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Author Topic: The Was Story  (Read 778 times)

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Offline seespleaseTopic starter

The Was Story
« on: November 09, 2010, 03:10:17 PM »
This is part of a longer piece I started about 5 years ago. The plot sort of got away from me, but I've come back to it in an effort to put the story back together. It's something to do while I wait to be approved, anyway! I think I have this story posted elsewhere on the Interwebs, but I think I'll keep the rewrite here, once I finish it.

Chapter 1: The Start of One of Those Things
It was just another uneventful day at Vista Loma High School. I'd gotten used to these tedious, monotonous, drawn out days, school days, where nothing happens - nothing happens at all.

I suppose that's a good thing. I mean, you hear all these menacing things about high school. You know, the malicious gossip, the backstabbing, the "relationship" drama, the homecoming excitement.

Well, the thing is, I'm a pretty low key but mildly popular ish sort of girl. I'm Asian, liberally so (and yes, in the political sense also), meaning I get decent grades, and I wouldn't particularly mind not ending up, after senior year, in a top college; i.e. Stanford, Princeton, Harvard, Yale…I'm also nice, energetic, and I scorn stereotypes. Oh, and cross out the homecoming excitement for me, too—I hadn't felt like gathering up the courage to ask my parents yet. Yes…liberally Asian. But still, Asian.

So really, I was void of excitement in my life. And I…was doubting if any guy would even want to ask me. Even if one did, I'd doubt they'd ever follow through with it.

I readjusted the shoulder straps to my backpack and suppressed a sigh. There were several people ahead of me in line for the PSAT booklet, and the lady who worked the business office was so slow.

"Oh, no," said the person in front of me, a tall boy with curly dark hair and swarthy brown skin. Standing next to him was Christine…something (I forgot her last name), a girl who went to the same middle school as me last year.

"How much is the PSAT booklet?" he asked Christine, frowning down at the check he was holding for fifteen dollars.

"It's twenty dollars…" I said loudly from behind him, "But I have five dollars you can borrow."

The boy turned around and looked down at me in bewilderment, as if he was surprised that some weird Asian freshman would ever loan him five dollars.

I smelled upperclassman. But eh, I couldn't blame him—I'd be creeped out too if I told myself I could borrow five dollars.

He was Indian, with a crooked nose, thin lips, and eyes that looked like they laughed a lot. Despite…whatever it was.

My heart skipped a beat. And no, not because he was some drop dead gorgeous Fabio type from the cover of a trashy romance novel.

He reminded me of someone. He reminded me of…this kid.

The hair, the stringy, lean yet muscled build, the quietly confident posture, the face features reminiscent of art chipped out gracefully from a block of marble that gave away the whole Apollo quality, as if nothing he did could be wrong because he was divine. And supposedly, divinity is never wrong.

But there was something more, something that struck me as mysterious, volatile, attractive in a tragically romantic sort of way. I've seen this all before, though. That is, in someone else.

Yes, I'm getting ahead of myself. It's just, it was that sort of thing. The sort of thing that marks the beginning of everything.

Of course, I knew. Of course I knew that it wouldn't work out for me. Whenever these events happen to me, they are beautiful, dramatic, emotionally draining, very teen, but they form a circle, and somehow, it always leads back to me, alone.

That's the way it is.

I suppose.

"Oh yes…that would be good," the boy replied, smiling in relief as he took my offered five dollars.

I shrugged. "Well, the PSAT is important," I said, "and I'm certainly glad I could lend a hand in paving the way towards your starry future."

He laughed. "Thanks a lot, I'll pay you back soon. What grade are you in?"

"She's a freshman," cut in Christine, seemingly from out of nowhere, "She went to Churchill last year, like me."

I cleared my throat, resisting the urge to release some yet-to-be-born comeback at the back of my brain, even though I'm not that great at them. "Ahem, yes," I said, "She did go to Churchill."

"Ah." The boy searched my face wonderingly. "A freshman. I see. Well, that makes it a lot easier to find you, doesn't it?"
« Last Edit: March 23, 2011, 12:56:11 AM by seesplease »

Offline seespleaseTopic starter

Re: The Was Story
« Reply #1 on: November 11, 2010, 02:43:17 PM »
Hmm, I rewrote chapter 2, but I can't bear to mess with some of the stupid stylistic things I used to do in high school. I know it's not great writing, but it has a sentimental value to me! Ah, nostalgia.

Chapter 2: Renaissance Fair

Just like any other day, I woke to the blaring, extremely unpleasant beeping of my alarm clock. "5:20," it read, the flashing display mocking me as I fumbled to get out of bed, yawning and tripping over several articles of clothing lying randomly on the carpet of my bedroom.

After soaking for several minutes in scorching hot bath water (which I use to wake myself up every morning), I dressed, grabbing a sweatshirt and a long peasant skirt from the folded pile of clean clothes next to my bed. I then swung my backpack over one shoulder, slipped on some shoes, and ran at the sound of my dad's good morning honk to jump into the car and drive to the bakery for some breakfast. There, I'd eat breakfast, usually eggs or something, read the comics (the only part of the newspaper I pay attention to), and, when my carpool's oversized silver van shows up at the front of our bakery, get in it and go to school.

It was like this, you know, every single day. Every. Single. Day. I mean, it is like this, every single day.

The unbroken monotony was just getting to my head, I suppose.

Today seemed like it was going to be an extra special day, though. Today, the MYP sophomores were setting up their big semester final project, the Renaissance Faire, which would be open from period 1 to period 4. They'd set up these…okay, slightly unattractive booths that represented each one aspect of the Renaissance era, like….the Globe theatre (overrated, yuck), the fencing booth (LAME), and the funeral (okay, slightly interesting, but too morbid for my taste).

Exciting, isn't it? But yes, I was bored, so….the thought of a Renaissance Faire at Mira Loma really was kind of exciting. It made me wish I could be a sophomore. It'd be a lot easier, just skipping this stupid freshman year. Plus, Renaissance Faires are fun. I guess I was one of those dweebs in seventh grade that actually enjoyed dressing up…
But God, it was so stupid. “It,” referring to freshman year, of course. Why, you may ask?

Because it was BORING.

That's beside the point, however. The point is that I was intrigued by this break in regularity.

Hmm. Fast forward to second period.

I tagged along with Alicia and Ben for a while. Ben seemed to be caught up in the fencing booth, and Alicia the Globe theatre presentation, supposedly only because her friend was a starring role in their 9:10 am presentation of A Midsummer's Night Dream, so I decided to wander around by myself.

It wasn't that bad, wandering around by myself. I lamely tried to get a flower wreath around a metal pole and didn't make it, so I got a cookie. That was a high point. I also considered getting "married" at the "church" booth, but decided not to because the line was absurdly long for it. Really kids, marriage is for later. Oh yes, the fencing booth (one out of what, like three?) was nice, because after fake losing to the guy with the blunt rapier, I got a balloon sword, which elicited rude comments from several of my male peers because of its resemblance to….well, that.

After doing all this, I was so fed up with the Renaissance Scavenger Hunt that I was supposed to be filling out, I almost considered chucking it in the nearest trash can and going to the library or something, when I noticed Ben sizing up two swords at the weaponry booth. Bemused at the idea of Ben fencing at school, I went over there and arrived just in time to see him shake his head with an expert's contempt at the quality of the two weapons.

"Yeah, this is a foil, isn't it? I usually use a saber in competitions and stuff," he said with a hint of pride in his voice as he tried a few strokes in the air with the foil, "it's a lot better than the rapier you have there."
"That one's my better one, the one I have here is kind of rusty," said a voice I recognized. And lo and behold, it was that Indian kid I met in line for the PSAT who still owed me five dollars.

…That money grubber.

"Hey, I know you," I said, smirking, "You're that kid who hasn't paid me back five dollars yet for paving the way towards your starry future!"
Ben looked at our faces, back and forth. "Starry future, what?" he asked, confused.
The kid laughed. "Yeah, I'll give it to you during lunch, because obviously, I don't have any modern money on me. I'm Renaissance, through and through!" he replied teasingly.

I rolled my eyes. "Sure, sure," I muttered, looking at the booth's presentation board. There was a varied mix of dated weapons tied to the cardboard backing, and I fingered a ball with spikes on it, wondering how much damage it would do if I did a Xena move with it. A flail, the poster said it was.

"DON'T MOVE," barked a voice from behind.
I turned around, disobeying his orders. It was some short Asian kid wearing a baggy Zoro-esque shirt and brown pants, hands at his hips, looking pretty pissed off.
"DON'T TOUCH THAT, GOSH!!!" he scolded, shaking a threatening fist at me as he straightened the display with the other hand, "IT MIGHT FALL OFF."
"Ooh, I'm sorry," I said in a small voice, scooting away quickly and resisting the urge to burst into laughter. Poor kids, the Renaissance Project must be some grade.

Over to my right the two guys were still debating the advantages and disadvantages to the rapier and the foil.
It amused me, to see guys squabble. Which is why I suggested that they fence.
The kid bowed deeply. "It would be an honor to fight on a lady's request," he said humbly.
I laughed, and stood back as he and Ben began to fence. The kid seemed a little more experienced, and there was almost a thin line of sweat appearing on Ben's forehead as his feet skipped across the concrete. When he lost, there was a light blush on his cheeks.

"Good work," he said to the kid, panting a little as he fought to regain his breath. I almost felt bad that I'd even asked in the first place.

Fortunately, the bell rang soon after that. Waving good-bye to the kid and leaving Ben to gather his lost pride, I hastily made my way through the crowds in order to make it back to the English room in time to pick up my things and make it to the front of the Spanish classroom.

The kid knows how to fence, I thought, thinking of the odd feeling I had when I first met him in line at the business office, Wonder what else he's got up his sleeve?