After a fifteen-month hiatus, Jellybean is back! Click the pic for the Legofied comedy goodness!
And if you're new to the story or just need a refresher course, here are the first three chapters:
1
2
3
Enjoy!
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lego,
stories
There once was a man with some cash
who'd collected a rather large stash.
He'd smell it each day
'fore he put it away
and he felt that it gave him much class.
Do you smell the
Odorous scent
Left over from
Legions of
Anxious American palms,
Reeking with
Sweat?
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Labels:
poetry
As we all know, homecoming is tonight/tomorrow. So if you have any funny/cute/awesome stories from the football game or from the day activities or dance, this is where you'll post them (in the comments). We'll keep this up for a while, no worries.
Gallery!
P.S.: Everyone check out Jaron's Tribute, below. It's amazing. ly bad. But brilliant.
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pictures
In desperation to bring some sign of life to the Alliance, I shall demonstrate some more cross posting action and present a video I made with a friend some time ago. I promise that we were not smoking anything when we made this, nor did any sip of alcohol ever pass our lips. We were up past one, though. . . .
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video
To commemorate the release of Dashboard Confessional's new album, I decided to completely mangle two of his songs! Hooray!
[Listen to Tortise Chaser]
[Listen to Screaming Unintelligibles]
PS: Dashboard love.
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Labels:
music
Got something to say about the book? Discuss it in the comments!
The book is to be finished by October 1st!
If you start reading today, you should read about 137 pages a day to get it done. (ouch.)
Get reading!
I promise, one of these days I will post a piece of writing that isn't induced by sleep and/or carelessly put together. But in the meantime, I couldn't resist cross posting (again) a Taylorsville-related dream from my nighttime adventure blog. This time the Allies kick some zombie trash Harry Potter style.
I'll spare you the whole post, but here's the relevant part to you guys. ;-)
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miscellaneous writing
If you could illustrate your life through music, what would it sound like? Here's the background music we've gathered so far that Warriors have called their own:
Jaron - Soundtrack Of My Life - September 07
Join in the fun! Read all about it here, and let us know what you come up with!
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community,
music
9/17/07-9/23/07
I'm coming out of my cage, and I've been doing just fine. Gotta gotta be down, because I want it all.
*Hey, I want to try a new format for W3. So, therefore-verily, mine's at the bottom* *Jaron as well, trying 'em both out today.*
Mood of the week:
T:
J: Worn out.
Ni:
Na: Just plain happy
Song of the week:
T:
J: "At This Particular Moment in Time" - PlayRadioPlay!
Ni:
Na: "Only Hope" - Switchfoot, but sung by Mandy Moore. ;-)
In one word:
T:
J: Busy
Ni:
Na: Packed
Quote of the week:
T:
J: "Love is patient and kind. It is never jealous."
Ni:
Na: "The simple act of paying attention can take you a long way." - Keanu Reeves
Most memorable event of the week:
T:
J: That horrifying Jostens assembly.
Ni:
Na: Layoffs.
Most anticipated event for next week:
T:
J: Getting through Crime and Punishment.
Ni:
Na: MTC party for Benjamin! ^_^
Least favorite part of the week:
T:
J: Again, feeling like the world is turning upside down.
Ni:
Na: Needing a tow home from school. Not pleasant.
Purchase of the week:
T:
J: PlayRadioPlay! - The Frequency EP
Ni:
Na: Subway. Fresh and delicious.
Random statistics:
T:
J:
Pages to go on C+P: 376
Days left to do it: 7
Pages per day: 53 (curseword.)
Days until "The Shade of Poison Trees": 9!
Ni:
Na:
Companies seen destroyed: 1
Battery cables ruined: 3
Speeches given: 1
Classes dropped: 1
Advice of the week:
T:
J: Anyone can be creative if they want to be. Don't smother your creative voice - express it. And... then post things here! Remember, you can send things to us if you want them posted here.
Ni:
Na: Make time for yourself every day. Half-hour, hour, whatever. Just do it every day and do what you want to do.
----> Thatcher's W3 <------- Yep, I put it at the bottom. I thought maybe instead of doing a brief and periodic switching between the four (Cough*usuallytwo*cough) of us, we could do four solid chunks. Here is my solid chunk.
Mood of the week: Half-way-there
I totally survived this week, but that was mostly it. It was a good week, but that was all. I've got two major tasks that I'm supposed to be doing every day. The first is reading C+P, the next is practicing for all-state. This week I really only got to the essentials. I'd get my pressing, "this is due tomorrow", homework finished, but I'd never get down to the daily stuff that wasn't quite so threatening. It's kinda like making the minimum payment on the credit card bill. You know it's stacking up, and pretty soon judgment is going to come along.
Judgment, meet next week. Next week, meet judgment. I get the feeling you two will be awesome friends.
Still a good week, it just seems like I've left me a little bit of a mess. Bring it on, I was born for this.
Song of the Week: "Motorcycle Driveby" - Third Eye Blind
It's quiet, and that's what I wanted to hear this week. I don't really know the worlds, except at one point it says "New York City's evil", and maybe "I've never felt so alive", but that might be another song. (P.S, what's the proper grammar for quotations and commas? I think I keep getting it wrong.)
Back on track, my mood is most often looking for softer stuff. I don't crave a beat like I used to. Now, I never craved a beat, but sometimes it was nice. I'd say nine out of ten times, I want soft. This is a cool softer song. Sign me up for it.
Most Anticipated Event for Next Week: Heroes, Monday, 8 PM, NBC
/Makes Heroes noise.
Stats:
Days on the bike to school: two? One?
There was definitely not enough biking to school involved this week. If I'm gonna get through the mess I left, I'm gonna have to get out the pedals for this next week.
Avg Bloodsugar: 175
Probably the highest my average has ever been, aside from two weeks ago. Still not that bad, but not where I'd like it. I need to get back into a better groove. I'm getting a much better feel on everything though, so it's going to come down pretty easily. Yay for more Lantus.
Advice:
Friends are good for stuff, appreciating them is nice. Remember things that are important, and don't accentuate the things that aren't. Enjoy life and ride your bike.
--->Jaron Wraps It Up<--- Mood of the Week: Worn out. This week's been packed. So much homework, so little time, and I didn't even work at all. Makes me wonder how other kids can get by with school and a real part-time job. I guess what ol' Raskolnikov says is true: "What a well they've dug for themselves! And they got accustomed to it. Wept a bit and got accustomed. Man gets accustomed to everything, the scoundrel!" But, despite this, I've been very happy. I wouldn't live my life in any other way, except I wish I was being a bit more productive on the creative side of things. But that's another story...
Song of the Week: "At This Particular Moment in Time" - PlayRadioPlay! Dan wrote this song about his girlfriend Madi, who was two years older than him and had a problem with it, but I've found my own meaning in it. To me, it sounds like a young musician talking to the public: "I can see why you'd pick them over me, they all got big trucks, big subs, and I'm not eighteen." But he also tells them, "you'll think, 'that guy is cream of the crop,' and when you think about me, your heart will stop." He'll be big someday, and just cuz he's not eighteen yet doesn't mean he can't break it down with the best of them. You'll see, you'll all see. Seriously, everybody. Check out PlayRadioPlay! It's so much fun, and you'll fall in love with this kid.
Thought of the Week: It's the old nature-nurture issue. Does talent come from your genes, or is it all skill you acquire through practice? Is it a mix? They say they've proven that musical skill transfers from the parent to the child. Your parents are piano wizzes and can sing like angels? They say you can do it too. Or is it environmental? Chances are, your parents are gonna be singing and playing music while you're little, and you'll get into it too. Start young, of course you're gonna be amazing by seventeen. But what happens when your parents don't want anything to do with music, and you didn't grow up with it? Are you doomed? No matter how you practice, no matter how you try, will you never be able to sing with the best of them, never be able to write a hit song? It doesn't seem fair. But is life fair? We all know that it's not. The question is, is it a pointless endeavor if I keep trying to develop my musical abilities if they'll just never develop enough to produce anything worthwhile? I checked out this book called "How to Grow as a Musician" that was supposed to teach me what I needed to know about becoming a serious musician, but all it was was a collection of interviews from the best of the best, and every single one of them talked about how as long as they could remember, they were doing music. Their parents did music, their brothers and sisters did music, their dog did music. I put the book down and didn't read another word. I felt like my dream had just been crushed. No one can become great unless they were raised that way from birth, and I'm seventeen years too late for that. But my spirit is too strong to just quit, and since then, I've questioned it. Chris Carrabba had nothing to do with the guitar until after he graduated from high school, and look where he's at now. Does that mean there's hope for me too? And although it seems like the window for musicians is 15-25 and I'm worried about completely missing it, does that mean that I can't still pick it up later in life? I just don't know. I don't know anything. Paramore tells me that I'm born for this. But Bright Eyes knows it's a waste of paint, of tape, of time. It's my dream to create music. They say that dreams can always be realized if you work at them, but if it's my dream to learn how to fly without wings or a plane, I'm chasing thin air, and I would rather spend my time working toward an actual goal. Who has the answers?
Feelings on Crime and Punishment: I like the book, I really do. That may be largely due to the translation I have. The "new, exciting translation." And the fact that I'm making notes. I never thought that making notes in the book would do what it has done. I understand the book so much better now. I'd be so lost without them. I'm taking stuff from the text every time I make one. It's awesome. The story is clear and I understand it, and I actually like reading it. Will Raskolnikov really go confess himself to the police? Will he really try to "end it all?" And how much does Razumifin (or whatever - I always read it as "razz muffin") really know? It's pretty tense.
--->And now Nathan jumps in!<---
Next week! I absolutely love this solid chunk idea, but I have not the time or energy currently to create one for myself this week. But next time we will all have chunks, and it will be beautiful. Or I'll just edit this little blurb this week when I find the time. In any case, next week will be glorious.
I expect Homecoming reports from all of you!
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So here's an idea that randomly floated my way tonight. Someone else might have had it before (I know Thatcher had that dance mix thing a while back), but in any case I'm putting it out on the table.
Basically, take existing songs and make a soundtrack of your life as if it were a movie. It could be as long or as short as you want it to be; heck, wanna do something epic that takes four discs? Go nuts!
I'm gonna try this; it's a good way to kill time when I have enough time to kill, but not enough to do anything else productive. First step I guess is to find a theme . . . or at least an opening-credits thing.
No time limit, no pressure, lots of chance for fun and something to do with free time. Post it on your blog when you finish, and I'll make a list here, or something. It'll be interesting to see what people come up with; are you up to it, Taylorsville?
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Labels:
community,
ideas
I'm sorry. I haven't been contributing as much to the Alliance as I should. But it ends now.
This is my personal "Ars Poetica." I wrote it for AP English, but I aim to make it the very best I possibly can. I want it to be something I'm proud of. So, it's a work in progress.
But here's the third draft:
*
A pale ghost of a geisha
paces, walks places
crowded with merchants and dealsmen,
and imagines assimilation.
Her songs can be listened to
but never heard.
She sings and searches for a sound
but there is no pitch to express experience,
and, even so,
she pursues yet the key of frustration,
and it releases in her insect voice,
strange and strained and foreign-tongued
as she walks night by night, invisible, impalpable,
and trills for deaf ears.
She sings of love,
she sings of beauty,
she sings of destitution,
she sings of euphoria,
she sings of lust,
she sings of greed,
she sings of regret,
while the living flourish
and the dying perish by the same.
The geisha's ghost
whose heart bleeds and bursts within her,
chokes on the overswelling hemorrhage
too large to contain,
but too small to count.
2
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Labels:
poetry
9/3/07-9/9/07
It's 11:00 on a Sunday, and Taylorsville's been pretty quiet. But I heard about the seminary thing yesterday--cool beans. 8-)
Mood of the week:
T:
J: Flipped. : S
Ni:
Na: Anticipation
Song of the week:
T:
J: "Oubliette (Disappear)" - The Receiving End of Sirens
Ni:
Na: "Put Your Shoulder to the Wheel" - Will L. Thompson
In one word:
T:
J: Balance
Ni:
Na: Transitional
Quote of the week:
T:
J: "I've cared so much for proving that I've lost all love for proof." - "Saturnus" - The Receiving End of Sirens
Ni:
Na: "I hate small towns because once you've seen the cannon in the park there's nothing else to do." - Lenny Bruce
Most memorable event of the week:
T:
J: I've had some good days lately.
Ni:
Na: Discovering my clone. Well, he's a few years older and married. But that just means I have hope, shouldn't it?
Most anticipated event for next week:
T:
J: The little things.
Ni:
Na: Hanging out at the Daniels' cabin.
Least favorite part of the week:
T:
J: Being overcome with doubt - that feeling that everything you thought you knew was all a lie.
Ni:
Na: The drive home from work on Tuesday. Freaky stuff.
Purchase of the week:
T:
J: A car wash! My car looks so much nicer when it's clean.
Ni:
Na: Laser Quest admission! Woo! 8-D
Random statistics:
T:
J:
Wrap-ups missed: Too many.
Pages to go in Crime and Punishment: 481
Future hours spent reading Crime and Punishment: 100
Ni:
Na:
Forum policies changed: 1
Laser tag score: a pitiful 270
Advice of the week:
T:
J: Fill out those weekly wrapups! ;)
Ni:
Na: Sacrifice can be a good thing. If something's not working for you, consider getting rid of it if you can.
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8/27/07-9/2/07
Look at me! I'll bet you thought I was dead!
Nope.
Mood of the week:
T:
J: Still doing good.
Ni:
Na: Courageous
Song of the week:
T:
J: "The Distance" - Cake
Ni:
Na: "To Zanarkand" - Nobuo Uematsu
In one word:
T:
J: School
Ni:
Na: Pivotal
Quote of the week:
T:
J: "I can never ever think of anything to put here!" - Me.
Ni:
Na: "Never knock on Death's door: ring the bell and run away! Death really hates that!" - Matt Frewer
Most memorable event of the week:
T:
J: Um... Friday.
Ni:
Na: Definitely Ensign Peak with Stephanie. Very good. :-D
Most anticipated event for next week:
T:
J: More school! Yeah!
Ni:
Na: Okay, so it's today, but Labor Day all the way! :-D
Least favorite part of the week:
T:
J: Friday morning.
Ni:
Na: Sitting like a scared puppy outside my bishop's office. So not fun.
Purchase of the week:
T:
J: Buncha books for English class.
Ni:
Na: Samurai Jack Season Four. I've got the whole series, kids. 8-)
Random statistics:
T:
J:
Classes Liked: 6+
Ni:
Na:
Impulse buys: 3
Classes slept in: 1
Gas burned: about half a tank
Hours spent on the phone: at least 2
Greatest amount of time late to work: 1 hour and 15 minutes
Advice of the week:
T:
J: Don't sweat the small stuff. That's what will kill you.
Ni:
Na: Use your free time for good. Rather than sitting online for a couple hours, read a book. Engage in a hobby you enjoy. Take a walk. Even just spending half an hour or so in quiet thought will rejuvenate your mind and body in a way that Messenger can't.
Happy Labor Day, Taylorsville. Blog about how it goes!
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www
Here's something I drew a while back. It was a popped collar practice.
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art
08/19/07 -- 08/26/07
Because Jaron doesn't seem to know yet: The weekly wrap-ups will be on Sundays, for ever and ever through all of time. We call it the Weekly Wednesday Wrap-up because it's got a cool acronym, and because we're cavaliers, mavericks who don't care what people think. Take that, society.
It's true, they'll be on Sunday evenings. Unless we do them another evening.
Then you just won't know what hit you.
Mood of the Week:
C: Bring it on, Ghengis Khan.
J:
Na:
Ni: Exhausted
Song of the Week:
C: "It is you (I have loved)" -- Dana Glover
J:
Na:
Ni: "Romulus" -- Sufjan Stevens
In one word:
C: Already!
J:
Na:
Ni: Dreary
Quote of the Week:
C: "You will be the proud third generation" -- Landon, to me
J:
Na:
Ni: "I'm flying high, I'm defying gravity..." --Elphaba, Wicked
Most memorable event of the Week:
C: Mad party on Thursday. Yay for good people.
J:
Na:
Ni: Tie between: seeing Wicked live in LA, meeting Yehuda Gilad, and touring USC.
Most anticipated event for next Week:
C: School, ownage.
J:
Na:
Ni: It's tomorrow, but school and all the joyous things it brings.
Least favorite part of the Week:
C: Working like mad on Friday
J:
Na:
Ni: Two ten-hour drives within five days of each other. Shoot me now.
Purchase of the Week:
C: Six dollar donation for mad party. That was a good mad party.
J:
Na:
Ni: Something like 9 CDs (a lot of them on clearance) from Amoeba Music, largest record store in the world. They weren't kidding, either.
Random Statistics:
C: Hair cuts needed: one
Hair cuts got: None
J:
Na:
Ni: CDs purchased from Amoeba Music: Too many
Roller-coasters ridden: one (I'm a pansy, but so is my dad)
Times I've been scared witless: two
Advice of the Week:
C: Be friendly and smile at people. Of course, easier said than done. But get to a point where you can smile, then share it. It does the world good.
J:
Na:
Ni: Acknowledge your talents, don't deny them. I know I'm guilty of violating that more than most people I know, but it's still good advice, and advice I need to work on following.
Hooray, yet another irregular post. This week, it's on a Sunday!
08-12-07 -- 08-19-07
Mood of the Week:
T:
J: Schoolanticipationhooray
Na:
Ni:
Song of the Week:
T:
J: "Brand New Colony" by the Postal Service.
Na:
Ni:
In one word:
T:
J: Ready?
Na:
Ni:
Quote of the Week:
T:
J: "I'll be the platform shoes, undo what heredity's done to you, you won't have to strain to look into my eyes..." - Postal Service
Na:
Ni:
Most memorable event of the Week:
T:
J: Hmm.
Na:
Ni:
Most anticipated event for next Week:
T:
J: School! Hello? Actually that's not this coming week, but...
Na:
Ni:
Purchase of the Week:
T:
J: the Ben Folds CD :)
Na:
Ni:
Random Statistics:
T:
J:
Days until school starts: 7!
How excited Jaron is: yes.
Na:
Ni:
Advice of the Week:
T:
J: School. Let's make it the best year ever!
Na:
Ni:
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True confessions: I still have no idea how this thing is actually scheduled, like what days we're supposed to post them and stuff. But hey, it's been about a week. So here!
08-05-07 -- 08-11-07
Mood of the Week:
T:
J: Loverly :D
Na: Bold
Ni: ... Don't ask.
Song of the Week:
T:
J: Hmm. "Bubbly" by Colbie Caillat.
Na: "Hide and Seek" - Imogen Heap
Ni: "Little Girls" - Oingo Boingo. I like Danny Elfman a lot, and I like it because it's a good song, not because I'm a pedophile.
In one word:
T:
J: Punch. ; )
Na: Alignment
Ni: ...Sleep.
Quote of the Week:
T:
J: "Reason number two: look what I can do." - Kronk's shoulder devil in The Emperor's New Groove :D
Na: "Every cloud has its silver lining but it is sometimes a little difficult to get it to the mint." - Don Marquis
Ni:
Most memorable event of the Week:
T:
J: There were so many. Lagoon was a ton of fun. Haha, no, I got it: the Rocket. That was memorable, for sure. Hehe.
Na: Ooh, how can I choose?! It's definitely a tie between the whole Dollar Financial adventure and the Frost family reunion (hey, I should have invited you, Jaron! ;-D). Exciting stuff. 8-)
Ni: Nothing memorable has happened for me for a while now...
Most anticipated event for next Week:
T:
J: Gonna keep recording songs. Goal: 2 more?
Na: Youth conference, all the way. A couple days off from work, some time with my awesome ward, and all worries left at home. What more could I want? :-D
Ni: Racquetball tournament? Not really. ... Reading and sleeping. Yes. Those two.
Purchase of the Week:
T:
J: Listening to the radio makes me want to buy singles... I just bought like twenty.
Na: A large garlic cheese and bacon pizza. It was the envy of the break room all week.
Ni: Arctic Circle. Most money I've spent in a long time.
Random Statistics:
T:
J:
Songs recorded so far: 2
Total songs that are gonna be on the EP: 5 or 6
Cost of EP: $5
Will it be worth that much?: I'll try.
Should you buy it anyway?: yes. :D
When will it be available?: I'm aiming for about the first month of school.
Na:
Hours worked: 40.5
Uncashed checks remaining in my possession: 3
Lunches not packed from home: 1 (a new record!)
Days late to work: 0 (another new record!)
Strangest item received in the mail: my new license plates. You'll see. 8-)
Strangest item kept in car: a change of nice clothes packed hobo style
Ni: Number of times I've slept: 814
Pages read in American Gods: 269
Number of days I've felt like not contributing to the Alliance: Priceless. Oh, dang, I did it again.
Advice of the Week:
T:
J: Hating summer? Make a point to do at least one productive thing every day, so when you fall asleep at night you don't feel like you wasted your time. It helps so much. Ideas: write a short story, write a song, write a poem, clean your room, cook a new recipe, spend some time with a friend you miss.
Na: Can I use another Don Marquis quote? Considering that much of our reader base happen to be writers: "If you want to get rich from writing, write the sort of thing that's read by persons who move their lips when they're reading to themselves." In other words, fluency. Harward would be proud.
Ni: I don't have anything helpful to say, sorry.
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miscellaneous writing
A counter-argument, if you will.
5. Guitar Hero is more complex. With DDR, you're using your feet. We already know how to walk, teach us something new! Guitar uses both hands - and they're both doing something different. It teaches great coordination, whereas with DDR, you get only a fraction.
4. Guitar Hero has culture too. There are many different sub-genres represented in Guitar Hero - punk, acoustic, heavy metal, techno. Some are from our generation, others are from the old days. It's not all the same-old, same-old. DDR remains trapped by a heavy four-on-the-floor, standard dance beat. Every song's got it. Lame.
3. Kids without feet can play Guitar Hero. 'nuff said.
2. Guitar Hero can be fun to watch too. Maybe they're not jumping around, but take a look at an expert's fingers. They are moving at a speed unknown to mankind. Now that is exciting. A light DDR player barely moves his or her feet. They take less steps when dancing than when walking.
1. Guitar Hero tests your endurance as well. Okay, so there's a long line forming for Guitar Hero, whilst DDR's songs end at a minute and a half. But where's the endurance? Where's the drama? Where's the struggle for supremacy, with one and a half minutes? With Guitar Hero, you have a chance to fall behind, and make it back to the top, proving that you are, in the end, the very best. With DDR, you barely have a chance. One mistake, and there's no time to make it up. Hardly seems fair.
I'm not saying Guitar Hero is my personal favorite. But it definitely deserves someone sticking up for it. There you have it.
(Author's Note: Ugh. Formatting. What happened to the indentations? I'm not gonna fix this right now... Sorry...)
She got the next bunch of flowers that Friday. Five. I knew because she had them in her hand when she approached me after school.
“Hey! Alex!” she called. I turned and saw her walk-running toward me.
“Ashley!” I said, a bit puzzled. I was surprised to see her there. I had just stayed after to retake an algebra test I failed, and the halls were nearly empty. I had been tightening my scarf to prepare for the frigid outdoor air that awaited me and my long walk home. “What’s up?”
She reached me. “Hey, are you doing anything today? With like Chloe or anybody?”
“Uh… no, it’s just me today,” I told her. I motioned to the door, beyond which a light snow was falling. “I got a two-mile walk in this to look forward to. That’s about it.”
A strange thing was happening. Ashley, whose state had been steadily declining for the past few months, was, all of a sudden, smiling and somewhat bubbly. Like she used to be, before the Ender incident. I could still see something in her eyes that didn’t quite fit, but I could see she was trying hard to get better, and it was actually showing. She wasn’t so pale. She’d put on a little makeup, done her hair. I remembered what she had told me about Jace being a jerk to her, and how Chloe told me that they’d broken up. Maybe that was the reason for the return of her upbeat attitude?
“Really?” she asked. “So do I! My ride left a while ago, right after school got out. I was getting some help with Engish.”
“Yeah, I was taking that awful algebra test,” I explained.
“So… do you mind if I walk with you?”
Be still, my heart.
“Uh… sure, yeah. That’d be great!”
So we pushed through the doors and into the cold. Ashley was wearing a black coat and matching boots, and I just had my usual striped long-sleeve and scarf. I was used to the cold at this point. I looked up at the sky and sprinkling snow. It was one of those peaceful December days, a couple weeks before Christmas, where you can feel the holiday spirit coming on. The air seemed still and quiet. It was actually pretty romantic. I looked over at Ashley, her shoulders hunched up and her breath coming out in puffs. She was adorable when she was happy.
“So,” she said, wasting no time, “I’m sorry about my phone call the other day.”
It took me a moment to remember, but when I did, I said, “Oh, don’t worry about it.” I was curious as to why it had happened, but I didn’t want to ask, in case it was something too personal.
But I didn’t have to. “That was the day I broke up with my boyfriend.”
“Yeah, Jace Valentine, right?”
She nodded. “Yeah.” A shadow played across her face, but she smiled it off. “I guess I just wanted somebody to talk to, you know? And then when you actually picked up, I froze, I didn’t know what to say.”
“Why did you call me?” I asked tenderly.
We crossed the street.
“Well…” she hesitated. “Lately all of my friends have been ignoring me. I don’t really know why. Probably has to do with Jace somehow.” She sighed. “Besides, they’re all those types of girls who care more about appearances and hair and stuff, rather than people. I mean, I’m sure I’m guilty of that too, probably more than most people, but I’m still not proud of it.”
“Yeah,” I said, just to let her know I was listening. Not much else to say.
“But you’re not really like that,” she said, looking at me and smiling. My heartbeat quickened. “Even when I was a wreck, and even though we didn’t really know each other, you stuck by me more than everyone else. I guess I just wanted to say thank you.”
I blushed and watch my feet plow through the snow. “Thanks…”
We walked in silence for a few moments, and then she spoke up again. “You seem like a really, really nice person. It seems weird that we’ve never really talked or anything before this year.”
I smiled back. “You seem cool too, and nice, and… stuff. Yeah.”
She giggled. “I guess it’s kinda hard to get to know people when you don’t really have any classes together, right?”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Makes sense.”
“But hey,” she suggested, touching my arm. I shivered, and not from the cold. “Do you want to come over to my house and watch a movie or something? We have this incredible popcorn, it’s even better than the theatre’s.”
Okay, reality check time. Was this actually happening to me? Here I was, walking home with Ashley, the girl I’d had a crush on since school started in August, and so far she’d thanked me for “being there for her” when really I was just trying to figure myself out, called me “really, really nice,” and now she wanted me to come over? What had I done to deserve all of this?
I grinned, wider than I remember doing for a while. It made me feel a little self-conscious, but I couldn’t help it. “Sure, I’d love to! You mean like, today?”
She shrugged. “Sure, why not? We can even get some homework done or something if you wanted.”
I laughed. “Yeah, but you’re way smarter than me. I’m so far behind you.”
“Well, then maybe I can help you, so you won’t have to retake the next algebra test.” She winked at me.
I kept waiting to wake up, but it never happened.
*
Ashley’s house was huge. I kind of expected that, from the way she dressed. You can just tell these things sometimes. But she was cool about it. After the grand tour, we started making the incredible popcorn in her designer kitchen in her designer popcorn popper. All black and stainless steel, of course. That was when I asked about her family situation.
“I live with my grandma,” she explained. “She’s… about eighty-five, I think. Old. And deaf.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” I asked.
“Well, I have five older brothers, but they’ve all at least ten years older than me and they’ve moved away. Now it’s just me and Grandma.”
“Wow,” I said. “So basically, you have this whole house to yourself?”
She thought about it. “Yeah, basically.” She laughed at the face I made. “It’s not really as great as it sounds. You can have all the nice things in the world but it doesn’t make you happy.”
“Hm,” was all I could think of to say. It was true, after all.
“And my brothers hate coming here, mostly because of Grandma,” she explained, as the popcorn began jumping. “She’s kind of hard to handle, and she was never close with any of us grandkids, even before she practically went deaf.
“This whole place is my dad’s fortune,” she continued, motioning up at the vaulted ceilings. “He was a really talented surgeon, before he and Mom died. The people at the hospital called him the Miracle Man.”
She got a distant, sad look in her eyes again. I knew the conversation was headed onto thin ice. I considered changing the subject, but wondered if it would be rude. She was telling me all of this for a reason, I thought. So gently, I asked, “How did it happen?”
“Car crash,” she said casually. “Nothing too exciting, just some drunk driver one New Years’ Eve. We were coming home from the big celebration and this jerk didn’t stop at a red light. He was going at least forty. It was over pretty quickly.”
“We?” I asked, amazed. “You were in the car too?”
She nodded. “I was eleven. I was hurt pretty badly. It took me a long time to heal. I still get pains and stuff every once in a while. But Mom and Dad… it was instant for them. The worst part is,” she choked back emotion, “the drunks? They lived, every one of them. They didn’t even get put in jail. I don’t know how it happened.”
She was crying now. I stood up and hugged her. It felt natural and good, like two puzzle pieces fitting together, and I knew I was doing the right thing. She grabbed onto me too, and held me tightly, crying into my shoulder. I felt myself tearing up too. I couldn’t think of anything to say that would help. I wasn’t sure if anything would. “I’m sorry” was all I wanted to say, but it didn’t seem like enough. So, I just kept holding her and letting her cry on me.
After a minute, she stepped back, her face now red and wet. “Jace would always tell me to stop crying. He told me I was being weak. I guess I am.”
“No,” I said quietly, lightly touching her arm. “It’s not weak. You’re not weak. The fact that you healed and are still going to school and living a normal life is proof that you’re strong.” Her eyes met mine. They were so bright and beautiful, even tainted by tears. “What’s difficult for some people might not be for others, but if it’s a big deal for you, then it doesn’t matter what other people might say or think. What matters is how you feel about it.”
Her eyes filled again. I worried that I’d said something wrong, and wanted to apologize. She came forward and wrapped her arms around my waist again, sobbing. I softly ran my hand up and down her back. “Thank you so much…” she said, her voice broken and muffled by my shirt.
I smiled quietly and told her, “Any time.” And I meant it.
*
Chloe’s team lost an important match the next Monday. It was a home game, and Ashley and I stayed to watch and cheer her on. Unfortunately, the other team managed to get the upper hand early in the game, and the referees were making bad calls left and right. I wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for the mass of angry fans booing and calling things out to them. Not very nice things. Our Reeds High Raptors lost the game, and now had no chance at the championship.
So I understood why Chloe was looking quite dejected the following day at lunch. She was even eating something normal – three cheese nachos. The cheeses were varieties I had never heard of before, and they smelled repulsive, but it was nachos just the same.
Ashley was sitting with us. She seemed very grateful to be doing so, too. Now, instead of poking her food or ignoring it, she was eating. A lot. More than me. She actually finished my fries when I decided I couldn’t eat any more. She was also talking. She could talk quite a bit once she got going.
And, might I say, the Friday before and now Monday and Tuesday were possibly the best days of my life. Something had changed between Ashley and I that day at her house, something I was definitely happy about. Now she smiled at me all the time, and instead of occasionally waving like she used to, she would stop and talk, tell me about her grandma, or her classes, or anything, really. She never seemed to run out of things to talk about. And for me, that was great. I had little to say, ever. Just listening to her was good enough for me. I felt so lucky.
I was engrossed in a worst-date story involving pine trees when I glanced at Chloe. She was looking down at her nachos, as if she’d suddenly lost her invincible appetite. “What’s wrong, Chloe?” I asked her.
She shrugged, without looking up. “It’s nothing. Not a big deal.”
This was odd. She was never sad. “Those nachos not weird enough today?”
My joke elicited a fraction of a smile, but that was all. “It’s not the nachos.”
Ashley stopped telling her story and joined in on our conversation. “What is it?”
“Is it about the game yesterday?” I asked.
“It’s…”
“Ashley.”
She looked up. A boy, a fresh-looking student body officer whose name I could never remember, had approached our table. In his hand, he held four white flowers. He handed them to her. “I was told to give these to you.”
She took them, looking a bit mystified. “Who are they from?”
He shrugged and held up his hands as if to repel responsibility. “No clue. The office told me to deliver them.”
“And they didn’t say who they were from?” I pressed, just as confused as Ashley. “There wasn’t a card or anything?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Whoever dropped them off just left the flowers and who they were for.”
“Well, thanks anyway,” Ashley said, giving him a quick smile as he left. “This is so creepy,” she said to me. “I don’t want to find out who’s holding the last flower. He’s probably some weird guy.”
We turned back around. The nachos were still there, but Chloe was gone.
*
Every once in a while, you get an idea for a song that just plays out so nicely in your head that you can’t help but sit down and write it out. Sometimes it comes so fast and so strong that it’s almost like you can’t get it down fast enough. I suppose it’s called “inspiration” or something. In any case, I had a strong dosage of it that night and my fingers were cooperating quite nicely. It was a good guitar-playing day. Sitting on my bed with my open notebook sitting next to me, guitar in my lap, pick in my right hand, and pen in my mouth, I strummed through my vocabulary of chords to find the perfect one I was looking for. I had almost found it (it turned out to be Amaj7) when my cell phone rang. Reluctantly, I picked it up off my nightstand. “Hello?”
“I thought I warned you,” a raspy voice crackled over the static. “I told you to stay away from her.” It was all too familiar. “Didn’t you get the note I left you?”
“Ender.” I started to sweat. My eyes were looking at but not seeing my CD player across the room. Every other sense went on hold to heighten my hearing as I tried to grasp his every word.
He laughed, once. It was more of a snort. “Hey, you know who I am! You know, you and I could be friends. We’re both the artsy type. Maybe I could help you design an album cover?”
I wasn’t buying it. “What do you want, Ender?”
“I want you to stay away from Ashley. I think I made that obvious. It wasn’t easy to shoot that idiot boyfriend of hers. Or,” he paused, “ex-boyfriend now, isn’t he?” I could hear him smiling.
The pieces were starting to come together in my head. “Wait, I thought… that was for ‘justice’ or something.”
“That’s right,” he muttered. “It was justice.”
“So why do you care what Ashley and I are doing?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Yeah, I would!” I barked. “Tell me!”
“You’re in no position to be making demands,” Ender hissed. “Just do what I tell you to, or I’ll make good on my promise.”
“You can stick that gun of yours up your…” I couldn’t finish. “How about you do what I say, and leave me and Ashley the heck alone!”
He laughed. “You sound so stupid, Alex.”
“Yeah, well, I bet you feel pretty stupid sitting in jail, don’t you?”
“Who says I’m in jail?”
I didn’t know what to say.
“I’ll be seeing you soon, Alex. Whether we’re friends or enemies at that point is up to you.”
He hung up. I put down the phone.
I fell asleep with the light on that night.
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Dance Dance Revolution's title as the rhythm game of choice of T-Villains was usurped by Guitar Hero a little under two years ago. Everywhere I go it seems that Guitar hero is the undisputed king.
Well, undisputed till this post.
Five reasons DDR is still better than Guitar Hero. Go!
5. DDR gives you genuine exercise, and the American Heart Assocation LOVES that stuff. While DDR inspires fat children across the world to dance the pounds off, Guitar Hero lulls them into a false sense of security. "I can still win at guitar hero, I don't need to be able to lift my arms above my head!" Please.
4. DDR is all about culture; Guitar Hero is one sided. Playing DDR exposes you to a world of annoying Japanese techno songs. Guitar Hero makes no effort at all to branch out. With the Hero, you're stuck in America, average middle class white child.
3. Kids without fingers can play DDR. Kids without fingers can't play guitar hero. Shame on you Guitar Hero.
2. DDR is entertaining to play AND to watch. There's just so much more interaction going on than with Guitar Hero. I mean, you get people playing Guitar Hero that refuse to speak or make any indication of life at all outside of strumming while they play. With DDR at the party, people can't help but make a ninja or a fool out of themselves. Their feet are flying everywhere, it's fun to watch. With Guitar Hero there is nothing to watch. They're just standing there!
1. DDR gets more people having fun faster. A 1v1 match of Guitar Hero can take up to 6 minutes or thereabouts. A DDR match is done in like, two. If it's a party atmosphere, you can get tons more people through the mill having a good time with DDR than with 'Hero. You can have a genuine tournament in 30 minutes. A Guitar Hero tournament takes till next Tuesday. Everybody gets a turn with DDR. Guitar Hero, well, that's reserved for the elite, apparently.
There you have it. I finally said it. Yeah, I like Guitar Hero a lot, but I like DDR more. Frankly, I'm a little upset that America has turned its back on DDR in favor of the 'Hero. I think it's time for a little revolution.
So this is, like, the first time I've ever taken charge on anything around here. I hope you guys don't mind the result of my boredom. ;-)
07-29-07 -- 08-5-07
Mood of the Week:
T: Slightly on the downhill. Still good and all, but you can't live off last week's success.
J: Free at last! *fanfare*
Na: Encouraged
Ni: Sigh
Song of the Week:
T: Nah, I got nothing.
J: "Three Cheers for Five Years" - Mayday Parade
Na: "Way Back Into Love" - It's that song from Music and Lyrics. Not sure who it's actually by, but Haley Bennett and Hugh Grant are performing it.
Ni: "Why Does It Always Rain On Me" - Travis
In one word:
T: Stromboli
J: Books
Na: Escape!
Ni: Boo!
Quote of the Week:
T: "In the process of life, we are not always the already-tempered and helpful hammer which is shaping and pounding another. Sometimes we are merely the anvil." -George McDonald
J: "...but I know one day you and I will be free, to live and die by our own rules..." - Secondhand Serenade
Na: "Nate, you are sadistic." - Anonymous
Ni: "Once again, Nick Morandi shows off his amazing skills." - Rachel
Most memorable event of the Week:
T: Ultimate at Sugarhouse on Saturday morning. I leveled up like nine times.
J: Reading A Walk to Remember
Na: 007 and chick flick night with Stephanie :-D
Ni: Last-minute ultimate on Friday
Most anticipated event for next Week:
T: Tough one. Either Ultimate on Friday, Ultimate on Saturday, or a date. Or Kennecott on Thursday
J: Four days of work = lots of money.
Na: The whole application process at Dollar Financial. Yippee! ^_^
Ni: It's one week closer to the start of school.
Purchase of the Week:
T: Didn't buy anything last week, probably get some cleats this week.
J: My books from Amazon came. :)
Na: Quizno's. 8-)
Ni: I don't have anything to buy.
Random Statistics:
T:
Average bloodsugar: 163 (boo, too high)
Footmiles: 0
Bikemiles: like, two.
J:
Books read: like 6
Average time going to sleep: midnight (it keeps getting later...)
How easy these statistics are for Jaron to come up with: not.
Na:
Books finished: 1
Days off: 1
Dreams recalled: 5
Chess games won: 2
(For good measure ;-)) Chess games lost: 0
Ni:
Books read: 2 or 3, maybe.
Days off: not enough
Times I watched The Arcade Fire's Wake Up on Youtube: Priceless. Oh, wait.
Advice of the Week:
T: I had a pretty good week two weeks ago, but this last one didn't accomplish quite as much. It was still good and all, but I think I sorta let my guard down because the week before it had been so cool. So, essentially, everyday is a good opportunity for you to do something, and if you take that opportunity you're gonna be happy. Don't miss an opportunity just because you did well on yesterday's opportunity.
J: If you've always wanted to create something, just go do it. Put down whatever you're doing right now - yes, I'm talking to you. Stop wasting time and get it done. Don't wait for inspiration. It's nothing but a convenience - you don't have to be inspired to do amazing work. All you have to do is fight the laziness and procrastination we all have to face. Everybody's got talent, by the bucketful. The difference between those who make it and those who don't is determination, motivation, and the fact that they sat down and started working. Don't waste any more time. ALSO - Take some time to really look through the non-fiction section of the library. There are so many intriguing books out there that can teach you anything you can ever imagine learning, and then some.
Na: Take some time to look at the sky. No matter what it looks like, healing qualities abound in the stillness. Stars are an added bonus, especially if you drive out of town to see them.
Ni: Don't. Just don't. Trust me, it's good advice. Take it.
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There was a knock at Jace Valentine’s bedroom door. “Come in,” Jace called from his cross-legged position on the floor in front of the Xbox. The door slipped open and Ashley Simmons took a step inside. Jace paused the game. “Ashley! What are you doing here?”
“I came to see how you were doing,” she said honestly, “but it looks like you’re just fine.” She eyed his arm, still in the cast but obviously healed and moving with ease.
He looked at it too, and struggled for words. Uniformed football stars stared down at him from the walls. “Uh… yeah, the doctors said I healed really fast. It wasn’t nearly as bad as everyone thought it was.”
“So you can come back to school?”
He hesitated. “Well, it’s still not strong enough for football.”
She made a face. “So football is the only reason for you to go to school?”
He didn’t see the issue. “Yeah…”
She sighed and flopped down on the bed. Jace sat beside her. An image of a car exploding was frozen on the television screen. “Jace, what do you plan on doing after we graduate?”
“Well,” he began, “I was planning on getting a football scholarship somewhere, before that piece of junk Ender ruined the season for me.”
“And now?”
“I’m hoping I can do well enough next year that they’ll overlook this season.”
“What if they don’t? What if you can’t get a sports scholarship? Then what?”
He scoffed. “Hey, don’t worry about that. Why are you asking about it anyway?” He stretched his arm around her shoulders. His fingers curled around her shoulder and pulled her closer. She twisted away, arms folded across her chest. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Jace asked, looking offended.
“Jace, what are we doing?” Despite Jace’s lack of sense, her tone got the message across. His face drooped as she continued. “All you care about is football.”
“That’s not true,” he defended. “I care about you, baby…”
“Then why don’t you come to school?!” The words burst from her mouth a little more forcefully than she intended. “I never see you anymore. Have you just been sitting here playing video games since the accident?”
“No, I’ve been… resting, too…” he muttered.
“You couldn’t even let me know you were better?”
“Well…”
“You might have been hurt but it only takes one hand to talk on the phone or knock on my door.”
“Ashley…” He stood up, obviously exasperated. “I don’t need this right now, okay? I’m just trying to take it easy and get better so I can go back and save the team from taking last place. If you didn’t come over here to be my girlfriend, then don’t be here.”
Ashley gasped. She stood to glare into his eyes, although she was a good six inches shorter than him. “You can’t be serious! ‘To be your girlfriend’? What am I, your property or something?”
Jace forced a laugh. “Of course not! Stop being ridiculous, Ashley.”
“Me stop being ridiculous?” she flared. “Do you even hear the words coming out of your mouth? What is your problem?”
“I don’t have a problem!” Jace retorted. “It’s you who always makes a big deal out of everything! Why’s everything always have to be so important?!”
Ashley took a long breath and sat down on the bed. It squeaked beneath her. “Can I ask you something?”
“If you must.”
Her eyes, wide and brown and glittering with emotion, met his, still hard and defensive. “Why are we together?”
Jace took a long time to reply. His expression didn’t change much, but his voice was softer when he finally spoke, “Why wouldn’t we be?”
She looked into her lap and exhaled slowly. When she looked back up, she had determination set in her eyebrows and jaw. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Jace. There’s no reason for any of it. It’s pointless. We’re over. Okay?”
For what seemed like minutes, Jace stood, a vacant expression on his flat face. Ashley wondered if he’d heard her in the first place, or perhaps if he had suddenly lost his ability to comprehend the English language. She figured it would happen one day. But then he hissed, “No.”
“Excuse me?” She stood.
He looked at her now, fire in his eyes. “You can’t leave me. I won’t let you.”
The absurdity of the situation brought a chuckle to her lips. “How exactly does that work? I can leave you anytime I want to. And I just did.”
With one sweeping forward motion, Jace tore off his sling, grabbed her wrists, lifted them above her head, and pressed her back against the wall, hard. A picture frame fell from its place and cracked on the floor. Ashley yelped. She wanted someone downstairs to hear her, but she knew Jace’s mom, the only one home, was hard-of-hearing and watching television in the front room with the volume at nearly maximum. She tried to squirm away, but he had a strong grip. His face was only inches from hers.
“Jace!” she screamed. “Let me go! Right now!”
He leaned in. She felt his thick, dry lips on hers. Once she had loved his kiss, but now, it repulsed her, and she tightened up, squeezed herself against the wall as hard as she could to get away from him. Her mouth was shut tightly, and although he tried to open it, she refused. After a moment, he leaned back and fumed.
Ashley glared into his eyes, jumping from one to the other. “It’s over, Jace.”
Enraged, he threw her to the side. She hit the floor, knocking her head against the frame of his bed. She saw stars, and felt a sharp pain in her left arm. As she waited for her vision to clear, Jace picked her up again with ease and threw her onto the bed. “It’s not over until I say it is!” he roared. “You will be my girlfriend for as long as I want you to, understand?!”
She could again see his veins bursting and his red face, and she looked at her arm. Blood was oozing from a deep cut. A steak knife, tipped in crimson, previously on the floor and resting on a forgotten plate, now lay on the bed next to her. Looking at it made the agonizing sensation ripple through her arm and chest and head, almost made her lose sight again. She stifled a scream.
The anger had left Jace. Now he stood, like a werewolf that had changed back just a moment too late. He saw what he’d done. “Baby…” he cooed. “Ashley… Oh my… No… Ashley, I… Not again…” He came forward, sat on the bed gently, and tried to get close to her. Ashley scrambled to back away into the corner, eyes open wide and face pale. “I didn’t… mean to… It won’t happen any more, I…”
“That's right. This is the last time.” Pressing hard on her wound to stop the blood, Ashley crawled away from him, always with her eyes glued to him and ready to jump at any movement. She stood from the bed, backed toward the door, opened it, and backed out of the room, and out of Jace Valentine’s life forever.
Jace returned to his Xbox.
Ashley wore long sleeves for the rest of the month.
My phone rang. It startled me – I was trying to concentrate on my algebra homework, which I didn’t get in the least. I had even turned off my music to think, which was why the shrill ring tone was so loud and unexpected. After taking a deep breath and calming myself down, I carefully stepped over piles to get to the phone, and I picked it up on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Alex?”
It was Ashley again. I froze. I thought of Ender, wondered if he was somehow watching me, or listening in on the phone. I almost just hung up right then. But I could tell something was wrong with her. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
She didn’t say anything. The line was completely quiet.
“Ashley. Are you there?”
“Yeah. I’m here.”
“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
More silence. I waited for a reply. I wondered if I should say more, but worried that at the same time I opened my mouth, she would start to talk, so I was patient. I kept my eyes on the clock. I watched the seconds pass by. All the while, she said nothing. My ear started to hurt, so I quickly switched, eager not to miss a word. For ten more seconds, nothing happened.
She made a noise, the beginning of a word, but she stopped. Then I heard a click.
“So.” Chloe and I were at the usual table, eating the usual (or unusual, in her case) food. “Got any more mysterious threats from that homicidal freak?”
I shook my head and munched a fry. “Nope.”
“Think we should tell anyone about it?” Today’s special was fish chunks and baked beans, in the same container. She scooped it up and downed it like it was breakfast cereal.
“He’s supposed to be in jail,” I said, more to myself than Chloe. “How the heck did he get that message into my locker?”
“Maybe he got one of his buddies to do it for him?”
“What buddies?”
“Good point.”
“He must have thought those flowers were from me, just like Ashley did,” I theorized. “But how did he even know about those in the first place? It’s not like he was around.”
She shrugged and tipped her bowl to drink the last of her meal.
“It just doesn’t make any sense.”
When the bowl and her mouth were empty, she said, “She got another bouquet.”
“Really? Probably from the same guy, right?”
“Definitely,” she nodded. “This time, there was a note.”
“What did it say?”
“There was one less flower than last time, apparently.” She looked up, trying to remember. “The note went something like, ‘When a single bloom remains, there also will your true love be.’”
“Wow. That’s pretty cheesy,” I chuckled. “How many flowers were there this time?”
“Six. If you ask me, it sounds like she’s getting asked to the Winter Ball.”
I hadn’t thought of that. And the fact that these flowers could mean nothing more calmed me down. Ashley was quite popular, after all. What guy didn’t want to ask her to the Winter Ball? And despite her recent state (which seemed to be increasingly negative), I still heard boys whisper about her in class and after school, and even out shopping and at restaurants. But even so, if Ender was still under the impression that I was the one delivering them… he wouldn’t be happy about it, and, according to his note, I’d be the next one with a bullet in my arm. For a moment I pondered the possibility that I actually was the one delivering the flowers, but my memory was somehow incomplete. But that was sci-fi stuff. It didn’t happen in real life. Did it?
“Is it possible that I really am the one delivering the flowers, and I don’t know it?” I asked Chloe.
She gave me a serious look. “Crap. You weren’t supposed to find out.”
“…What?”
She sighed and gravely put down her carbonated pickle juice. “I’ve been secretly controlling your brain for the past two weeks. I hoped you wouldn’t figure it out.”
Then she smiled, and we both laughed.
Yeah. Stupid idea.
That was when she casually mentioned: “Did you know that Ashley broke up with Jace?”
I nearly spit my milk across the table. “Seriously?”
She nodded. “Yup. Three days ago. She went over to his house and dumped him.”
I was amazed. “How is it that you know these things, Chloe?”
“I don’t know, to be honest,” she confessed, taking another swig of pickle juice. “People tell me things, I overhear things… and it helps to have the entirety of the girls’ bathroom stalls memorized so whenever a new sketch shows up, I know about it.” I couldn’t tell whether or not she was joking.
But it was great news. And not just for me. I looked over at her spot in the cafeteria. Again, there she sat, this time sleeping, head in arms, an entire tray of uneaten food pushed aside. She was slowly falling apart. And now that Jace was out of the picture… maybe there’d be room for me. And I knew exactly what I’d do; I’d show her how she deserved to be treated.
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for the rest of the story so far, see http://hydrosnap.blogspot.com
******
Alpha Squadron - 15 days since the beginning
Fort Harm Recreation Center (HQ)
Snap. Garbage Can looked around at his surroundings. He was sitting around a large table in the remains of the Fort Harm recreation center. The building was untouched really, aside from a few disparaging remarks left in spray paint. Apparently the former manager of the place wasn't well loved by the employees.
"Ha! I shoot lasers. Get your coffee yourself you fat slob, I quit!"
That happened a lot. The minute you realize you can shoot lasers you figure you don't need your job anymore. It was 15 days since everybody woke up different. It was horribly cliche'd and everybody in town knew it. It was an uncomfortable situation to be in, but it was the situation.
Alpha Squadron was trying to make the best of it all, and that's why Garbage Can was sitting at this round table.
It was a sunny morning, and warm golden beams of light streamed through the windows, illuminating the dust particles as they flew. Garbage Can felt good to be sitting down and actually talking about things for once. He wasn't a brilliant guy, but he knew that thinking was the only way to really move forward in this whole mess. Over the past two weeks he'd really gotten to trust these guys. It was like a big sigh of relief, sitting there at the table. He was tired, oh so tired, but he knew that Hadoken would be taking care of them. He was standing at the head of the table, leading a meeting. It was time for Alpha to evaluate what was going on and find a plan for the future. They all knew they couldn't keep scrambling like they had been, they were getting nowhere but the casualty list. Discussion seemed the only way to move forward.
The discussion, however, was unlike anything the recreation center had ever heard before.
"...What are we fighting for anyways? Who cares if they sack the museum two towns over? That's not our responsibility..."
"...Are we any closer to finding out what caused all this? The town's in ruins! People have gone missing, the weather's all messed up. We need to find a way to reverse it all..."
"...We've got to preserve history! If we let museums go willy-nilly we might as well kiss the last couple thousand years of knowledge goodbye! Once things calm down we're going to want textbooks again!"
"...I haven't seen my family since day three, that's a lot more important to me than history Mrs. Bringly..."
"...I think we should go on the offensive. Let's find a hideout and strike hard instead of just waiting for them to bait us on. This is getting repetitive, we're just putting out fires..."
"...Look, the museum is a moot point, it wasn't our thwart, it was Death or Glory's and they lost it anyways. It's gone, let's move on..."
"...I don't want to be the wet blanket or anything, but I don't know how much more of this I can take. I feel like I'm just hitting my head against the table. I... well, I sort of want out..."
So many conflicting feelings bouncing around Garbage Can's head. Yesterday had seen two thwarts. He'd been heavily involved in both. He really saved the day on the second one; heroic breakdancing as it were.
That felt good. He knew he'd been successful. It felt good to have a day off to think about what was going on. It was getting harder and harder to feel good though. The euphoria about last night's victory was quickly being replaced by confusion and doubt. Why had it been so important for him to go bother the bad guys? He had owned them, but what good had that done? He had questions, and apparently so did everybody else.
"What's the status on the other good guys out there? Do you think we should uni-"
"We don't even know why we're fighting, how can we unite if we don't know the purpose behind it all? Do they know something we don't? Do the bad guys know something we don't? Why are we even here? Why are we even fighting? I'm sick of it!"
The sunny morning had slowly been replaced by a stormy afternoon. Question after question, with no answers in sight. They had intended to talk strategy for the future, but nobody seemed interested in all that. It was the first chance a lot of them had had for two weeks to vent anything; emotions were finally getting out.
Garbage Can sympathized with his team, of course. They were important to him, and his heart went out to them as they expressed the feelings that had been bottled up for the past couple weeks. Myra hadn't changed her name when it all happened, but she didn't know where her husband or two little kids were. She had tried everything, but nobody was where they used to be and the whole world seemed to be in shambles. There wasn't any power in the cities anymore, communication was down. She felt so helpless. She had been brave in holding it in, but after so long, she broke down, sitting there at the table. He didn't know what to say to help her. Garbage Can's own mom and dad had taken his two siblings to the family cabin pretty early on in the action. They figured they'd be safer there, with fewer people around. That was day two. He knew it wasn't even close to the same, but he could relate a little bit. Garbage Can could have gone with them to the cabin, but he had decided to stay back with Uncle Dan for a few days to help and figure out what was going on. He'd follow them up a little later he said. Those "few days" had turned into two weeks though. He felt too needed in Fort Harm to go. He knew his parents would be worrying about him, but what could he do? The city could be gone if he left, he had a responsibility.
"...Wait a minute, so what if the city crumbles into nothing? I mean, what good is it doing anyways? What good are we doing by making sure it doesn't explode? I'm just not seeing the point in staying the course much longer..."
Uncle Dan hadn't said much during the meeting. He was an older guy, and when he cleared his throat to speak, everybody began to listen.
"We're not getting anywhere here friends. I think we've established that we don't know what's going on. We don't know why things have happened the way they have. It's been expressed several times that we'd all like to wake up from this terrible dream. It looks like we're stuck though. We need to find a way to change things, because from what I can gather,right now this isn't working out. How are we going to find that solution? People, we need information. We need to know what's going on and why it's going on. We can sit here and talk about feelings and thwarts and capes all we want, but if we don't know, we can-"
Boom. Somebody had landed on the roof. Dan stopped and looked up. Whoever it was had hopped down, and was patiently knocking on the front door.
"Err, are we going to get that?" Derrick (who had by this time recovered nicely from the cross-gender-deodorant application mix-up) asked.
"Maybe it's a guy who's power is supreme timing..." Dan said with exasperation. He had just been getting to the good part.
Hadoken, as the guy in charge, assigned Raging Dave to go see who it was.
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Is this the picture you were talking about, Rachel?
Haha, I don't even know why this is funny. It just is. This is a funny book. Tee hee. It's "My Friend is Sad" by W-something. It's in the JE section ;)
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photo
This picture was done in ink on a blank packing label I found lying around at work. Basically, it's me riding a pallet jack to freedom.
Someday. . . .
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art
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art
Weekly Wednesday Wrap-up.
Yes, we realize it's Saturday.
No, we're not changing the name. It's way too cool of an acronym.
I think Jaron's on vacation. (Yup.)
07-19-07 -- 07-28-07
Mood of the Week:
T: Whiteboard Progress
J: Summer Shell
Na: I swear, those cuts are from work!
Ni: Hooray, life.
Song of the Week:
T: You are Loved (Don't give up) - Josh Groban
J: "Hallelujiah" - Paramore
Na: "Friday, I'm In Love" - The Cure
Ni: "Sons & Daughters" - The Decemberists
In one word:
T: Yardsale!
J: Hm.
Na: Transformed
Ni: Arrrrr!
Quote of the Week:
T: "That's even more attractive than a girl in the kitchen!" -- Don Harsh
J: "Who could be sad around a robot?" - some picture book... or... "I have flopped into this position late, maybe, but one card is a slick expression of possibilities if only I believe it right now." - Lura Siersema (I just love the way it sounds, I don't really know what it means)
Na: "You should watch more TV." -- Dan at work (aka "Henry")
Ni: "Avast, life, and prepare to be boarded." -- Me. Gosh, I'm egotistical.
Most memorable event of the Week:
T: Frisbee Friday, laid out for a catch (backwards) and soared for an awesome tip-block.
J: The rain on Thursday night.
Na: The Mystery Girl adventure. So mysterious. 8-)
Ni: The way awesome Frisbee Friday. I threw a field-length touchdown pass, and layed out for a cool catch, which I think was the first time, or something close to it.
Most anticipated event for next Week:
T: Hmm, Nothing comes up off the top of my head. Time to plan something awesome!
J: Finally getting ungrounded...
Na: August. I do enjoy watching my blog archives get another month added on.
Ni: Hm, I don't know. It's going to be good, whatever it is.
Random Statistics:
T:
Ideas: 2 (Whiteboard, Reverse Elevator)
Games of Dota: 0
Foot miles: 7.5
Bike Miles: 4.5
Avg. Bloodsugar: 133 (Best it's been in ages! Hooray!)
J:
Lifelong Goals Accomplished: 1
Books Read: 2 + partials
Ni:
Ideas: 3 (Hooray, bloggie.)
Chapters written: V
Hours worked: Too many
Avg. Bloodsugar: 5 billion. (My best, too.)
Bad days: 2
Good days: 4 (a personal record)
Inspiring posts in a row: 3 (almost like Chris, but his record is infinity.)
Na:
Hours worked: 36
Hangouts: 6
Money spent on Lego: $162
Missed blogging days: 2
Avg. amount of time late to work: 21 minutes
Advice of the Week:
T: Purchase a whiteboard and some good markers, and use it like mad. Write down stuff you've got to do, write down events by day, write down ideas, all that madness. I did it this week, and I've been a billion times more productive. Whiteboards = love.
J: Being alone makes you want to be alone more often. It seems strange, but it's the truth. Thing is, though, it's not so bad as it seems. At least when you know you have someone waiting for you. : )
Na: Have a speech prepared for every little thing, even if you have to lie. You'll never have to deliver it, but it helps to have all those thoughts organized and ready for when people ask questions. And people will ask questions.
Ni: Don't let life give you down. Life is way too much fun to be depressed all the time, or even most of the time, or even a lot of the time. Don't be down if you can avoid it. Life may suck, but it'll get better if you let it.
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Chapter V
Tom was currently in the middle of mucking out the chicken coop, and currently being oblivious to the fact that there is an extremely heavily armored and weaponed man on horseback riding swiftly down the road toward his little village of Croolton.
Most are under the impression that the pig is the filthiest animal in the barnyard. Those people have never seen a chicken aside from its frequent appearances on their dinner table.
Pigs are actually quite clean. They eat most garbage that is to be found in their sties, and while they do wallow in mud, it has a very specific purpose, and that is to keep them cool.
Chickens are a very different animal (This pun was also fully intended, and my compliments to whoever came up with the phrase “very different animal,” for they have laid a fine groundwork for us punsters).
Chickens—or, to be more specific, hens, as it is the female variety that most concerns us—are, quite possibly, the second most filthy beings on the entire planet, the first being, as usual, humans. Don’t try to deny it. They take their food as it is given to them, waste more than half of it, hurt each other in struggles over it, leave their waste lying everywhere, harm all other creatures that get too close to them, and are just very nasty altogether.
I am, of course, speaking of chickens.
I think.
Tom picked up a hen, so as to better clean a corner of the coop, and was rewarded for his efforts for nearly having his eye pecked out when he carelessly brought the chicken close to his face. He hurriedly cleaned up the mess and tossed the rather disheveled hen back onto its nest. It clucked at him rather angrily, then turned away to peck at the dirt floor.
Tom’s chores were finished, and after he washed up, he hurried to the house, wanting to meet his father on his return from the market.
His father’s cart and donkey were in the stable, as he had expected, and Tom ran to the house expecting that his father had brought him a present, as was his custom.
On past occasions, Tom’s father had brought some rather rare and exotic treasures from other races and faraway lands back from the market. One such treasure was a small Fairy-made dagger, barely the length of his hand, yet sharper than any metal Tom had known, and it seemed to possess a curious glow that shifted colors constantly. Another was an Elven bow, exquisitely designed and taut as a high school English teacher’s nerves. Another was a small rose made of spiders’ webs that resided in a small glass orb that was shatter-proof, as Tom had discovered to his delight the first day he had received it, though the rose seemed to serve no practical purpose other than delighting the girls of the village very much. Another was a book. Tom had a small collection of books, but there was one book he treasured more than the rest, and it held a special place on his bedside table, next to the candle. It was a very old, very curious book entitled Uncle Mortimer’s Guide to Other Races, Be They Goode or Eville—Also Includes Uncle Mortimer’s Fooleproofe Guide to Cheating Deathe.
Tom had read Uncle Mortimer’s Guide (as it will henceforth be called, as the full title is a beast to type) at least 30 times, quite a feat for someone who is barely literate. He had relished the descriptions of the valiant and long-lived Elves, the stalwart and slightly-less-long-lived Dwarves, and of the purely evil Orcs, Goblins, and Trolls. He read over and over again the description of Dragons, located on page 194 (and was quite intrigued to find out that Dragons were neither good or evil, but that their allegiances won with the side which made the best argument for their cause), and Uncle Mortimer was even gracious enough to include a small section entitled “A Guide to Saving Damsels from Distresse, Be They Virgins or Otherwise.” Tom had read this section as many times as the description of Dragons, for it is every young man’s secret (or not so secret) ambition to save a Damsel in Distresse and wed her and live Happily Ever After and end up somewhere in a gloriously illustrated book of Children’s Tales.
(I suppose it should have been noted in the introduction that this author is highly fond of capitalizing things every chance he gets. He is fond of it because it makes things seem a lot more important than they really are, perhaps more than they deserve. For example, in his head, the author thinks like this: “I’m really going to enjoy this Breakfast of Eggs and Ham and wonderfully Dry Toast.” You see?)
So it was with thoughts of Uncle Mortimer’s Guide and Damsels that Tom ran to his father with an excited look on his face, not knowing quite what to expect.
Instead, he found his father looking quite agitated and, you might say, frightened.
“Hello, Father,” said Tom worriedly, all thoughts of presents pushed out of his mind. “How was market?”
“Oh, Tom,” said John VI, looking up from the hand that he was furiously wringing in his lap. “There’s been… a decree. From the King.”
“We have a King?”
“Oh, yes, we live in the Kingdom of Pernicia. I’ve been meaning to tell you for some time. Never quite got around to it. Anyway, it seems that the Princess, that is, the King’s daughter Fortuna, has been kidnapped by the Evil Witch named Madame Hazelby. A Knight came to the market to deliver the King’s decree.”
“Oh… I … I see.” Tom was quite shocked, yet secretly delighted, to discover that all the things he had read about could possibly be true. Don’t you wish you were as lucky? “What… what did the Knight say?”
“All young men in the Kingdom under the age of 25 yet over the age of 16 are to report to Castle Pernicia to be reviewed by High Wizard Mastolf. You see, there’s this Prophecy that says when the Princess is kidnapped, there’ll be a Chosen One under the age of 25 yet over the age of 16 who will show up and, well, save the Princess from her distress and then they’ll be wed and live Happily Ever After. So… you’ve got to go.”
“Oh. Well… are… how… how do I get there?”
“Oh, no need to worry about that, son, I’ll be taking you and John to the castle meself. He’s about your same age, and so he’ll need to be presented to the High Wizard, too. So… pack up, me boy. We leave tomorrow morning.”
“Alright, Father.”
Tom was supremely excited. He was still trying to stomach the idea that all of his fantasies could be proven true with one fell swoop.
He packed all his belongings, bringing along the dagger, bow, Uncle Mortimer’s Guide, and, for no particular reason that he could think of, the rose. Beyond that, there were only a few sets of clothes (for in the time of this tale, families had to hand-make their own clothing. Imagine that, you freeloader) and a little bit of food he brought along to snack on.
Once his bag was packed, the glamour of the expedition wore off quickly for Tom. It was just as likely that all his dreams would be proved false in one fell swoop.
It was quite likely that “High Wizard” was just a title for a chief adviser, and that “Evil Witch” could mean no more than “political rival.” As for the Damsel… well, Tom didn’t know if a King would joke about letting his daughter be married to someone who would save her.
But a man who would joke about marrying a beautiful Damsel and living Happily Ever After, well… that was a sick man indeed.
Come to think of it, no one had said the daughter … what was her name again? Isabelle? Buttercup? No… Fortuna, that’s it. No one had said she was beautiful. It’s quite possible that the King was using this as a scheme to marry off his ugly daughter to some wealthy well-meaning noble’s son.
But… if there was even a chance that anything in Uncle Mortimer’s Guide could be true, Tom had to take it.
And so it was with these doubts that Tom and John and John set off the next morning for Castle Pernicia (rather wussy name for a castle, isn’t it? The subjects of the Kingdom of Pernicia had long harbored secret doubts about the choice of name for their Kingdom, but were disinclined to bring them up, as doing so tended to inevitably result in somebody’s head rolling, quite literally).
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Considering the 24th ends six minutes from now, I thought it appropriate to post something in observance of the holiday. So, here's my Lego pioneer:
But wait! It transforms, too! Take off the guy, his horse, and the grass, and voila! It's a mosaic of Utah.
Happy Pioneer Day, everyone!
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“So, I noticed Ashley’s been avoiding you.”
That was Chloe Tyler. She was taller than I was, and almost as skinny. Her hair was this long, straight sheet that always seemed to catch the light just the right way to make it sparkle a brilliant amber color. She was on the girls’ basketball team, but you wouldn’t know it just by looking at her. When she wasn’t on the court, she wore nothing remotely athletic, and was never seen around the other basketball girls the way the others stuck together. And she always had this spacey look in her eyes, like she was always imagining herself somewhere else. She was beautiful, to boot. She had a few classes with me, and I remembered thinking of her as very attractive, even though I was preoccupied with Ashley. I suppose that’s what made it not-so-strange when, as I was eating lunch inside alone (it was another stormy day), she set her tray down at the seat across from me and said, “Ashley looks pretty down, huh?” one day soon after the shooting. It was almost like I expected her to do something out of the ordinary like that.
“Yeah,” I’d told her honestly, as we both looked over at the spot where she sat. She was alone too. Usually she had a small gaggle of friends around her, but not after the shooting. She was picking at her peas absent-mindedly. “I can’t blame her.”
“No kidding,” Chloe had said. “Your boyfriend getting shot is kind of traumatic.” Then she added, “Just think, if you’d tackled Ender a second earlier, it wouldn’t have happened.”
I felt a pang of guilt. “I know. I’ve thought about it a lot.”
“But the thing is, it did happen.” I wondered where she was going with this. “And if it hadn’t, Ashley wouldn’t be sitting there by herself. Jace would be there with her.”
I gave her a puzzled look. “So…”
She grinned. I was dazzled by her perfect smile. “Just let me say, sometimes, things aren’t always what they seem.”
I had no idea what she meant by that, but I accepted it all the same.
“For instance,” she continued. “You don’t seem to like Ashley, but I know you do.”
I nearly choked on my French fry. How did she know? I hadn’t told anyone, and I’d been careful to avoid being obvious about it.
She laughed at me. Again, her smile was incredible. “It’s actually not that hard to see. You can try to hide it all you want, but the more you try, the more awkward it seems to everyone else. Once you get feelings for somebody, it’s nearly impossible to hide.”
So the word was out that I had a crush on Jace Valentine’s girlfriend. Great. Just what I needed. But Chloe didn’t make that big of a deal about it. And I figured she was probably one of the only ones who knew. She did seem to have extraordinary perception. And besides, who paid attention to the workings of Alex Winters’ love life? No one even knew my name at that school. Not yet, anyway.
The thing she’d said about things not being what they seem stayed with me ever since that first strange meeting. Afterwards, we formally introduced ourselves and had a chatted casually until the bell rang. It turned out, she didn’t really have any close friends either. Everyone was chased away by what she called her “eccentricities.” I took it to mean that spacey look in her eyes and the way she always seemed to be able to read my mind. That and the fact that she replaced the jelly in her PB&J sandwich with hot sauce. But I didn’t mind. In fact, it was strangely endearing. She seemed to have no walls whatsoever around anything in her life. She was completely open with me and talked to me like we’d been best friends since middle school. It wasn’t as disturbing as you might have thought.
It wasn’t long until we really were best friends, albeit of an unusual sort. We didn’t see each other much outside of school, but during school, we spent a lot of time together. We had more classes together than I’d thought, and in classes with more lenient teachers, we’d changed seats to be by each other. It made the days much easier to get through.
Now we were sitting at lunch once again, me with my usual French fries and her with an avocado- and orange-topped piece of chocolate cake (she called it “chocolate fruitcake”), and she pointed out, “So, I noticed Ashley’s been avoiding you.”
I nodded. “Yeah. Usually she waves back when I wave in the halls, but not since what happened after the choir concert.”
When I’d told her about what had happened the very next day, she said she already knew. I was surprised when she admitted that Tommy Watts, the frightfully scrawny boy from health class with the gauged ears, had seen us from inside. That wouldn’t have mattered if Alicia Talantar, self-proclaimed Gossip Queen, hadn’t overheard him mentioning it in passing to his buddies. Unfortunately, Alicia hadn’t heard all the details, so now the word on the street was that we’d full-on made out. In some versions, we’d gone home together. It wasn’t looking good. I hated high school.
“Well, from a girl’s point of view,” Chloe said, gulping down a piece of her horrid concoction, “I’d say that she’s trying to live it down. I mean, you’ve heard what everyone’s been saying, right?”
I nodded. Of course I had.
“She was caught ‘making out’ with you, when she’s already got Jace. I’m sure he’s upset enough as it is, and now you two are the talk of the town. She’s gotta keep clear of you until this thing dies down so people don’t get any more ideas.”
I looked back at Ashley again. For a second, I thought she glanced up at me, but before I could tell whether it had really happened or not, she was back to poking her peas. I cursed myself for what I’d done. If I hadn’t gone after her after the concert, she wouldn’t be looking so down. And, I remembered once more with chagrin, if I’d tackled Ender a second earlier, she’d still be happy, surrounded by friends. I only wanted to make her happy, and I only made it all worse. I was a curse.
Mr. Salazar had gone home for an emergency, and there was no time to find a substitute, so his algebra class was to be combined with Mrs. Brown’s advanced class. As Chloe and I crowded into the back of the classroom, I noticed a small bouquet of white flowers sitting on one of the desks. I was curious, but as the room filled up with kids, no one sat there. The kids on either side of the desk looked for a card, but there was none. The tardy bell rang, and still, no one sat in that chair. Mrs. Brown stood to begin her lecture. Then the door squeaked open, and a sullen-faced Ashley shuffled in. I remembered the first day in biology where I first saw her, and how much she’d changed. Instead of looking tan and healthy, she looked pale and sickly. She no longer smiled at everyone with confidence, but kept staring at the floor, hunched over, almost dragging her bag behind her. She hurried across the room to avoid the stares. A few kids whispered and giggled, and I knew she heard what they were saying. I felt so bad for her. And again I was reminded it was all my fault.
The flowers were on her desk. When she saw them lying there, she hesitated to even approach them. When she sat down, she just looked at them, surprised and confused. There were more whispers. Finally, she grabbed the bouquet by the stems, the stiff plastic wrapping crunching loudly, smelled them once, and set them beneath her chair.
I thought they must be from Jace. Maybe he was apologizing for being a jerk, like she’d told me about. I wondered why he didn’t leave a card, though. I saw someone look back at me suspiciously. They thought I must have done it. Chloe actually leaned over and asked me if those flowers were from me.
I shook my head. “No. I have no idea who they’re from.”
“Bet you it’s Willy,” she joked. Willy was the super-nerd a few math classes up who recently had taken a shine – more of an obsession – to Ashley. He was convinced that the stars told him they were a perfect match. No matter how many times Ashley tiredly explained that she already had a boyfriend, he kept trying to ask her out.
I laughed. It was likely. Still, even if they were from Willy, they would have had some kind of card with them. Mrs. Brown began her lesson, but I wasn’t paying attention. I was still watching Ashley, head on her arms, blocking out the light and sound around her, and thinking about the mysterious flowers.
That night, I sat down with my guitar to think. I’d let my calluses weaken over the past few months because of various factors that kept me from my guitar, so now my fingertips hurt a bit when I pressed down on the strings. It was satisfying to feel the familiar curves of the instrument under my arms, though. It felt like hugging an old friend after being away for a long time, or slipping into a favorite jacket after dying to wear it all summer long.
As I strummed out the opening riffs to a milder version of “Don’t Wait” by Dashboard Confessional, my mind wandered back over everything that had happened over the past week and a half since Ender shot Jace. Ashley’s life had gone from good to bad that quickly, and it hadn’t taken long for it to show. I wondered what Ashley meant when she’d talked about Jace being a jerk. Was he hurting her? I hoped not. I didn’t imagine a cripple would really be able to hurt her too badly. But then again, he still had his left arm. Actually, he should have been back in school by that time, but I’d heard that his parents were keeping him home until he fully recovered. They were with him on the whole football obsession, apparently – if their son couldn’t play football, then what was the point of sending him to school? I wished my parents were that cool. It didn’t seem fair that Jace had not only the girl, but the cool parents as well. Maybe he deserved to be shot. Karma, and all that.
The sky glows
I see it shining when my eyes close
I hear your warnings but we both know
I’m gonna look at it again.
That got me thinking about Ender, and what must have been going through his mind right before he pulled the gun. A lot of anger, obviously. But anger, they say, is a secondary emotion, a reaction caused my some other emotional stimulus. He was jealous. He was probably scared. He was lonely. Even the kids who’d known Kadmus didn’t know much about him, other than he liked to draw. It seemed like that was all he ever did. His life was in that sketchbook. I knew what that felt like, to put your life into something. It was a lot easier to do than actually living. After I lost contact with Becky… I’d put my life into my guitar. Ender and I really weren’t so different.
Don’t wait, don’t wait
The road is now a sudden sea
And suddenly, it’s deep enough
To let your armor down
To let your armor down
To let your armor down.
As if on cue, the phone rang, loud and shrill. I stopped playing and just stared at it for a moment, suddenly scared of who might be on the other end. It rang again. I carefully set down my guitar and walked over to it. I didn’t have caller ID in my room, but decided to answer anyway. It could have been Chloe calling to ask a question about homework, or Jessica calling from college to catch up with Mom.
“Hello, is this Alex? Winters?”
The last voice I expected to hear on the other end was Ashley’s.
My heart sped up, like it always did. I worried that she could hear it over the phone. It sounded very quiet over at her house, or wherever she was. She was barely more than whispering. Immediately I thought something must have been very wrong. “Yeah,” I say, as casually as possible, Chloe’s voice in the back of my head, repeating, “the more you try to hide it, the more awkward it seems to everyone else…” “What’s going on?”
“Um… This is Ashley,” she began. “I just wanted to say… I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For… Monday night,” she admitted. The next part came in a rush. “I mean, what happened after the concert, how I… kissed you. I didn’t mean to, it just sort of happened, you know…”
I had to strain to understand everything she said. Her voice didn’t sound so good, like she’d been yelling a lot. Or, maybe it was like Ender’s voice – it was getting hoarse from disuse. That thought frightened me. “Yeah…” was all I could think of to say.
“I was just having a really bad day, and you were there, and I just… lost it, I guess. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for leading you on, because…” she paused. I braced myself. “I… don’t even know you, you know? I barely learned your name…”
I nodded. When I realized she couldn’t see me, I repeated, “Yeah,” quietly into the phone.
“So… that’s all I wanted to say,” she confessed with finality. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
I wanted to know how she’d been and how Jace was doing (even though I wasn’t happy about the idea of him being her boyfriend instead of me, I knew she still cared about him and I wondered how she felt about the whole thing). I wanted to apologize for the things that people had been saying about the two of us. To be honest, I wanted to ask her if she’d like to go grab some dinner and a movie with me on Saturday night, but I didn’t say any of this to her. Instead, I just listened to be buzz of static quiet from her end of the phone.
“But thank you for the flowers.”
“I didn’t… do those.”
She paused. “It wasn’t you?”
“No,” I told her honestly. I left out the part where I wished it was.
She didn’t say anything after that, except that she had to go, and I heard the connection end. That was it; it was over. Like the kiss, I’d always wanted her to call me, but it didn’t feel as good as I’d thought it would. Instead of me giving my number to her, she’d probably found it in the student directory. And she didn’t call to try to convince me to ask her out, she’d called to apologize for the other thing I’d always wished she’d do, and to thank me for the first gift I hadn’t actually given her.
So far, a lot of firsts were being ruined by my stupid mistakes.
I picked my guitar back up and kept playing.
Well, you get one look
I’ll show you something that the knife took
A bit too early for my own good
Now let’s not speak of it again.
Chloe and I approached my locker, both in fantastic moods, considering everything that had been going on, following our regular morning routine before first period. We were talking about the movie she’d just gone to see the night before. It was an intense thriller, and I’d been wanting to see it, but she kept spoiling bits of the plot for me. I hummed defiantly as she tried to tell me who died next and I worked with the combination lock.
When I opened it, we both stopped.
On a thick sheet of white art paper that looked like it was torn from a spiral binding, a message was scrawled in red ink.
Stay away from her, or I’ll have to shoot you too.
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The boy’s name was Kadmus Ender. Once I heard it, I remembered hearing it in biology, and felt horrible for not remembering. The few kids who ever talked to him said he always wanted them to just call him by his last name, Ender. It was easier for people. I tried to imagine how it might feel to have a name no one could remember. I suppose it made it easier for people to forget about him altogether. Of course, everyone had their own theories, but I think that was what pushed him off the edge.
It took about a week for the school to quiet down about the incident. Well, there were still whispers in the hallway, but now kids were looking a little less frightened as they entered the cafeteria, as they passed the table where it had happened, as they passed the spot on the tile where Jace’s blood had been spilt. The other outcasts still warranted suspicious glances from all but the least informed of the students. Of course, no one saw Ender anymore. He was lucky if he wasn’t in jail, let alone expelled. I wondered what would become of him. Strange as it sounds, I felt bad for the kid. It wasn’t just because I sympathized with the boy for wanting to shoot Ashley Simmons’ boyfriend, but because I knew that people didn’t do things like that without going through some rough times beforehand.
Ashley never forgot about it, though. Now when I saw her in the halls, she was looking down, shuffling along like she had nowhere she really cared to be. She let her appearance go a bit. She no longer wore makeup, and her hair wasn’t quite as straight. She also seemed to be alone more often. I understood that it must have been difficult for her to take, but something told me there was more to the story than I knew. I could tell she was trying, though. She still had some spirit left in her, and I had confidence that she would be okay. Still, it didn’t stop me from worrying.
I waited for her to come out of the back room after the choir concert a few days later, at the edge of the crowd of parents and friends, trying to catch the first glimpse of their little singing angels. She’d done marvelously with her solo. When I saw her walking up to the mic, dressed in black and white to match the rest of the choir, trying hard to smile for the crowd, I expected to be amazed, but when she took in that first deep breath of air, when she closed her eyes and her chest rose and she kissed the microphone and that first note floated out of her mouth, my blood started flowing a bit quicker, my hands got wet, and my eyes were transfixed on her. She was lost in the beautiful foreign song, rich and deep with eight-part harmony, and for a moment, I swore she looked happy again, the way I was used to seeing her, the way I saw her on the back of my eyelids. I didn’t understand the words, but I knew she was singing about love, about happiness. No other subject would be worthy of those sweet tones.
The other choir kids were pouring out of the room, finding their families and passing out hugs. I stood on my toes and tried to find her. I wasn’t tall enough to really accomplish anything with this. The stream of kids was ending, and she still hadn’t come out. Had her family ambushed her somewhere with flowers and taken her out for ice cream? I had almost given up hope when I caught a flash of caramel at the other end of the crowd. I pushed my way through the crowd and got a better view of her. She was free of the mess, walking briskly and pulling on her jacket as she headed for the door. No one was with her. She flipped her hair out from beneath her collar and reached for the handle. I called out, “Ashley!” But she either didn’t hear me or she wasn’t interested in talking. I couldn’t give up. I followed her outside into the crisp air that hinted of winter. She was looking both ways, ready to cross the street to the parking lot.
“You sang beautifully tonight,” I said.
She stopped. The car she was waiting for passed, but she stayed on the sidewalk, staring down at her feet, clad in black clogs. She kicked the ground lightly with her toe. “Thank you,” she said without turning around.
I kept walking toward her. “Why are you leaving so soon? There’s a whole crowd of people in there who—”
“Who what?” Ashley said. “They’ll just tell me how amazing I was, I’ll thank them, they’ll give me a hug and I’ll let them because I don’t want to be rude, and I’ll move on to the next adoring fan.” I’d never heard her be sarcastic before. “It’s just kind of pointless.”
I couldn’t argue. “Well, what about your family? Are they in there?”
She shook her head, and finally slowly turned. “No, they… they couldn’t come.” A lock of hair blew in front of her eyes, and she pulled it behind her ear.
“Busy?” I ventured.
“No. They’re… gone.”
Gone. That could have meant a few things, but none of them were pleasant. I didn’t press it any more.
She continued. “And now Jace is gone too, and he’s acting like a total jerk, even though I didn’t do anything…” She shook the idea off. “I’m sorry. I’m just… kinda stressed out, you know? What’s your name, anyway? I’ve seen you around school a little.”
“Alex,” I told her, then added, “Winters. Jace is being a jerk?”
“Yeah, I… don’t really get why. I guess he’s just upset that he won’t be able to finish off the season or something. And he keeps talking about what he’s gonna do to that Ender kid when his arm is better. I’m just sick of hearing about it.”
“I bet,” I sympathized. “Seems like a kid like him can be difficult to get along with.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t even get me started. All he cares about is football, and the stupid 49ers.”
The conversation stopped. I never fully realized what I was doing in the first place, only that I’d wanted to talk to Ashley and I had acted on that desire, but now I didn’t know what I wanted to say. But I opened my mouth anyway, and out tumbled, “I’m sorry about what happened to him.”
She didn’t say anything. She just looked down at the ground, biting her bottom lip. After a moment, she looked back up at me, her eyes wet, and whispered, “Thanks. It’s… fine.”
She was crying again. She was alone, and she was crying. My heart broke. She looked smaller even than she usually did, standing at the edge of the street in a jacket one or two sizes too big, with her hands resting in the pockets, tears and a hopeless look in her eyes. I stood on the brink of indecision. I knew what I wanted to do. But we didn’t even know each other. If I freaked her out now, she would never want to talk to me again, and all future chances would be completely ruined. And yet as the tears kept squeezing from her eyes, as her lips curved into an involuntary smile that wasn’t a smile at all, as her shoulders started to shake, I knew I couldn’t just stand and do nothing.
I lifted my arms, a small gesture of a willing hug. I wasn’t sure what I expected. For a second, she looked at me. I tried to smile and look inviting, but I couldn’t help from feeling a bit like she looked.
She walked forward, up to me, close enough for me to smell the crisp perfume on her skin and the scent of her shampoo. My arms closed around her, touched her for the first time, pressed her closer to me. She didn’t take hers out of her pockets for a moment, but when she did, she held on to me so tightly I wondered if she would ever let go. Not that I minded. Her body was warm against mine. I felt her heart beating, reverberating with mine, pounding in my ears. Then I felt her pull away slightly, and her face turned, and I felt her lips on my cheek. Electricity shot through my head. They squeezed together gently, and then pulled away, the lightest of kisses.
I let her go, and we took a step backwards and looked at each other. Shock was written all over my face. I could tell by the way she was looking back at me, confused, like she hadn’t realized what she’d just done. Then it dawned on her, she clasped one hand to her mouth, and panic flooded her eyes. Without another word, she turned and ran across the street, narrowly avoiding being hit by a screeching car with rumbling music. I wanted to call to her, but I didn’t know what to say. What could I say? The girl of my dreams, who’d I’d been unable to get out of my thoughts since school started, had just kissed me on the cheek. And she’d only just learned my name. A few different possible explanations ran through my head, but none of them made much sense. Of course I was happy. But part of me felt robbed, cheated. I hadn’t done anything to earn it. Had I? Talking about her boyfriend was the last way I expected to land myself a kiss.
I didn’t move until she was out of sight. Then, I stuffed my hands in my pockets and headed for my car, lost in thought. My cheek tingled all the way home.
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New artistic endeavors have been difficult for me to find time for lately. So, here's something old, though still enjoyable (at least, I like it ;-)).
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Chapter III
A long ways away, there was a man. This is not to be unexpected, but this was no ordinary man. This was a bad man. Oh, my mistake, that’s a woman. But it’s definitely a bad woman.
It’s very easy to tell, the difference between bad and good. You’ve probably noticed this in your life. The bad ones usually tend to not be very happy very often, unless one of their schemes has been successful, and then it’s in a malevolent kind of way. The good ones are generally happy and good-willed and kind to everyone they meet, ready and able to do a good deed at a moment’s notice. On the other hand, the bad ones tend to be not very nice, and in fact, are usually not very happy to see you, and don’t really want to give you anything of theirs unless you pay for it dearly. The good ones tend to be blond and blue-eyed. The bad ones usually have black hair and rather frighteningly dark or red eyes. The good guys tend to be very handsome or beautiful, while the bad ones tend to be quite ugly and hard to maintain eye contact with, because your eyes are watering at the sight of their features.
The good ones always seem to ride in with the sun shining on them, their hair blowing magnificently in the wind, and their perfect teeth gleaming (A stroke of luck, truthfully, as orthodontics is an unknown science in our story’s time), while the bad ones brood underneath stormy skies, lightning their backdrop, their hair lank and greasy, their teeth crooked and yellow (even, confusingly enough, in the most powerful of wizards’ mouths, there lurk microbes that have been growing in power since before you or I were born, and have now surely amassed such a great amount of magical power that they are quite as strong in the magical arts as their hosts, and certainly could strike fear into the most powerful of beasts and heroes alike). Finally, the music that is found playing in the background while the good guy is on screen is generally joyous, ebullient, hopeful, playful, and altogether happy. The music played for the bad guy is generally ominous, foreboding, dark, malodorous, malevolent, and altogether nasty.
As I have said, we make it very easy for you to tell the difference.
This witch was not an exception to many of the aforementioned Storytellers’ Guidelines to Differentiating Between Bad Guys and Good Guys. She did indeed have wonderful deep purple eyes, hair as black as the magically-induced smog over Less Angles, the demon capital city, whose architect had designed it to be completely without edges, and completely spherical, and certainly loved brooding during stormy nights in her luxuriously-accommodated castle located deep in the heart of the Mountain of Doom and Utter Destruction if One so Much as Thinks of Entering.
(The Mountain of Doom and Utter Destruction if One so Much as Thinks of Entering is usually just known as the Mountain of Doom, as the complete title is thought far too ridiculous to be allowed to be stated ominously, as some adventurers have found out to their dismay. One conversation went something like this:
“You’re the Chosen One, Billy!”
“The Chosen One?! But I don’t know anything about being a hero!”
“I, the Great Wizard Jimmy, shall teach you everything you need to know, never fear!”
“Great!”
“Yes, well, I know. Now, we must adventure to…”
“To where?”
“To…”
“To where?!”
“To…”
“Oh, get on with it already.”
“To… the Mountain of Doom and Utter Destruction if One so Much as Thinks of Entering!”
“Oh… well… that doesn’t sound too bad. In fact, it sounds pretty silly.”
“Yes, well… it is very ominous, you know, very dangerous… very likely we could die, you know… torture… imprisonment… oh, let’s go already.”
As you can see, it’s not too pretty.)
Anyway, she had no real desire to do anyone any great harm. However, she was very greedy, and she did like gold very well. She was very old, and quite ugly, as should have been obvious according to the Guidelines.
All of this ugliness and greed and so on and so forth was called Madame Hazelby. Her name, while sounding rather grandmother-ish and “Here’s a plate of cookies and a glass of warm milk, deary,” managed to strike fear into the hearts of even the rather big men who were strong and large enough to wield big, scary weapons, enough to make them go crying home to their grandmother and get a plate of cookies and a glass of warm milk to make them feel better, and possibly a snuggle with Mr. Teddykins and a story before bedtime.
Just writing this down makes me feel quite dirty and used. I believe it’s time to move on to the next major character.
Chapter IV
Deep in the bowels of the castle lay the castle dungeons.
Prisons as a general rule are dismal places. They are places filled with hopelessness, despair, the sense of death, a maddening force, and an overwhelming fear of dropping the soap in the shower.
Then there are dungeons.
Dungeons make prisons look like kittens.
Dungeons are the most dismal places in the world. As a form of punishment, they are ideal. The prisoner is totally secluded from the rest of the world, as well as the sun and any hope he may have secretly held of escaping.
However, at the First International Bad Guy (and Girl) Forum, which took place several hundred years after this story occurs, dungeons were outlawed as a means of keeping prisoners safely locked away. They were thought to be too inhumane and too insanity-inducing to keep even the most crafty and do-goody archenemies in.
Unfortunately for Fortuna Lightheart, the Forum didn’t take place until several hundred years after this story occurs, and she’s smack-dab in the middle of it. Although I suppose I should say the beginning.
Miraculously, the time in the dungeon had not besmirched Fortuna’s (obviously) fantastically, unbelievably, zip-bang-boomily, unstoppable-oobily, onomatoepoetically, incredulously good looks.
Fortuna’s hair was the blackest of blacks, blacker than even the heart of Smithely the Crafty, whom the Legends say sold his own mother’s soul for a penny, and instead of using the penny to pay for his mother’s funeral (for people cannot live very long without their souls, and funerals were very cheap in the time of Legends), used it to cut the throat out of a nobleman (this is where the Crafty part comes in) and steal his entire family fortune while he slept.
Fortuna’s eyes were a deep, deep, deep green, so deep that not even Jeff the Digger, who was the one the Legends speak of, and the one who was the first to dig all the way through the world, starting that whole “dig a hole to China” nonsense, could dig to the bottom of their unfathomable depths.
Fortuna’s skin was pale, so pale that it was said if you polished her up, she could be used as an instructional aide to aspiring young anatomists.
Fortuna’s nose was not small, nor big, but just the right size, the size that made you want to reach up, pretend to grab it, put your thumb between your second and third fingers and say, “Got your nose!”
Fortuna’s lips were endlessly kissable, the kind that make men slobber over themselves from a distance because they can see how big and round and puffy they are.
Fortuna’s teeth were perfectly straight and the nicest shade of white, not too bright, yet not dirty at all.
Fortuna’s body, well… it has been said by the ancient Greeks that only Helen had the perfect body, and of course, this is why that dunce Agamemnon went all ga-ga over her and launched his thousand ships and tried to destroy a whole city-state. Well, the ancient Greeks obviously didn’t know Fortuna. And if Homer had known how many ships were about to be launched because of her, well… he would be very sad that he was blind.
At the moment we are watching Fortuna, she is crying very softly. It is a paradox of women’s nature that crying makes them extremely attractive and repulsive at the same time, the latter feeling being caused by the facts that 1) men are afraid that they are the cause of the tears, and 2) they know that at some point they’ll have to go over there to console the woman.
Fortuna hails from the Kingdom of Pernicia, across the ocean that Fortuna’s cliff-side dungeon would overlook if it had a window. She is (of course) the daughter of King Rotand, and the Princess and heir to the Kingdom.
It is Madame Hazelby’s intent to ransom Fortuna to increase her slightly dwindling yet still vast horde of gold by several boatloads.
Fortuna doesn’t like this one bit, yet dislikes the dungeon even more.
King Rotand dislikes this most of all, but loves his daughter very much, and would do anything to have her back, and besides, Queen Pernice would tan his hide if he didn’t save their only daughter.
Tom, meanwhile, is completely oblivious to the fact that Fortuna has been imprisoned, and, in fact, is quite possibly oblivious to the fact that he lives in a Kingdom called Pernicia, and that there is a Princess to be kidnapped, nonetheless by a Witch, whose existence he is just as oblivious of as the other two.
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The next big event happened a few months later, on a Wednesday in November. Nothing out of the ordinary that day. I was working my black jeans, I had on my favorite blue striped shirt, my scarf was wrapped around my neck, and I was dodging the usual glances as I made my way from the cafeteria to the wide double doors at the end of the hallway so I could eat my lunch and study outside, where it was quiet and relatively peaceful. Lonely, sure, but I didn’t mind so much. The couple of weeks before that day had been kind of hard on me – the first quarter of school was already wrapping up, and with it came the usual tests, and thus, the usual studying – not one of my favorite activities, but necessary nonetheless. That is, if I wanted to scrape into college someday.
But when I got to the doors, my plans changed. Outside, it was pitch black and raining cats and dogs. I never thought that was a very accurate expression, and it was rather gruesome at that, but that didn’t change the fact that the rain was coming down at a thirty degree angle with the ground, and I thought I saw some hail mixed in. A lightning bolt illuminated the sky and I saw one of the school’s trees lying in the middle of the street. Normally, I’d have been excited about the rain, but this was just too strong to enjoy. With a sigh, I turned around and made for the cafeteria once more.
Finding a seat when you don’t have a regular spot is a tough thing to do. Anywhere you sit is the wrong place, because you’re always taking someone else’s spot. If they’re polite enough not to chew you out for it, they’re forced to steal someone else’s spot, and so on, until someone is invariably left with nowhere to lunch. So, I bypassed the whole thing and scoped out a loner, someone who constantly had five or six seats at his or her command. No one else sat there because they didn’t want to be grouped with said loner, but hey – I was a loner too, right? No harm to me.
The first kid I found was hunkered down over a book at the end of a table. As I got nearer, I recognized him as the artist kid I’d sat next to in biology on the first day of school, again scribbling furiously in his sketchbook.
“Mind if I sit here?” I asked, trying to be polite.
He looked up at me for a second, then went back to his drawing. For someone who talked as little as him, that meant yes, or at least that he didn’t care. I set my tray down on the table and crashed onto a chair. I didn’t try to make conversation with the boy – I knew it would be a futile attempt, and probably annoying to him as well. Besides, I was fine being left alone with my thoughts. Thoughts about the tests, thoughts about the rain, and, of course, thoughts about Ashley…
I’d never been one to snoop or stalk, but I’d asked around about Ashley a bit, just to find out more about her. I now knew that she was a first soprano in choir, and apparently she had a big solo in the next concert. She was taking all the AP and honors classes, which explained why I didn’t see her around much. And, one of the first things I’d found out was that she already had a boyfriend. I had to admit, that fact wasn’t as surprising as it could have been. I had actually expected it. But, try as I might, there seemed to be no stopping the thoughts about her. There was something about her that drew me in and wouldn’t let go. It could have been her waist, or her hair, perhaps, but maybe there was something a bit deeper than that…
As I put the fry I had in my fingers to my mouth, my eyes strayed onto the artist kid’s page. It was a miracle I didn’t see it sooner. The lines had been drawn so darkly on the page that every detail stood out in sharp contrast, and I instantly knew what it was. I had to hand it to young… what’s-his-name… he was good, but I wasn’t so sure I was entirely thrilled about his subject matter. It was a livid depiction of a warrior, dressed in full armor and wielding twin curved blades, massacring a crowd of unarmed people. Blood was everywhere, and that was what made the picture so dark. Women, children, a dog, even – all of them being brutally hacked apart by this death machine. I looked up from the page at the boy’s face. A drop of sweat was forming on his brow, his eyes were wide open, and his lips had gone dry. His knuckles had gone white because he was gripping his pencil so hard, and his other hand was almost convulsing, every muscle tense and restless. He was in some kind of homicidal trance. I pushed myself away from the table a few inches and tried not to care.
But that was when I saw the glint of black metal from inside his backpack. Suddenly I found it hard to be apathetic about the whole thing.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to do anything. At that moment, Jace Valentine, football star, walked through the nearest doorway with a few of his buddies, laughing. He was a big guy, muscular, with short-cropped hair and good teeth. He was also Ashley Simmons’ boyfriend. The artist kid – Ken…something? – stood up stiffly and gripped his backpack. His sketchbook and pencil clattered to the floor, but he didn’t seem to care. Before I knew what was happening, he strutted up to Jace, a determined fire in his eyes. I stood up too, expecting the worst. “What’s the problem?” Jace spat. Without a word, the artist boy reached into his bag, grabbed, and pulled out a shiny black pistol, cocked and ready to fire straight between Jace’s eyes.
All hell broke loose. A dozen girls who had been standing nearby all screamed and made for the doors as quickly as possible. After that, half of everyone in the lunchroom followed suit. The other half stayed, either frozen with fear, or curious and intrigued. I was part of the latter half. I was the one standing closest to the kid with the gun. Jace’s two friends backed away slowly. Jace froze where he was, never looking so vulnerable and weak. The boy with the gun smiled, his face alive with adrenalin and satisfaction at seeing this worm’s confidence melt away in a mere second.
“Hey… hey… don’t… look, uh…” Jace stuttered.
“Shut up,” the boy spat, his voice even raspier than the last time I’d heard it. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?”
Jace, trying to be accommodating, twitched his head back and forth in the tiniest of “no”s.
“Do you know about justice, Jace Valentine? Since sixth grade, since the beginning of middle school, you’ve always been the one on top. You’ve always had the friends, the cars, the money… the girls. Somewhere down the line, I was designated as the loser, the trash kid, the worthless worm, the scum. Tell me, is this justice? It wasn’t you who decided it. Not you alone. But let me tell you-” He took a sudden step forward, pressing the gun against Jace’s forehead. Jace flinched and whimpered as the boy continued his monologue. “My life has been a living hell because of you and people like you! I’m not going to kill you,” (at these words, Jace’s shoulders relaxed noticeably,) “but there are other ways that justice can be satisfied. Yes, this… is justice!” His voice was little more than a seething stream of air through his clenched teeth, but everyone could hear his speech echo around the room. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, glittering with vengeance. Slowly, he stepped backward and aimed the gun lower. He was only three feet from where I stood. The cafeteria lights reflected off the barrel. I could almost see my own frightened face in it. I saw his finger muscles tense, tightening on the trigger. In the silence, it clicked with each millimeter it moved. Jace closed his eyes. The boy’s finger pressed tighter and tighter, every click of the gun a prelude to a gunshot.
Then the power went out. We were all plunged into darkness, and a shot was fired.
All at once, I leapt forward, without fully realizing what I was doing. I tackled the boy at the very instant he fired the gun. We crashed to the floor, and the gun clattered across the tile, safely out of reach. Jace also hit the floor. I could barely make out the edges of his form in the dim light. He clutched his right arm. Blood was streaming over his hand, onto his shirt, and onto the floor. He made a strange moaning sound. The boy underneath me tried to punch me but missed because he was shaking so badly. He grabbed at my scarf and pulled. It wrapped uncomfortably tighter around my neck. I wondered if he was having a seizure or heart attack.
What happened next was all a blur. I remember a group of about ten teachers arriving on the scene and carrying the boy away. As he was being dragged from the room, he screamed back, “Let’s see you play your precious football now!” Another teacher took me roughly by the arm and led me out as well. Jace was taken to the sick room to wait for the ambulance. The next thing I remember was waiting in the principal’s office to be questioned by the school administration and the police. The boy who had fired the shot was in there now, and I knew I wouldn’t be seeing much more of him. The lights had come back on. I felt nauseous, and my arms and legs were both asleep. I was hunched over myself, clutching my stomach, trying to breathe regularly. I faintly heard the door open and shut, and then someone asked, “Is Jace still here?”
I looked up. It was Ashley, pale-faced and breathing hard. It looked like she’d ran all the way there. “No,” said the kindly secretary, “he’s already been taken to the hospital. Have a seat, dear. He’s going to be just fine.”
She turned and collapsed next to me. I felt too sick to be nervous or excited. “What happened?” she asked urgently.
The secretary sighed. “Another student pulled a gun on him and shot him once in the arm.” Ashley gasped, but the secretary continued, sounding as if she were assuring herself more than Ashley, “It wasn’t a bad wound, they think he’ll be fine in a few weeks, there’s no need to worry…”
“No need to worry?” Ashley breathed, struggling to accept this new information. Her accent was stronger now. “My boyfriend’s… been shot! Who did it?”
The secretary shook her head. “I don’t know, dear, I wasn’t there. But this young man,” she turned to me, “was.”
Ashley looked at me, and I looked at her. For an instant, her eyes were a deep well of emotion, filled to the top with fear and questions. She looked younger and innocent, like a child scared of a thunderstorm, and she was looking to me for comfort, for answers. “Is he… really going to be okay?” she asked quietly.
It took me a moment to regain control of my muscles. Finally, I nodded. “Yes. He… I mean, he wasn’t hurt too bad.” That was a fact I had no assurance of, but it seemed like the right thing to say. My head was swimming with fog anyway, and I couldn’t think straight. “I mean, it was just… his arm, it could have been a lot worse, you know…”
For a moment, I wanted to tell her about what I’d done to try to save the day, but as I watched her bury her head in her hands, as I watched her shoulders start to shake, there were no words left in me. The lights suddenly went out again. I wanted to put a comforting hand on her back or her shoulder, but all I could do was sit straight forward in my chair, staring at the black point where the ends of my scarf were, trying not to throw up or start crying myself.
As I listened, I wanted Ashley to be mine, so she wouldn’t have to cry alone.
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Weekly Wednesday Wrap-up!
07-12-07 -- 07-18-07
Mood of the Week:
T: Getting Better!
Ni: Pensive
J: Kind of an... accepted loneliness. I'm grounded, see.
Na: Determination of some sort
Song of the Week:
T: "Series of Tubes Net Neutrality Dance Mix" - Too lazy to find out.
Ni: "One Man Wrecking Machine" - Guster
J: "Screaming Infidelities" - Dashboard Confessional
Na: "The Sweet Escape" - Gwen Stefani
In one word:
T: Mandible!
Ni: Booooorrriinng!
J: Lonesome
Na: Slow
Quote of the Week:
T: "The internet... [is] not a big truck, It's a series of tubes" -Senator Ted Stevens (R-Alaska)
Ni: "Are you implying I'm intoxicating?" - Me
J:
Na: "The metric system is the tool of the devil! My car gets four rods to the hog's head, and that's the way I likes it!" - Grampa Simpson
Defining Moment of the Week:
T: Getting a lot of work done towards getting the eagle. Progress is possible during the Summer
Ni: Saturday?
J: Um...
Na: Chess and cobbler up Millcreek.
Most anticipated event for next week:
T: Frisbee Friday, the 27th. Brady's Last Game Blowout!
Ni: Saturday
J: The date on Saturday.
Na: Turning eighteen. Not that I've got a hundred percent positive attitude about it, but I'm hoping to at least get a little bit more freedom out of the whole thing.
Advice of the Week:
T: I've thought a lot about the concept of hope this week. It's said that without hope you can't have faith. Be that a religious faith or whatever other kind of faith, without a hope for the future, I don't think that I nor anybody else is going too far. My advice: Sit down for 15 minutes with a notebook and a pen and find out what you're excited about for the future. What you're hopeful about. If you've got nothing, that's ok. Get to work and make something good for the future. What am I hopeful for? I need to find some more stuff, but mainly for now: school.
Ni: 
J: Don't give up on your friends.
Na: If you miss doing something once, you're more likely than ever before to miss doing it again.
Dredging from the Archives: Advice
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