her as if baptizing her to her own foundering. April looked at the tattered book in her hands and realized just HOW many times she had daydreamed about this moment.

“Do you want to come forward? It’s your turn miss” April looked up to see a kind-eyed store clerk. “Oh April!… are you ok love?”

“Thank you I’m ok thank you!”

April walked up to the table and put her book on it as if it were an anchor, saving her from drifting into space. She watched as two hands, covered in assorted rings came into view and gently touched hers.

“Are you ok hun?” A gentle voice queried “Oh, I can tell you liked my book!”

April stared at her hands and whispered, “It means everything to me. I wish I had a scarab notebook too.”

“All readers are writers hun. And to judge your book by its cover, you must be a great writer!”

“I’m no writer Miss Asquire, I’m just a reader. I couldn’t do what you do I’m just not good, I mean… I’m just not, you know...”

It was now that April realized she was shaking as she gripped the book.

“Linda, just how often is April here?” Jacqueline playfully asked the kind-eyed store clerk.

“If this were a casino, I’d have her admitted to rehab!” the kind-eyed store clerk retorted with equal comicality.

“Then I think she can be trusted,” Jacqueline reached into her bag and pulled out a small, black notebook which she cautiously slid to April. “April… Scarab Notebooks. They’re real.”

April stared at the notebook as though it contained the central essence of all life on earth. As though if this notebook were dropped the earth would be dragged into free fall with it.

“Wait… sorry. What?”

“They. Are. Real.”

April looked at Jacqueline for the first time, but Jacqueline stared intensely at the notebook. Her demeanor had been so happy and carefree when they had started talking that April was taken aback by how quickly their conversation had turned.

“Are… you sure…?” April asked, questioning the words even as they left her mouth, on one hand she couldn’t believe she was entertaining the possibility of this being true and on the other she couldn’t believe she would question anything Jacqueline would ever tell her.

“I want you to take it. But April it is of grave importance you keep this secret. I don’t know how it works, but when I first received this notebook I sat down and wrote for an entire day, and at the end, I had written that,” Jacqueline nodded towards the dog eared ‘Fortune’ book that lay, signed and sagging on the table. “You think J.K. Rowling woke up one day and wrote all 7 books of Harry Potter without help?”

Looking back on this moment April realized she never thanked Jacqueline. But the presence of the Scarab Notebook and truth of their existence rendered her silent. Silent and completely still.

April couldn’t gather her thoughts to fathom any understanding of what she was being told. She had never believed herself to be a writer, she never imagined she could possess the skill to capture a stranger’s attention with her imagination and narrative. She had reserved herself to the fact that the world was divided into two groups: writers and readers. But could it be? Could some readers cross the uncrossable tether from reader to writer with this small black ticket past the guarded gates of mediocracy, and into admiration and authorship?

“Don’t touch it yet. Cover it with your sweater and run home.”



April sprinted all the way to her room. The weight of the small black notebook in her bag was almost unbearable. She couldn’t believe the power she now possessed. She had so many ideas and didn’t even know where to start. This was her window. The window to her future.

She violently pushed everything off her desk onto the floor and reached into her bag to pull out her folded-up sweater, which she placed on the table and unfolded.

Very.

Gently.

Each unfolding move of the crumpled sweater felt ceremonial, piece by piece unraveling the notebook as though it was a sacred artifact. April then realized, essentially it was. She stared at the notebook sat perfectly in the center of her sweater. Could this be real? Jacqueline was clearly the authority on the matter and her first novel became a best seller, without ever having written before. Humans didn’t know everything yet and scientists haven’t been given a chance to study this notebook. Besides, science is just what humans used to explain what we previously thought as magic. The sun rises and sets as the earth turns on its axis and the northern lights dance in the sky when protons and electrons from a solar wind connect. Humans used to believe this was magic or the work of Gods. Now science can explain these actions, but does that make them any less magical? Just because we understand how these phenomenon’s work, does that make it any less miraculous? But we don’t know everything. The more April thought about it, the more it made sense.

But it wasn’t until April put her hand on the cover of the notebook, that she truly believed. It wasn’t in what she felt, it was what she didn’t feel. There was no anxiety about her ideas. No disbelief in her abilities. No fraudulent feelings or panicked procrastination. Her mind was finally quiet, not stressed about what to write, how it would end or comparing her ideas to others before even beginning.

For the first time in her life she was just here.

She was in her room.

With a hand on her future.

However, when she opened the notebook, she was shocked to find a note waiting for her:

CONGRATULATIONS!

You are one of the few winners of Jacqueline Asquire’s Secret Scarab Notebooks! To celebrate the launch of her new sequel ‘Future’ Jacqueline Asquire is giving $20,000 to students (EACH!)

If you have received this notebook then YOU ARE ONE OF OUR LUCKY WINNERS!

Jacqueline Asquire and all of us here at JacquelineAsquire.com hope you use the money to continue your studies and invest in your ‘FUTURE’.

Please contact us on [email protected] with a picture of you holding this notebook to receive your winnings.

April slumped in her chair, stared in disbelief at the notebook, placed in the ceremonial sweater on her desk and boomed with laughter.

She laughed at the ridiculousness of her afternoon. She laughed at everything she had said, done and thought in past hour. At how quickly she believed! At how serious Jacqueline had been! At the $20,000 she had now won!

But mostly, she laughed at herself. The pressure she had applied to herself for so long. The disbelief. The anxiety. The living life on autopilot to avoid being hurt by something that hadn’t even happened yet. Writing involved a pen, paper and ideas. That’s the beauty of it. That’s the magic of stories. How had she lost that? She laughed so hard for so long that her Dad burst into the room desperate to know what was happening.

“Holy moly April that must be some book there. Where are we today huh?”

April bounded towards her Dad’s beaming smile and wrapped her arms around him.

“I’m right here,” she whispered.