The end of Chapter 3-October from ‘Everything That Counts’

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That particular car ride to St. Margaret’s was longer than I had ever remembered it being, and not just because I had to slow down for an endless stream of trick-or-treaters.
I picked up Sophie first since she lived only a few blocks away from me. It took all my will power not to grin as I walked up the driveway to her front door. Before I knocked I stuck my hand in my coat pocket to double check that the envelope was still in there.
When the door opened I was greeted by a crooked smile. “Hey, Blake.”
“Hey, birthday girl.”
She giggled, the sound as gentle as a butterfly. “Lemme just grab my bag, and we’ll go.”
There was a plastic jack-o-lantern filled with fun sized candy. I wasn’t there a few minutes before the doorbell rang and Sophie’s Dad handed out candy to a princess and a superhero. It reminded me of the first year I met Sophie and we had already become fast friends by her birthday. Chris and David grumbled when our parents told them they were in charge of us, along with Mike, as we ambled throughout the neighborhood. It wasn’t what we wore, or how much candy we got, or how scared Mike was of the creepy clown that seemed to follow us that stuck in my memory. It was how Chris treated Sophie.
He held her hand the entire night, told her that she was the prettiest mermaid he’d ever seen, and although he was joking around with David he made sure that his little sister was safe by always keeping her in his line of sight. I know my brothers love me as much as I love them, but it was obvious that Chris would do anything to protect the sister he loved more than anything. All my life I’d been surrounded by men, but it was my best friends older brother that taught me how to treat a woman.
“Let’s go.” Sophie zipped up a dark green jacket.
“Don’t you want your present?”
“You have it right now?”
“Yeah.”
Her eyes traced my entire lanky frame, before she grinned, and said, “Is it you, Blake?”
“No, it’s a million times better than me.” I pulled out the lavender envelope with her name etched in black calligraphy on the front, and handed it to her.
“Doesn’t look like a pony.” She ripped open the top with her fingernail.
“They didn’t have any rainbow colored ones, so this will have to do.”
Her pale fingers glided under the gold embossed letters of the tickets that spelled out ‘The Rockettes’. Before I could ask her if she liked it a squeal erupted from her, and she threw her arms around my neck. Words rushed out of her mouth, “Thank you so very much, Blake, it’s the best gift ever.”
I knew I was supposed to say ‘You’re welcome’, but I couldn’t break from the spell of vanilla that her wavy hair seemed to exuded. My hands burned as they rested on the small of her back which blocked any signals from my brain to the rest of my body. When she unwrapped her arms from my neck she looked up at me. I rested my forehead on hers just long enough to imprint the feeling of her skin on mine, and the way her back muscles tightened against my palm. I took a breath, then stepped back two paces, and exhaled. Slowly.
I was still close enough to count the freckles on her cheeks when I said, “I know you always wanted to see them.”
“How’d you know my parents were going to New York for Thanksgiving?”
“I asked them.”
“This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. You must have spent everything you have! I don’t deserve this, seriously.”
“You deserve everything, Sophie. You’re the best person I know.” I noticed that I’d double knotted my left shoe, but not the right.
She laughed. “You really think that?”
“If I could, I’d shrink the Earth, and put it on a chain, so you could wear it around your neck.”
“Well, if you turn the Earth into a pendant then where will we be?”
My gaze met back with hers as I scoffed. “If I have the ability to decrease the atomic mass of a planet without destroying it, I’m sure I’d have access to a space shuttle.”
“I guess you’re right. Thanks again, it’s really cool that you got these tickets.”
“I thought it as on par with a first edition.”
“Totally, let me just put these up.” She rushed up the stairs to her bedroom which gave me a chance to concentrate on steading my heart rate. Her forest green boots bounded back to me, and opened the door just in time to catch the next batch of superheros.
For a second I reached for her hand as we walked down the cracked concrete driveway, but I stopped short. Even if I had just given her a dream present, it just didn’t feel right. I could hear Chris’s voice in my head as if her were behind me, and not in Iraq, yelling ‘Keep your hands off my sister!’. I also dreaded the unending awkwardness between us if she pulled away. I could never touch her, not really, because that could ruin all we had. I could live with us being friends, but I couldn’t live if we were nothing.
That’s why I kept my hands at ten and two once we got into the car.
On the outskirts of the neighborhood we picked up Jasper. He stood at the edge of his paved driveway wearing the white melted mask from the movie Scream. He opened up the passenger door, hopped in, and asked, Sophie, “So, how’s it feel to legally be an adult?”
She rolled her eyes, “Kinda like seventeen did considering I’m talking to someone while they’re wearing a creepy mask.”
He pulled it up so the thin jaw protruded from his forehead like a bill on a cap. “Happy Birthday, Sophie.” Jasper handed her a thin rectangle wrapped in the Sunday comics from the local paper.
“Thanks, but next time, use the crossword.”
“Well, I’d already finished it.”
“How long did it take you?”
“Ten minutes.”
Sophie swung her head until she faced, Jasper. “I swear I’m gonna beat you one day.”
He shook his head. “You can’t be great at everything.”
“I know I’m not, I’m just a little competitive.”
Jasper and I asked in unison, “A little?”
Sophie smirked at both of us, and tore off the paper from her present. She slid the mix CD into player. Aimee Mann’s melancholy voice filled the car.
I sighed, very loudly. “Seriously, man. You gave that to her now?”
Jasper shrugged. “It’s her birthday, aren’t we supposed to do whatever she wants.”
“Exactly!” Sophie playfully punched me, not nearly hard enough to jolt my hands, and turn the wheel. “You guys have to listen to what I want to listen to.” She hit the button and the next track started. I smiled at Jasper in the rear view mirror when Radiohead came on.

A few blocks from the church I made a left and Jasper asked from the backseat, “Where are you going, Blake?”
“Oh, this is where Zoe lives.”
“We’re picking up Zoe Malone?”
“Well, yeah. Thought you knew that.”
Jasper straightened his posture, “No, man. I figured since she lived so close she’d walk.”
Sophie shook her head. “And that’s why you’re single, Jasper. You’d make your girlfriend walk to a date in the cold, and at night.”
“Zoe’s just my friend,” I said. “And that’s why I’m picking her up, just like I picked up you two.”
Jasper took the mask off his head, shoved it under my seat, looked at me through the rear view mirror, and said, “We can’t both be your friends, dude.”
“Why not?”
“Simple. You and I have never made out, so by definition, I can’t be categorized the same as her.”
“Jesus Christ.” I muttered as I pulled into the Malone’s driveway. Only a friend that’s as much of a dork as me would ‘categorize’ our peers based on social mores. The fact that Sophie’s face had turned crimson when Jasper mentioned Zoe and I kissing took up more of my gray matter than I’d expected. I could feel the tension in her body rise, and not in the same way the muscles in her back reacted to my touch. I knew she was anxious. I just didn’t know if it was because of me, or Zoe.
But I chalked it up to girls were weird about other girls. It was like they were constantly ranking themselves based on the company they kept.
I got out and trekked up to her door, but Zoe opened it before I could knock. Her golden hair had been curled into perfect spirals, it reminded me of the shape of D.N.A. She wore a tight white shirt which made me forget my own name.
“Hey, Blake.” I was glad she reminded me of it.
“Hey.” I heard my voice, but didn’t feel my mouth move.
“So, are we just gonna stand here all night?”
“Oh,” Feeling came back to my extremities. “No, come on.”
When I got back to the car and opened the drivers side door, I saw that Sophie had moved to the backseat with, Jasper. Her arms were folded on her chest, and her eyes refused to meet mine. “Why’d you move?” I asked as I sat down in the driver’s seat.
Sophie shrugged. “I figured Zoe should sit up front.”
Zoe flashed her a smile. “Thanks, and happy birthday, so you’re like nineteen now?”
“No, I’m eighteen.”
“Whoa, how is that? I mean you’re birthday is really late. I mean mine’s in November and I’ll be nineteen. Did you skip a grade or something?”
Sophie nodded. “The fourth grade.”
Zoe’s words were so soft I could barely make them out over Exit Music (For a Film). “Like the fourth grade is really that hard anyway.”
“So, how do you like Annapolis?” Jasper said in a voice deeper in tenor than usual.
“It’s ok, I guess. I mean my Dad said he’d take us sailing, but he’s like, always traveling opening up hotels, and casinos, and stuff.”
Sophie turned to Jasper and said. “Sounds very arduous.”
Zoe nodded at her through the rear view mirror. “I know it is rigorous, all that traveling, is like really hard.”
“That’s not what I said…” Sophie started.
“Yeah, but it means the same thing…” Jasper began.
But, Zoe interrupted them both, “What is this weird music, anyway?”
As her hand reached toward the stereo I said, “It’s Radiohead, one of the best bands ever. They’re up there with The White Stripes and Smashing Pumpkins.”
“Are they like, your favorite band, or something?”
I shook my head, “No.”
Zoe showed me a mouth full of teeth as she smiled. “Who is?”
“Weezer.” Jasper and Sophie said in unison.
“Oh, isn’t that the band with the geek as their lead singer?”
My heart, lungs, and soul were stuck in my throat. “Rivers Cuomo isn’t a geek. I’m a geek, he’s a rockstar.”
Zoe turned back to Jasper and Sophie. “Who’s Rivers Cuomo?”
“He’s the lead singer,” Sophie said.
“Of Blake’s favorite band,” Jasper continued.
Zoe returned her eyes to me. “I just knew him as the guy with the cool glasses.” A long tan finger touched the edge of my frames. “They remind me of yours.”
I know I should have taken it as an insult, since my crush basically called me a nerd, but I chose instead to believe that she called me a rockstar. Thankfully I pulled into the gravel parking lot in front of a single story white church. It’s white steeples reached up into the starlit sky. I didn’t bother locking it considering there wasn’t anything but a graveyard and a scattering of houses amongst acres of green. Besides there were nicer cars to break into than my Mom’s 1996 Ford Taurus.

St. Margaret’s Church had a hospital grade tile floor. A dozen plain glass windows ran along the white concrete walls. I’d never been there on a Sunday, but I didn’t think the cold and impersonal building would make me feel closer to God.
Since it wasn’t a holy day there were two dozen fold out metal chairs in the center of the sanctuary. There was still a crucifix above the stage I assumed the minister used as his pulpit, but the band always played below it, about five feet from the front row. In all the times I’d been there, I’d never seen anyone actually sitting while music was being played. Everyone talked only in between sets, or like now, long before the headliners had started. The three guys were freshman, and their timing made me believe they’d just learned the song a few days ago.
All the teenagers drank our of blue plastic cups, half of which I knew were spiked with something. David had come home a fair share of nights long past curfew, and wasted, after a night at St. Margaret’s. But as further example of how different I was from my older brother I didn’t follow the same path. I still loved live music, besides we lived in Annapolis, what else was I supposed to do with my free time?
“Hey, Morgan,” Trace said my last name, but I didn’t know why. He’d never spoken to me when I was actually in his house at one of the dozen parties Zoe had taken me to.
I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose and when I opened my mouth a stranger spoke. “Yeah?”
“You’re friends with the hot red head, right?” He nodded his angular jaw toward a girl dancing in the crowd.
Granted she looked pretty with her long wavy copper hair, tight aqua colored sweater, and leather boots that reached her knees, but I wouldn’t describe her as ‘hot’. “Her name’s Sophie.”
“She’s not seeing anyone is she?”
I shook my head.
He bit his lip as his eyes lingered on her as if he were peeling of her clothes. The jock ran his hand through the thick bushy long hair that verged on an afro. All the lacrosse players wore their hair the same as if it were part of their uniform. Then again I hadn’t had a haircut in months either. “Cool.”
I don’t know if I asked him because I was looking out for my best friend or if I was jealous. “Aren’t you still with, Nina?”
“Nah. I like meeting new people too much.”
In my mind I punched him until his nose bled, and he lay sobbing on the floor. In reality I watched him walk over to Sophie. I didn’t have long to analyze how I felt about the situation before Zoe wrapped her arms around my torso.
“I missed you,” she nibbled on my earlobe. I assumed she did it because she thought I must feel some pleasure from the sensation, but I didn’t. It made me feel as if she were testing me before she decided whether to devour me whole or not. Zoe’s lips fused with mine, which was a sensation I throughly enjoyed, until I heard Trace yell over the blaring music.
“You spilled your drink on her man!” The lacrosse captain pushed the tall dark haired boy. He was on the team too. In fact John had shoved me into a locker when we were in seventh grade. It was Sophie who got me out, and was presently covered in a dark liquid I believed to be beer.
“It was just an accident.” John raised his hands above his head as if Trace were a cop.
Trace pulled on his flannel shirt so their faces were inches apart. “Apologize to her.”
“I’m sorry.” But, John didn’t look in Sophie’s direction.
“Whatever,” she shook her head. “I’m going home.” Sophie walked over to Zoe and me. “Can we go home now, Blake?”
“No we can’t yet, the band hasn’t even played!” Zoe whined still hanging on to me.
Sophie’s glare met with Zoe. “I’m sorry to ruin your night, but I’m covered in beer on my birthday.”
Zoe twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “Your shirt will dry out.”
“Forget it, I’ll take a taxi.” And in a flash my best friend was gone.
I took Zoe’s hand and started toward the door. “I have to take her home.”
“She said she’ll get a cab, Blake.”
I picked up the pace. “If it was the other way around I wouldn’t let you go home alone either.”
“Whatever,” Zoe sighed.
We found Sophie standing in the gravel parking lot as she hung up her phone and dropped it back into her purse.
I came up to the side of her. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.”
Sophie shook her head and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Lilly’s five minutes away, I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll wait with you.”
“No, it’s freezing!” Zoe tugged on the sleeve of my jacket.
I looked down at her. “Go back inside where it’s warm, I’ll be back in time to hear the band.”
“OK,” She stood on her tip toes and kissed me before she went back to the safety of the church.
The cold breeze sung in my ears but it couldn’t block out the sound of electric guitars and teenagers cheering.
“You don’t have to wait,” Sophie said.
“Yes I do because something’s wrong,” I said.
“I’m covered in alcohol that I didn’t even have the pleasure of drinking.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. You’ve been acting weird for weeks.”
Her eyes lingered on mine, “It’s nothing.”
I poked her in the ribs in hopes to alleviate the tension, the action made her face turn neon, as if all her freckles had merged together.. “Tell me.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She pulled her black knit beanie down until it covered most of her face save her lips.
“I’ll get it out of you eventually.”
“It wouldn’t make a difference even if I did tell you.”
“What does that mean?”
A car horn honked as Lilly pulled up alongside the curb. Sophie flipped up the edge of her beanie up and turned to me. “It doesn’t matter because you have a girlfriend.”
I brushed the hair off my forehead. The forward momentum of the conversation was starting to take a much darker turn then I’d expected. “Zoe’s not my girlfriend.”
“You keep telling everyone that as if it makes it true.” She yanked the car door open, “Goodnight, Blake.” Her words became a mist that hung in the air, long after she was gone.
What I didn’t understand was why she moved to the backseat when we picked up Zoe? Wouldn’t she want to sit next to me if she really did want to be more than a friend?

A peek at ‘Caroline Hearts Toby’

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I remembered the first night we spoke, at a party, a week after I turned fourteen.  It was a humid Saturday night and an ex had decided to start a fight with me.  I turned into a full fledged drama queen, and ran crying to the solace of a wooden gazebo on the edge of the woods behind the party house.  The tip of his long shadow touched the steps of my fortress before Toby did, “Are you OK?”  he asked.
“Yeah,”  I said between racking sobs.
“You want to talk?”
“Yeah.”  I went on for what felt like years but was actually a few hours without taking a breath.  “…he’s just such an asshole you know, I could do so much better than him.”
“You could do a lot better, like me.”
For the first time that night, I burst out laughing.
The side of his mouth turned up in a half smile.  “What’s funny about being my girlfriend?”
“You don’t want to date me, I’m like, totally crazy.”
“Maybe,” his light eyes enveloped me. “But you’re laugh is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.”
Before I could decide if he was serious or not a group of boys with baggy jeans, flannel shirts, and backwards baseball caps called out, “Hey!  We’re leaving, man.  You coming?”
He stood up.  The eaves of the rotted wood sighed beneath his tall frame.  “I gotta go, see you around.”
“See you around.”

That Monday, Margo and I strolled up to the side entrance of the two story brick prison called high school, and there he was.  His azure eyes were half closed as he sat on the steps playing an acoustic guitar the color of wheat.  The scene was more fantastic than an e.e. cummings poem.  My heart stopped beating in my chest as I followed the trajectory of his skinny left arm and the fingers of his right hand caressing the neck.  Even though he was fully clothed, a hundred feet away from me, and so into the song he didn’t know I was staring at him, it was the most erotic event of my life up until that point.
Margo, my best friend since forever, nudged me.  “Gawk much?”
I took a breath, not realizing I’d been holding it the entire time, and shook my head.  “No way.  Total waste of time.  It’s not as if he likes me, or whatever.”
“He totally likes you, Caroline.”
“How do you know?  Are you psychic?”
“I have eyes.”  A smirk stretched over Margo’s tan skin.  “Every time you speak, he looks over at you and smiles like a little kid.  I’m afraid he’s gonna pull on one of your pigtails during recess, or something.”
My pulse sped up.  “Really?”
“Watch him for yourself if you’re so interested.”

I did.  Our eyes met for the briefest of moments and it made me feel as if I’d been shot out of a cannon.  I turned back to my notebook and started to write, secretly wishing my Mom would give in and buy me a cell phone.  Since I was fourteen, the best idea for expressing my undying love to him was to pass him a note after class, and that’s exactly what I did.  The rest of the day proved supremely agonizing.  As I walked out the front door to my bus, he stopped me, and handed me a note of his own.

I wrote him a note every day for the next two years.

Blake Morgan’s First Kiss

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I threw myself onto my bed and rolled over.  My glasses were askew, and when I straightened them I saw glossy dark leaves reflecting the Moon outside the large bay window.  They swayed in the wind and reminded me of my first kiss, five years ago.
It was the Fourth of July and my parents had a crab broil for the block.  David insisted we invite Chris, which filled me with relief, because then I didn’t have to admit that my best friend was his sister, Sophie.
The younger kids ran up and down the street with sparklers while Sophie climbed halfway up the White Oak in my front yard.  “C’mon Blake, you can see the fireworks better from up here.”
“I’m good down here.”  I was never a big fan of heights.  If humans were meant to fly, we’d have evolved wings by now.
“Why?  Too cool to climb trees anymore?”
I sighed and pulled myself up to the same limb she sat on.  From my new vantage point I could see David making out with someone who wasn’t his girlfriend on the side of the garage.  “Jesus Christ.”
“What?”
“You didn’t tell me there’s a perfect view of my brother and Jordan down there.”
“Where?”  She giggled and turned her head side to side.
“Right there.”  I pointed.
“Uh!  I hate being so short.”  She pulled up on my shoulder, until her face was parallel with mine. Her long red braid tickled my arm.  “Whoa, I bet he knows what she had for lunch.”  She sat on her knees so her eyes leveled with my throat, although she directed them to the night sky.  “I can’t wait until someone kisses me like that.”
I shook my head.  “Girls are so weird.”
She turned back to me.  “Why?”
“Boys don’t think about stuff like that.”  I knew it was a lie once the words left my mouth because I thought about it too.  All the time.
“Yeah, right.”
“I don’t.”
“Oh, I forgot, I’m talking to the Casanova of Annapolis.  So, what do boys think about?”
“I don’t know, stuff?”
She giggled then lowered her voice, “Like hunting, bowling, and beer?”
I laughed.  “Yeah.”
She raised her eyebrows.  “But, you don’t think about any of that.”
I shrugged.
She exhaled the words.  “Well, you must be right, because no one has ever thought of kissing me.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because no guy has ever kissed me.  I always thought I’d have my first kiss before I started high school.”  She gazed at me with her big green eyes.
I don’t know what came over me since every action I took had always been carefully thought out.  Maybe it was because I wanted to have my first kiss as well, or that I knew she wouldn’t laugh at me, or that her fair skin shimmered in the moonlight.  My mind went blank when I craned my neck and pressed my lips to hers.  She tasted like strawberries, sunsets, and honeysuckle.  My first kiss lasted just long enough to wonder if Sophie’s mouth was made of flower petals.
For a while there was only the laughing of children running in the yard, the adults banter that grew in volume throughout the night, and the hooting of a distant owl, until I said.
“Now you don’t have to worry about it anymore.”
She opened her mouth and began to respond when an explosion of fireworks erupted.  Red, white, and blue lit up the sky blocking out the stars and planets I loved so much.  Neither of us ever mentioned the kiss.
But, we did hold hands until the display of perchlorate, copper, and sulfur diffused into the atmosphere.

A scene from my thriller ‘Clear’ from the pov of Samantha Locke

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Nothing like a frat party to forget about her childhood, those years with her nose stuck in a book too terrified to experience life, Julio, and all the men she killed.  Drugs, alcohol, and anonymous sex with a hot college guy were the quickest cure to her unending sadness.  They never called, or wanted you to stay the night, and were always ready.  That had been a caveat of living in D.C., access to educated and uninhibited men.  Samantha had never gone to college but she could still pass for an undergrad and leave all her worries behind.  Until she hooked up with philosophy major Tyson.
Thank God he doesn’t know my real name or he’d never shut the fuck up, she thought.
Samantha could not be within a hundred yards of American University without him finding her, and she fell for it every time.  That Friday night was no different as he made a bee line for her in the middle of the mosh pit in the backyard behind the frat house.
“Maggie, I missed you,”  he yelled above the dance music as he grabbed her face and kissed her.  It was deep and passionate, as if he’d been dreaming of her for months.
She pushed him away.  “I told you! I can’t do this anymore!”
He stood in the middle of the dancing crowd, ignored them all, and stared at her with his dark eyes.  Tyson had on his preppy college boy uniform: bright blue sweatshirt with three greek letters printed on it, khaki pants, and keys to the Mustang his parents just bought him still in his hand.
“Why?”  His gaze tried to get past the wall she had built, but no one had ever made it through her fortress.
“Cause you like me too much.  I told you I’m not girlfriend material.”  She shook her head and continued deeper into the moving mass eyeing a tall ebony skinned frat brother with braids, but Tyson followed her.
“Who said I wanted a girlfriend?”
She rolled her eyes.  “The last time we fucked you said you wanted me to meet your mom.”
He twirled her around and pulled her hips to his.  Strong hands moved down to her ass as she gazed at his chocolate skin, bright smile, and long eyelashes.  A million girls would kill to be asked to meet his mom, but Samantha was an original.  Still, she had needs too.
She melted when he breathed the words to her.  “I don’t care about that anymore.  I just want you, Maggie.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Tyson.”
“I got you a present.”  He placed two pills with a sky blue peace sign stamped on them in her palm.  She swallowed them, knowing it was safe to take whatever he might give her, because she had researched him thoroughly before they hooked up a second time.  Tyson didn’t know that his father had an affair with their babysitter when he was nine, but Samantha did.
“You already rolling?”  Her hand brushed over his bald fade as she pulled him closer.
“I was waiting for you.” He swallowed in turn.

Upstairs, in his bedroom, he ran his finger along the side of her neck and it made her heart explode.  Tyson’s room matched every other in the large house: powder blue walls, flannel bed sheets, and a few posters of half naked models. With the ecstasy it didn’t matter where they where or what he did.  She wanted more.  Tyson pulled off her neon pink thermal shirt, tossed it on the floor next to her skirt, and asked for the millionth time.
“What’s your tattoo say?”  The letters floated in the air.  She could almost reach them as they passed by her head.
“If you keep asking questions I’m gonna leave, and fuck one of your brothers.”  She walked backwards, toward his bed, slowly taking off her bra.
The threat worked and he turned into the quiet yet attentive lover that she enjoyed.  She didn’t care about what he thought about anything, just that he always got her off.  He pulled off her leggings.  Samantha yanked his belt off, his pants fell to the floor, and he got on top of her.  Tyson was always gentle, as if she were made of glass, afraid to break her.  It was refreshing to be thought of as delicate, fragile even.
He ran his tongue along her ear.  “I want you all night, Maggie.”
Their lips met, and all her demons vanished.  She could forget about her father, Erebus eventually killing her, and Matthew.
The S.E.A.L. was so straight laced that she wanted to offer him drugs just so he would relax.  But, she couldn’t get him out of her head.  When she riffled through his house she had to stop herself from shoving her face into one of his shirts to smell his cologne.
Why am I even thinking about that uptight prick when I’m rolling?
Running her hands through his dark red hair, kissing his scarred mouth, the tenor of his voice saying her real name.  He wouldn’t be slow and deliberate, Matthew was the type to fuck in an elevator because he needed it, like her.  Imaging him shoving her against a wall, ripping off her clothes, his broad swimmers body against hers, pulling her hair, nails along his back.  With him she would stay until morning.  Maybe.
Matthew got Samantha there, while Tyson whispered sweet nothings to Maggie.

My favorite scene from ‘Everything That Counts’

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<At this moment in time, this is (in my eyes), the best scene I’ve written.>

Homeroom was the place where the last vestige of freedom a teenager held was stripped away.  Even the nurse was unavailable to me if I fell to the floor and had a seizure, unless I also had written authorization from a teacher to visit her.  But, I followed the rules, because that’s how I would get a scholarship.  Then I would appease my parents by attending GW, get my graduate degree from Berkley, and become an astrophysicist so I begin to grapple this word we call existence.
The stranger breezed into our class.  A waterfall of hair the color of spun gold hung over one shoulder, she had dark outlined eyes, jeans, and an orange sweater that, thankfully, looked as if it had been shrunk in the dryer.  Before she even spoke, I thought she was the most interesting girl at our high school once I saw the silver loop through her belly button.
Her voice was light as a hummingbird, “Hey, I’m Zoe Malone, is this the right home room?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Tanner straightened up in her dark pantsuit and took a slip of paper from the vixen’s hand.  “Where are you from Zoe?”
“Denver.”
“Welcome to Cape Saint Claire High School,”  The teacher’s eyes moved across the page.  “It looks like you have a few classes and lunch period with Blake Morgan.  You can sit next to him, and he can give you the grand tour throughout the day.”
My heart stopped.
Zoe turned to the class, “Umm, which one is he?”
“The one in the back, with the glasses.”  Mrs. Tanner pointed at me.
The new girl’s hips swayed as she walked to the back of the class.  The closer she got, the more my face burned.  I slouched in the chair as if preparing for impact.  The rest of our peers continued to talk, but the only matter in my universe was her.
“Hey,” The goddess sat down.
I tried to speak but instead started coughing, loudly.
“Are you ok?”  Her dark eyes wide.
“Yeah,”  I pounded on my chest, “All good.”
“I’m Zoe,” she giggled.  “But, I guess you already know that.”
I wanted to say that, I was indeed the infamous Blake Morgan, and it would be my pleasure to attend to her every need until the next Ice Age.  All that came out was, “Blake.”
“I like your hair.”
“You what?”
“Your hair, just makes me want to…”
And that’s when it happened.  Day became night, the sun went out, and black holes were no longer a mystery when she ran her hand through my hair.  Up until that point I was unaware that girls like Zoe would ever contemplate touching a loser like me, much less do it.  My confusion and excitement must have shown on my face when she pulled it away.
“Oh, sorry.  I’m just a hands-on kinda girl.”  She shrugged as if that made it OK to run your hands through a stranger’s hair.
Which it totally did.
“So what do you guys do for fun around here Blake?”  She twirled a lock of hair around her finger.
“You mean like, me and my friends?”
“Yeah.”
The truthful answer was: quiz each other for Academic Decathlon, play video games, watch horror movies, or simply study in the same room.  “We go to D.C. sometimes.”
“And do what?”
“Just you know, hang out.”  At the Smithsonian, I should have added.
“Isn’t the Naval Academy nearby?”
“Yeah.”  I almost dared to ask if she was aware that Annapolis was also the capital of Maryland.  But, she was beautiful, therefore I thought better of it.
“So, there’s like a bunch of hot guys there, right?”
“I don’t generally check out the Midshipmen, but my friend Sophie likes to go at the end of school for plebes-no-more.”
“For what?”
I pushed my glasses up my nose.  “The freshman, they call them plebes, and at the end of the year they have to traverse this pillar that’s over twenty feet high and pull a uniform dress hat off the top.”
“What’s so hard about that?”
“They grease it up, and tape down the hat with like, duct tape.”
Her eyes widened.  “What’s the point?”
I shrug.  “To not be called an underclassman.”
“And why does your friend Sophie like this?”
“You’d have to ask her, but she drags me there every year.”
“Will you take me this year?”
Her words did not make sense to me.  “What?”
“Would you take me to check out the Naval Academy?  You seem really nice and since we’ll see so much of each other I thought it would be fun.  I mean if later you think I’m a freak you can totally back out and I won’t hold it against you.  Or, whatever.”  She shrugged.
I don’t know if I said it because I wanted a change or, because I was completely enamored by this person.  “Yeah, sure, sounds great.”
The bell rang and I ushered her to the photography lab.

Pearls of Wisdom

Standard

<A middle school teacher asked me to come up with something that would let her students know that a first draft is not a final draft.>

Writing is easy, right?  Wrong.

To prove my point think of the bestseller ‘The Fault In Our Stars’, it should be easy to write a teenage love story that connects with people of all ages, right?  Wrong.
John Green spent four hours every day writing, it took him three years to ‘complete’ it until he sent it into his publishing house.  Once they got a hold of it John Green spent another four years re-writing and approving edits before the tome was put on bookshelves and became an international sensation.
I began writing my first published short story ‘Blood On The Potomac’ when I was 28 (and that’s about how old you should be before you read it).  I spent at least an hour each day for two months writing, before I showed it to other writers, then I spent another month re-writing.  And it’s only seven pages long.  It wasn’t published until I was 29, because my editor had to review all the stories in the collection.

I must be a terrible writer, right?  Wrong.

I understand that my first draft is purely a stream of consciousness that no other human should read, because it’s not good enough, and I can do better.  I re-work every sentence before I show it to my writing buddies, they give me feedback, and I use a machete to cut out about half so I can start over.

But, only writers would spend so long on one manuscript, right?  Wrong.

Think of your favorite musician.  Do you think they only practiced each song once before they recorded it?  Does your favorite sports team only run a play once before the big game?  Do the actors in your favorite movie only do the scene once before it’s put into the film?  Would you trust your doctor if they’d only stitched up one person before they start on you?

No, you wouldn’t.
They review their work again, and again, and again, until their sick of whatever it is.  Then they do it again.

I have a friend who’s been a professional stand up comedian for over 20 years.  Granted he is hilarious off the cuff, but when he’s on stage, he’s told those jokes at least a hundred times in a hundred different places.  I don’t need to ask him why he seems so at ease because I know that he practices every day to protect his craft.
Even this took me three hours to write.  I started by just typing everything I thought, then I read over it and re-wrote it.  I took a break to get some perspective then looked over it again, because I have pride in what I do.

And if you don’t take any pride in your writing then at least take pride in your education.  You can’t get anywhere in life without it, and the knowledge that you have is something no one can ever take away from you so, hold it dear.

-Melissa Algood  2014