"She"

This is my NaNoWriMo attempt. NaNoWriMo happens every November, and the goal is to write a novel in a month. It's not a contest, there's no prize, it's just for your personal gain, to write a novel in a month.

My word count goal: 35.000 words
Title: "She"

short intro post is short. on to the story.

Current word count: 1.430

.k.y.l.e.

Why had I decided to take a ride on my bike on a dark, cloudy day? What am I, stupid? “Oh, don’t worry mom, it’s just cloudy, it won’t rain, I’ll be perfectly fine!” Yeah, right. Perfectly fine. I’m not perfectly fine, I’m hiding in a gazebo, looking out at the rain, holding my bike’s handlebars waiting for the rain to at least die down to sprinkling. I adjusted the black newsboy cap on my head, and looked around. A car or two zoomed by.

Groaning, I sat down on the floor of the gazebo, and laid my bike against a bench for support. That’s when I saw Her, walking gracefully through the pouring rain, no umbrella, or anything. Her dark hair fell to her waist and her long bangs touched the tip of Her button-nose, shielding Her eyes from view. She had pale, porcelain skin, and Her lips were slightly tilted upward at the corners. She entered the gazebo, and I noticed what She wore: a tight black shirt mostly concealed by a crisp, white blazer (with a black crest in the corner, emblazoned with a lion), a blue-and-black plaid skirt, black leggings, and flip-flops. At first I thought “that outfit is so weird!”; but on her, somehow, it looked absolutely stunning.

She was a head shorter than me, and that’s really saying something, considering I’m not very tall. I tried to choke out a greeting, but none came, and that’s when I realized something:

She was completely dry!

This was really weird. No wonder She was dressed this way. Then again, maybe this was Her school uniform and She was on her way home. It seemed that way—the plaid skirt and blazer were typically signs of a school uniform. I felt unable to move as She walked around me, looking me up and down, until She finally stopped in front of me again.

“W-what was that for?” I stammered. Somehow, She made me feel vulnerable, uncomfortable, as if some unknown force was acting. I was never afraid of other girls. But She was different.

I felt a voice ring inside my head. ‘School. Give me your school name. And your name, age, everything you can.’

Twirling a finger through my similar waist-length black hair (though my bangs were side-bangs, only concealing my right eye), I bit my glossed lips and wondered aloud: “Did You just speak to me in my mind?”

To that, She nodded, and I heard a faint “Yes” in my head. My hand that was twirling the strand of hair began to shake as She simply smiled at me and asked, ‘Information?’

Despite always being told never to give information to strangers, I began to list it off as She had requested. I am Kyle Hunt, female, half-Chinese, half-English, I go to Boston Preparatory Academy—since it’s a prep school, we have to wear uniforms, I told Her—and I am sixteen years old in the eleventh grade, though I turn seventeen on Halloween. She smiled at all of this, taking it all in, until She asked, ‘Why are you out here in the rain?’

“Because I feel like it,” I responded, crossing my arms. “Why are you? And stop talking to me in my head, it’s really weird.”

She smiled, and laughed soundlessly. “I’m sorry,” She finally said, in a soft voice. “I’m used to being able to do that. I guess you don’t have The Gift. But don’t worry; I’m sure it will develop in you at some point. Kyle Hunt, straight-A+ student, am I right? In band, plays the cello, former choir student, constantly in plays, amazing artist, the list can go on and of what I know about you now.”

I backed up, and reached for my bike without taking my almond eyes off of Her. What the heck is this?! How does she know about me? When I didn’t find my bike with my hand, I looked, only to see that it was gone.

“Kyle, the answer is quite simple. I know about you because…” she trailed off. “Halloween is tomorrow, is it not?”

“Yes, it is,” I said warily, arching an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing. Just wondering. I wasn’t sure whether today was the twenty-ninth or the thirtieth,” She said airily, vaguely, looking around and out at the rain.

That’s when I realized I should ask Her another question.

“Why aren’t you soaking wet?” I asked Her. “I mean, it’s pouring rain, and I got wet and had to take shelter here. Why didn’t You get wet?”

She turned her head back to look at me. She calmly smiled. She stared at me for awhile, until I finally had to look away from Her captivating glare. Despite being unable to see Her eyes, I could feel their stare on the back of my head for a few moments. When I glanced back up, Her head was back to facing the rain, looking out, staring.

I walked around the semi-large gazebo, hoping to see my bike. But this was weird—it wasn’t leaning against any of the other benches, hiding behind them, or anything. It had completely disappeared from the gazebo. This was weird.

I heard a crack, like someone had snapped a tree branch in two, and jumped, gasping. I looked up at Her, and She was facing me, a smile on Her face. I looked out of the gazebo, and my eyes widened, irises shrinking slightly.

The rain had stopped falling.

My whole body started shaking. I looked back at the bench, and there was my bike. Nervously I walked it out into the now sunny evening, and mounted it. Turning my head back to the gazebo, I expected to still see Her, but She was suddenly gone. Out of nowhere, it had become sunny like a summer evening, the pouring rain had stopped and—I looked down at the ground—the mud had dried into its original hard, dirt state. That, and She was suddenly gone.

It was then that I had realized that She was not one of us. Oh no, She could definitely not be one of us. She must have powers, She must be a God, she must be something other than human. Or was all of this just a coincidence? No, no, it was too weird to be a coincidence. Way too weird. Pouring, freezing rain can’t suddenly turn into warm sun, mud can’t suddenly dry after a storm, and bikes don’t disappear and reappear.

But if things like that don’t happen, then why did they? How did this all happen?

‘You’re right. I’m not one of you.’

That’s when I lost all sense of what was going on, and ended up on the ground.



When I woke up, She was shielding the view of the sun, and her hair hung in my face. I slowly began to sit up, but she pushed me hard onto the ground. But somehow, I had been moved to the grass, and my bike was lying on the dirt pathway.

“Kyle,” she began, talking harsh and fast, unlike earlier where she had been soft and slow. “You’re right. I was listening to your thoughts. You are right. But don’t tell anyone. Not a soul. If you do, trust Me, I’ll find out, and make your life miserable. Other than that, we can talk when I see you again—trust Me, we will meet again. I know you have The Gift.”

She swiftly stood up and walked away, leaving me confused and disoriented. What on Earth just happened? After lying in the cool grass for a few minutes, I sat up, thinking about Her, and only Her. Swinging my leg over my bike, I started pedaling, as fast as I possibly could. In a minimal term, I was scared out of my mind. There were no words to describe how terrified I was, about this girl, how She had just appeared and given me a burden. Now I knew that people unlike humans lived among us, but where, how, when, what, who—those questions about the inhuman people ran around in my head.

Other than the questions about Her, I wondered what The Gift was. Was it a superpower, a disease, what was it? The ability to read minds? She said that I have The Gift, but the question that I was itching to know the answer to was “What is The Gift?!” Even though I horribly wanted to know the answer, the thing was, I probably wouldn’t get an answer for a long, long time.

Great description of the girl!

Was female a typo, or is Kyle suppose to be a girl? I just have never heard of a girl named Kyle =/

Also:

Butty wrote:

Despite always being told never to give information to strangers, I began to list it off as She had requested. I am Kyle Hunt, female, half-Chinese, half-English, I go to Boston Preparatory Academy—since it’s a prep school, we have to wear uniforms, I told Her—and I am sixteen years old in the eleventh grade, though I turn seventeen on Halloween. She smiled at all of this, taking it all in, until She asked, ‘Why are you out here in the rain?’

Was Kyle thinking this, if so wouldn't it be italized? If it were speak- wouldn't it be "Blah blah blah" Or is it one of those chunks where it's just telling us what Kyle said, not really her talking at the point of the story? ^_^

No, Kyle's a girl. I've heard stories where there are girls named Dylan, and some girls with boy names, stuff like that. Besides, why would a guy have side-bangs and waist-length hair? XD

It's actually one of those chunks where it's just telling us what Kyle said, rather than her having to actually say it.

The next two chapters are done, though I'd like chapter four to be done before I post chapter two. So the next chapter should be posted tomorrow.

XD This is true. Amanda should really think about this stuff.

-w- just checking.

FINISH >:O CHAPTER >:O FOUR >:O

:3 please.

Butty wrote:Kyle Hunt

that surname was randomly selected right.

Yeah. I couldn't think of anything else, and the surname in the old version of this a year ago I didn't really like. So I thought "Hunt sounds good, I'll use that".

*flattered*

Oh, wow, I just realized that. ._.

Note: The following chapter is short, and the demeanor almost completely changes, since it's all morning-time and Jessica doesn't seem like an important character ATM. Also, this POV-changing will happen from chapter to chapter, usually from Kyle to Jessica, though.

Current word count: 2.659

.j.e.s.s.i.c.a.

I smiled softly to myself as I looked in the bathroom mirror. The lights surrounding said mirror were off, only with the warm glow of the red-tinted overhead light on. I pulled on the mirror’s edge, opening the medicine cabinet, with 8 shelves. The top two had “mom” labeled on them—the next two had “Kyle” labeled—the next two my name, “Jessica” (even though everyone but mom calls me Jessi)—and the last two, “Rahzel”. I reached for the toothpaste on “Jessica”’s first shelf, and pulled down my green toothbrush as well. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, all of that good stuff.

I went to my bedroom to get changed. I pulled off my towel and discarded it on my bed with the green floral print comforter, and then I reached into my closet to get my undergarments and school uniform (I go to Boston Prep with my sister Kyle). I put on my undergarments, then the short-sleeved crisp white blouse, a maroon-red blazer, and a blue skirt. I put on my own little touch—rainbow above-the-knee socks, and lastly, the mandatory black dress shoes. After examining my desk to make sure I hadn’t left any homework, I turned off my bedroom light and jogged down the stairs into the kitchen.

At the table, there were three, each slightly different. I sat down at the place where there was a cheese omelet, milk, and four strips of bacon. My mom was sitting across from me, with a bowl in front of her, containing her usual breakfast, Alpha-bits. There was an exchange of greetings and “good morning”s, as it was usually quiet before Rahzel and Kyle came down.

I looked behind mom’s stick-straight black hair, and at the clock on the microwave. It read 7.30A.M. My two sisters were usually downstairs by now, eating and chatting before we had to leave for school. Right then, as I looked at the clock, I heard two pairs of feet clomping down the stairs, and my ten-year-old and now-seventeen-year-old sister appeared.

“Happy seventeenth!” mom exclaimed as Kyle sat down at her own place: scrambled eggs, two pieces of toast, one strip of bacon, a half-glass of milk and a water bottle. “I can’t believe my little baby’s growing up.”

Kyle smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess. But that means it’s only one more year until I can legally move out.”

“Yeah, but in one more year, you’ll still be in high school,” mom reasoned. “I get to keep you for two more years.”

“One and a half if I decide to move out in the summer,” Kyle shrugged, digging her fork into her eggs and shoving it into her mouth. After swallowing, she continued, “but I don’t see the point in that if I’m going off to college, anyway.”

After that brief exchange, there was only the clinking of silverware on the plates. Rahzel, always a fast eater, finished first, and scurried off to put her plate and cup in the sink. She came back in and exclaimed, “I was waiting until I was done eating to tell you guys, but—” she started, but cut herself off, with a quick “never mind.”

“What is it?” I asked, standing up and walking into the kitchen with my now-empty plate and cup. I set them in the sink for my mom to take care of—it was her time to wash today. “Tell us.”

“Yeah, tell us,” said Kyle, as she was done, too. Mom set her bowl in the sink as well, and then began to rinse everything off before putting it in the dishwasher.

“Well, there’s this guy in my class and—” this time, mom cut her off.

“Do you like him?” she asked, looking down at little Rahzel, her short hair falling in her face. “Is it your first crush?”

“No, mom, my first crush was in third grade, but it didn’t turn out well. You see, he played a ‘harmless’ prank on my friend and I decided I didn’t like him anymore.” Rahzel crossed her arms, and I messed up her hair.

“Go Rahzel!” I grinned, as she re-applied her pink headband into her jet-black hair.

“But this is the same guy!” Rahzel cried out, stomping her foot. “Then, I guess he was my first crush, oh well, but anyway, see, we’re being assigned in groups of three for a project today in science and I really don’t want to work with him! What do I do?”

“Hope,” I shrugged, knowing full well that I wasn’t giving her any help. Rahzel frowned.

“Kyle, can you drive everyone to school, or would you guys rather take the bus?” mom asked, disregarding Rahzel’s question.

“I’ll drive,” Kyle offered, sticking her chest out slightly. She ran over to the coat closet at the end of the foyer, by the front door, and pulled three coats out. One was a simple black sweater (Kyle’s), another was a big purple one (Rahzel’s), and the last was a leopard-print heavy jacket (mine, obviously). Almost in sync, we slid our jackets on, and grabbed our bags off of the floor by the stairs. Rahzel had a Spongebob backpack, Kyle had a simple black messenger bag, and I had a brown messenger bag with large, shiny gold buttons. The three of us called our good-byes, and ran out the front door.

“Let’s go, ladies!” Kyle clapped a few times, and walked over to the garage, where her Mustang was parked. She climbed into the drivers’ seat, me into the shotgun seat, and Rahzel in the back.

“Can we pick up Shelby?” Rahzel asked, referring to her Swedish-French best friend. “Pleeeeeease?”

“Why not?” Kyle grinned, and backed out of the garage, and Rahzel cheered, and began to sing “going to pick up Shelby, Shelby, Shelbyyyyyy…”

“We won’t if you keep singing that,” I snapped. Rahzel quickly silenced herself, looking down at her white tights. The next five minutes we sat in silence, driving the way we all knew by heart to Shelby Denson’s house. When we arrived, Rahzel shot out of the backseat and up the stairs to the Densons’ front porch, knocking loudly on the heavy wooden door and ringing the doorbell a few times.

Within the next few minutes, two ten-year-olds were sitting in the backseat of the Mustang, chattering on and on about their school life, their other friends, things like that. It wasn’t until a red light that I noticed Kyle was sheet-white and clenching the steering wheel as hard as she could.

“What’s wrong?” I asked silently, as to not get Rahzel and Shelby concerned—especially not Shelby, she was too much of a helper, and her parents were doctors.

“N-nothing,” Kyle stammered. “I just thought I saw something back there.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Kyle said, in a harsher tone, “it’s nothing. I just thought I saw someone who looks familiar.”

I audibly exhaled, and looked out the window, until we arrived at Boston Prep. Shelby and Rahzel got out, said good-bye in unison, and ran off. Without bothering to ask Kyle about what she was reacting about for a second time, I got out, and closed the door. We parted ways for our different groups of friends, to see each other again only at the end of the day when it’s time to go home.

.k.y.l.e.

I walked off to the oak tree to the west of the large brick building, where I could see two girls standing, leaning against the trunk, each eating an apple. One had dark auburn hair, and the other had dyed honey-blonde locks. I waved, and the redhead waved with about twenty times more enthusiasm, and grinned with her mouth full of apple chunks. The blonde, Chandler, rolled her eyes.

“Hey, Nat, Chandler,” I greeted them.

“Morning!” Nat beamed enthusiastically. That was Nat for you, always full of enthusiasm. “Where can I throw this away?” she asked, holding up the apple core. “Dude, I hate having to eat breakfast at school. I mean, why can’t I just get up in time in the mornings like you guys can and eat a nice, whole breakfast? I always have to eat a piece of fruit or a doughnut or a couple of Pop-Tarts instead of stuff like eggs and toast and bacon.”

“What time do you go to bed?” Chandler asked, hurling her core at a group of “popular girls”. “Maybe the time you go to bed affects the time you get up.”

“Around midnight,” Nat confessed sheepishly, grinning shyly. Chandler and I facepalmed in unison.

“Well, not only that, but my mom never cooks in the morning!” Nat added hurriedly. “I mean, my brother sleeps, and I end up with only about five minutes to get ready cause I keep falling back asleep and—”

“We get it,” I laughed. Chandler pointed over my shoulder.

“Who’s that creepy new girl?”

I gulped. I knew who this was. I knew it, knew it, knew it, knew it. Is it really Her?

I turned around, and followed Chandler’s gaze, and Nat did, too. Indeed, it was Her, dark hair and all. My eyes widened, I’m sure, when I saw that She wasn’t wearing the uniform I saw Her in yesterday. Rather, She was wearing the crisp white blouse, maroon blazer, navy skirt—all of it—it was the Boston Prep uniform. When She saw us looking over, She ran over to us, faster than anyone on the track or cross-country team could go.

“Why’s she coming over here?” Chandler whispered.

“I dunno, but she’s really fast!” Nat exclaimed as She came over.

‘Hello, Kyle,’ She thought to me.

“Hey; who’re you?” I asked, hoping She would get the mental waves I was sending Her about acting normal and pretending She didn’t know me—and that She should talk out loud. She sent a mental “yes” to me, and I shivered. At least it was cold, so the shiver could be passed off as a gust of wind.

“Hello,” She said, smiling softly.

“Hi! You’re really fast,” Nat gushed. “What’s your name? I’m Nat, this is Chandler, and that’s Kyle.”

“Thanks,” She said softly. “I’m Sheba.”

“What team are you on?” Chandler asked. “All three of us are on Red.”

She pulled a schedule out of a black messenger bag—which was surprisingly similar to mine. In fact, She had the exact same jacket that I was wearing. This was all way too creepy. I meet this girl; She transfers to my school and has all of the same things that I have? What the heck?

“I’m on Red, too,” She smiled. “I don’t know anyone here—do you guys mind if I hang out with you for the day? Sit together at lunch?”

“No, our lunch table’s already way full,” I spat out quickly, hoping I came off as a little rude, maybe so She would stop following me. But She pouted, obviously gaining the trust of Chandler and Nat.

“Oh come on, we have room for one more,” Nat reasoned. “Actually, two, if we stopped taking away the chairs and leaving only four—hey!”

I had elbowed Nat, and she elbowed me back, her lighthearted manner turning into a burning fury. Nat had mood swings like that, and the uncanny ability to swing from one mood to the other—it depended on what was happening at the time.

“We moved to a booth, remember? Table twenty-seven. And it can only fit four, maybe five.”

“Four?” She tilted Her head to the side. “But there are only three of you.”

“Reyna isn’t here yet,” Chandler told Her, crossing her arms. “Ugh, she’s always just barely in time for first period. Speaking of which, what do You have for first period?”

She consulted Her schedule. “Uh… Home Ec with Mrs. Vankurk.”

“Really?” Chandler laughed. “We have that too. Second?”

“Trigonometry with Mr. Lowe.”

My breath caught in my throat. “Nat and I have that. Chandler and Reyna have Algebra II, though.”

“What a coincidence,” She smiled. “Third I have Social Studies with Mr. Hunt; fourth I have Language Arts with Mrs. Lowe; fifth I have French IV with Mme Hart; sixth I have art; and seventh I have band.”

The color drained from my face. “You’re in all of my classes,” I said softly.

“Isn’t that weird?” Nat grinned. “She’s in most of mine, too! It’s lucky we met; now we can show you around school!”

Before I could reply, I could hear someone calling our names, excluding Hers. “Guys! I’m not late today!” exclaimed the brunette running towards us, panting, out of breath. She took a deep breath and quickly exclaimed, “Iwokeupontimeandateagoodbreakfastbutmymomwasasleepsoshecouldn’tdrivemethenImissedthebusandthenIhadtoridemybikeallthewayoverhere—!”

“Slow down!” Chandler exclaimed, patting Reyna’s shoulder, and Reyna pushed her glasses up her freckled nose and running her hands through a mess of light brown curly hair piled atop her head in an attempt of a ponytail. “Before you tell us your story, this is Sheba, and She’s in most of our classes. Run over Your schedule again, Sheba, so Reyna can hear.”

She ran through Her schedule again, and Reyna caught her breath. “Oh, cool!” Reyna smiled. “You’re in most of my classes, too. All except Trig, band, and French.” The bell sounded in the distance.

“Sheba, we’ll take you around,” Chandler said, reaching to take Her elbow, but She sharply pulled away. “…”

“Sorry,” She mumbled. “Hey, Ch—ch—…”

“Chandler.”

“Right. Can You show me around, first? I’m sure…” she consulted her schedule. “Mrs. Vankurk won’t mind if I’m late on the first day. We can just say you were being a good student and helping the new hopeless one around.”

Chandler laughed. “Sure! Let’s go.” The two walked off, chattering away, mostly Chandler doing the talking. Reyna and Nat turned to me.

“Are you okay?” Nat asked softly, looking from behind her glasses, a worried look on her face. “You look really pale. Are you sick? Do you need to go to the nurse?”

“I’m fine. It’s just, I’m getting bad vibes from that girl,” I said. Not only was I getting bad vibes from Her, I knew that She wasn’t like one of us. She told me so herself. Not only that, but I felt bad that my friends had forgotten my 17th. Plus, they probably didn’t know that She could read minds, that She was definitely not a good person to befriend. Ah well—they’d figure out soon enough, right?

“Let’s ask the fortune cookies!” Reyna clapped a few times, then reached into her Hello Kitty backpack and pulled out a gallon Ziploc bag full of fortune cookies. Reyna believes in fortune cookies like heck, even though I’m the Chinese one. “Before we’re late; it’s Nat’s turn.”

“Oh magic fortune cookies, should we trust Sheba? Is She a good person to trust?” Nat reached into the Ziploc, and pulled out one. Biting off one of the ends, she pulled the paper out and read: “The joyful energy of the day will have a positive effect on you.”

I snorted. Chandler beamed. “That means She’s good, right? Joyful energy? She’s going to have a positive effect on us!”

“Quick, Kyle!” Nat cried, pointing at me. “Chinese word for ‘vegetable’!”

“Shu-cai,” I recited. Every time we got fortune cookies, my friends always ask me for the Chinese word for the “learn Chinese!” line of the cookie, since I grew up in China and moved to Boston when I was about twelve. “Now, let’s go.”

The three of us ran into the big building, off to our lockers in the “11th grade hallway”. Nat, Chandler, Reyna and I somehow ended up with full lockers next to each other. I was in the middle with Nat; Chandler on my right, Reyna on Liza’s left. After the three of us got our things, we walked off to our foreign languages classes: me to French, Reyna to Spanish, and Chandler to Chinese. Ever since Chandler met me in middle school, and we became best friends, she’s been dying to learn the Chinese Language.

YOU GUYS

BEFORE I POST THE NEXT CHAPTER

I WANT TO SHARE MY WORD COUNT WITH YOU (and a sneak peak, I guess)



(p.s. next two chapters bring a really random twist into the story. but the Dare Machine dared me to do it.)

.j.e.s.s.i.c.a.

I opened my locker down in the “9th-grade-hallway”, and a piece of folded-up notebook paper fell out. I picked it up off of the white-and-blue tiled floor and examined it. It was a note, from my friend—she always somehow slipped notes into my locker before I got there.

Dear Jessi,

I don't really know how to tell you this, but our socks don’t match. I think I realized it when I tripped on peanut butter with George Bush and Stephen Harper and I saw you bite off my salt-beef bucket. I'm sure you're open enough to understand that I’m allergic to your earlobes. I'm returning your glass eye to you, but I'll keep your pet rock as a memory. You should also know that I never will forget that night and the apartment building is on fire.

Greetings to your frog Leonard, Frieda.

I smiled. Frieda’s wacky letters always made me happy. They’re always so random and fun and I love them. I folded the note back up and put it in the pencil case attached to the inside of my locker. Quickly, I grabbed my stuff, and shut my locker, setting the lock to zero—it was a mannerism of mine.

I looked down the hallway and saw a boy running towards me—dirty blonde hair flopping in his face, and he was smiling. At me? I walked towards him, and he stopped right in front of me. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and sheepishly looked at me.

“Hey, where’s room 101?” he asked shyly, offering a half-smile—and an amazing dimple. Immediately I could also tell he had a lot of freckles, and muted green eyes.

“Mr. Lyons?” I asked, referring to the science teacher. He nodded. “I’m going there now! Would you like me to show you there?”

“I’d like that,” he grinned. That’s when I noticed his British accent. I was quiet about it, though, and walked down the hallway to room 101, where Frieda was always waiting for me.

The desks were in groups of four, and Frieda was sitting in one of the groups at the front, her shiny red ringlets tied back in a ponytail, sunglasses perched atop her head, and her arms were crossed over her purple science notebook, wrists covered with bangles and brightly-colored bracelets. She grinned at me, though she raised an eyebrow at me, as if to question the boy. I mouthed “I’ll explain later” to her, and she nodded.

I led the boy to the back of the classroom, where Mr. Lyons was sitting at his desk, typing away on his iMac. “Mr. Lyons, we have a new student,” I told him, gesturing to the new student.

“James Codell, is it?” Mr. Lyons asked, looking up from his mail. Blondie nodded. “Well, James, why don’t you sit with Frieda and Jessica up front?” He nodded to me, and I led James over to the group that Frieda and I sat in.

“What a coincidence,” he said once he sat down opposite of me, and me next to Frieda. “I get to sit next to you.”

“Who’s he?” Frieda asked, smiling politely at James. “I’ve never seen you around before. Are you new? You sound new, with your accent.”

“Yeah, I just moved here a few weeks ago, from England.”

“Cool!” Frieda exclaimed. “Well, we’re in the middle of learning about comets, asteroids, and meteoroids.”

“Oh, we just finished that when I moved,” James leaned back in his chair. “Great, now I get to repeat some of this stuff.”

“Mind telling us the answers?” I joked.

“But Jess, that’s cheating,” Frieda grinned.

“If you don’t understand, I’ll help you,” James offered. “It’s really easy.”

“Oh, we were kidding,” I said hurriedly. “We both have A’s in this class, it really is easy.”

Frieda then proceeded to randomly change the subject. “So, there’s a waffle eating contest today. All of the odd-numbered grades are going in the morning, for second through fourth period, and the even-numbered grades are going in the afternoon, sixth through eighth.”

James knitted his eyebrows together. “What does a waffle-eating contest have to do with science?”

“Nothing; Frieda just changes the subject a lot,” I eye-rolled. “But yeah, there is a waffle-eating contest. Why don’t you join? It’ll be really fun and maybe you’ll get a prize and meet some new people or something.”

“Alright, I’ll do it—but one thing I have to ask first.” James half-smiled again, showing off that dimple. It was so cute. But I couldn’t get involved with boys, mum wouldn’t allow it.

“What?” Frieda and I asked in unison, then giggled.

“Why waffles?”

if nobody likes to comment, then the author won't feel the need to update anymore. also, this looked longer in MSWord.

---

.k.y.l.e.

As the fifth, seventh, ninth and eleventh graders filed into the humongous cafeteria for the waffle-eating contest, I tried to keep by Nat and stay away from Sheba, but She kept appearing whenever I tried to get Nat and I lost in the crowd. Nat was obviously confused by this, as she loves Sheba and thinks she’s amazing. For the seventh time I tried to pull Nat closer to the head of the crowd, Nat stopped and pulled me towards her.

“Kyle, let’s stay with Sheba. She’s probably confused as to why we aren’t staying with Her,” Nat narrowed her eyes slightly.

“But I want to get this contest started!” I exclaimed, standing on tiptoe as if trying to peer over the edge of the crowd. “It seems so much fun!”

“You didn’t say that when it was first announced,” Nat arched one of her eyebrows. “Come awn, really, you kept saying that it was one of the stupidest ideas ever.”

“Well, times have changed!” I responded enthusiastically. Nat obviously wasn’t buying it, as she crossed her arms and made sure She was still with us.

I liked the Boston Prep cafeteria. It was a big dome, and the ceiling was glass. The tiles were a maroon red and the walls were white. There were rows upon rows of circular tables, each white with a blue number designed onto the top, and booths with numbers by the wall, which was just a big window. I quickly ran from Nat and Sheba, and slid into the red-cushioned booth, table twenty-seven. It wasn’t long before the two appeared, and Nat sat beside me, Sheba sitting across from us.

“Where are Chandler and Reyna?” I wondered aloud. Right then, the two made their way through the crowd.

“Hey! She’s sitting with us?” Chandler asked, referring to Sheba. I nodded. “Hey, You can sit between me and Rey. We’ll make it work.”

She got out of the booth, and Reyna slid over to the glass wall. She slid in beside Reyna, and Chandler squeezed in, too.

I could’ve sworn that I could see Jessi walking through the crowd with a boy—but I shook the thought quickly from my head, as Headmistress Hendricks stood at the podium.

“Okay, everyone!” she said into the microphone, and everyone was seated. “We’re bringing a plate of waffles around to every table. The person at each table that eats the most—and don’t try to lie, we’ll have teachers monitoring—will advance to the next round. Everyone who doesn’t advance must move across the hallway to the auditorium, where you can entertain yourself with the games provided. You have ten minutes per round to eat as many waffles as you can. Are you all ready to go?”

There was a chorus of roughly 600 “yeah!”s. When the last plate was set down at table 100, and Mr. Lowe was standing by our table, Headmistress Hendricks yelled “Alright, let’s do it! Go!”

The first round was a tie between Her and I. Chandler, Reyna, and Nat distributed hugs and good-byes to me and a good-bye to Sheba. Two boys were moved over to our table, and plates were passed out to the mere 100 remaining students.

Again, shockingly, I had tied with Her. Now there were only about twenty, maybe thirty left. I scowled at Her.

‘Do you not want me to win?’ She asked, and I’m pretty sure her eyes widened with innocence. I didn’t know; I could not see them.

I frowned. I didn’t really care, but it would feel good to win this. I drummed my fingers on the table and the headmistress called for a break, since it takes a good deal of energy to go through twenty-something minutes of hardcore waffle-eating. I decided to talk to Her.

“So, you can read minds, right?” I asked Her, in a hushed voice. She nodded. “Can you pick up anything my friends are saying?”

She stood perfectly still for a few moments, then said, “It’s Chandler’s turn to get a fortune cookie.”

“What are they asking them?”

She listened, and then said, “They’re asking if you will win the contest.”

“What does the cookie say?”

“‘Good clothes open many doors. Go shopping.’ Now they’re talking about how Nat really wants a new pair of cowboy boots, hers are getting scuffed at the toes.”

I laughed. “And nothing about me winning?”

She cut across my laughter and held out Her pale hand, to cut me off. “They’re getting another one, it’s Reyna’s turn… they’re asking the same question… ‘There is always a way—if you are committed.’ Now they’re guessing the Chinese word for ‘dish’.”

“Cai,” I recited, and She nodded. “Do you know Chinese?” I asked Her.

“No, everyone gave up and Reyna gave them the answer.” She smiled. “Hey, you’re being really nice to me. Are we friends?” She asked hopefully.

“No. I’m still getting tons of bad vibes from you and you’re freaking me out with your mind-reading. Besides, you said so yourself, you aren’t from this world, and I don’t feel like I should trust some alien I barely know.”

She was silent, as a plate of waffles was brought over to our table. I was moved to a table which was conveniently occupied by Jessi, a blonde boy, a shy brunette girl, and Rahzel. Great, I was competing against my sisters.

“Best of luck, you guys,” the blonde boy offered. He had a British accent. Exchange student, maybe?

“Thanks, James,” Jessi smiled at him. A waffle plate was laid down, and the five of us began eating. I wondered: did Jessi know this guy? Were they friends? I’d have to get the information out of Jessi later.

Ten minutes passed, and I emerged the victor of our group. The other five (except for the shy brunette) scowled at me and walked off, leaving only five people left, including me. I wondered how I had gotten this far in the contest, and we all grouped together at table 67.

“This is the last round,” Headmistress Hendricks said, looking around at our group. There were three giddy platinum-blondes, who had removed their blazers, Her, and I. I suddenly felt all of the waffles expand in my stomach, and I felt sick. But I knew I had to press on, and keep eating waffles. Biting my lip, I swallowed hard.

“Go.”

I shoved waffles in my face, not daring to stop, for the next ten minutes. I only stopped when Headmistress Hendricks said that time was up, and I swallowed the last bite of my waffle. She looked impressed, and led us into the auditorium, up onto the stage. She stood at the podium, and the five of us were silent.

Headmistress Hendricks cleared her throat into the microphone. Everyone went silent, sitting in the maroon theater seats. They obeyed without question, even though the headmistress’s demeanor was rather friendly. She had short, curly, dark brown hair, rosy cheeks, and a sweet smile. It was something weird about Headmistress Hendricks. Was she like Sheba? No, impossible, I got nothing but good, friendly vibes from the headmistress. But maybe that was her plan…

“To everyone who is here, I just want you all to know that you each did fabulously. I’d like to thank you all for participating and if you get a little chubby, tell your parents or guardians—and the scale—that I’m sorry.” There was a muffled laugh going throughout the crowd. “But, here are the finalists, the ones who made it through, and here are the ranks!” The crowd cheered, and all Headmistress Hendricks had to do was put a finger to her bright red lips to silence everybody. This, I had never really noticed before, but for some reason, it was becoming painstakingly more obvious now that I knew about Sheba.

“In fifth place, we have Candy Adams!” One of the platinum-blondes stood up, putting on a fake smile for the crowd, waving like coming in fifth was her intention. The headmistress told Candy to put her blazer on, and when Candy did so, the headmistress pinned a green ribbon to the breast pocket. The crowd cheered again.

“In fourth place, we have Sandy Adams!” The next platinum-blonde stepped forward, tossing her long, shiny locks over her shoulder and sticking her chest out as if she had won the first prize. I then realized who the three were—they were part of the Adams quintuplets, and every single one of them had light blonde hair, fair skin, and dazzling blue eyes. They were like goddesses, the idols of the school. They were completely alike, all in the same classes, all of them were dating popular boys who were in sports, they even all had their first kiss on the same night (as Reyna told me—her family and the Adams’s are neighbors and Reyna could hear them yelling about it all night long outside on the front porch of their house).

“Third, Mandy Adams!” The third of the Adams quintuplets glided forward, receiving a bronze ribbon, and admiring Sandy’s red one, that matched her blazer so well. My heart beat wildly in my chest. It was just me and Her now, waiting to be announced as either the winner or the runner-up, to receive a gold ribbon or a silver, to be known as the Waffle Queen or not…

“For the runner-up… may I have a drum roll please?” Headmistress Hendricks asked. All of the students patted their legs or stomped the floor to create a drum sound, and the headmistress called out: “The runner-up is Sheba Williams, leaving first place to Kyle Hunt!”

The students applauded, and I could feel my face go red. Headmistress Hendricks pinned a silver ribbon to Sheba’s breast pocket, and She smiled, chin in the air, giving off an arrogant vibe as if she had won, like Sandy’s demeanor. My heart swelled as the gold ribbon was pinned to my own breast pocket, and Jessi, Rahzel, Nat, Reyna, and Chandler ran onstage to jump around in a circle, me in the center.

I felt happy that my friends were congratulatory, and I felt like I was going to burst when they all burst into a chorus of “Happy Birthday”. I hugged them all, and we continued to jump, like winning the waffle-eating contest was like becoming the prom queen. I didn’t even notice Sheba slipping away from the crowd, or the fact that we left Her out of our happy jumping dance. Neither did any of my friends, or siblings.

“Okay, everybody, please take your seats,” Headmistress Hendricks announced at the podium microphone. Everybody scrambled to sit down, and once everyone was sitting, the headmistress went on. “Congratulations to everybody who participated, but mainly to Candy, Sandy, Mandy, Sheba, and especially Kyle. Let’s give them one more round of applause, shall we?”

The students clapped again, and I blushed. Nat patted my shoulder, and gave me a reassuring grin and thumb-up. Everyone around me said “congratulations”, gave me pats on the back or shoulder, or gave me a thumbs-up.

“Now, I’d like everyone to exit SINGLE-FILE—hey! Wait! Sit down!” she raised her voice slightly at the people who had started to stand and talk. Immediately, everyone sat and silence was restored.

“First, I’d like the fifth graders to exit single-file—” A collective groan was heard from the other grades, including mine. Headmistress Hendricks merely smiled. The fifth-graders started chattering, and Rahzel gave me and Jessi a hug before running off with her friend Shelby.

“Just so you know, it’s fourth period! Fourth period!” the headmistress called, so we’d know what class to go to. Once all of the fifth graders had left, she said “alright, go on, eleventh-graders.”

I high-fived my friends—we had expected it to go 5th, 7th, 9th, and 11th, like usual when starting with 5th. I gave Jessi a hug and my group of four friends trotted off out of the auditorium and going off to fourth period.

Don't stop posting!

I love how your able to make the Headmistress laid back athe beginning for the fun of it, then quickly become the rule loving person most heads are. It most stories the head is just a robot jerk, or a laid back hippy. It's great how you were able to balance it to make it like a real person!

I've never really been able to get really chatty with a new kid the first day, is it like that? Or are a lot of people, COUGHKYLECOUGH, just trying to figure her out.

Hmm. The word goddess for the pretty, dazzling quintuplets. *Plots*

Really? She's realistic? XD Awesome. I just kind of went with the flow with her, thinking about how principals work via my own experience.

Well, Kyle and her friends are really chatty, social people, and if someone comes up to them, a new student, then they're going to be nice and help her out. It's mostly Kyle's friends who talk to her these past couple of chapters, though.
Kyle really starts digging in and really tries to find out more about Sheba in a couple chapters, though.

I love the fortune cookie bits XD

Oh that makes sense. Some people do greet the people real quick.

Butty wrote:YOU GUYS

BEFORE I POST THE NEXT CHAPTER

I WANT TO SHARE MY WORD COUNT WITH YOU (and a sneak peak, I guess)



(p.s. next two chapters bring a really random twist into the story. but the Dare Machine dared me to do it.)

THAT'S OVER NINE-THOUSAND!!!!!!!!!!

8D

WHAT NINE THOUSAND?!?!!?!?!

Butty wrote:if nobody likes to comment, then the author won't feel the need to update anymore. also, this looked longer in MSWord.

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.k.y.l.e.

As the fifth, seventh, ninth and eleventh graders filed into the humongous cafeteria for the waffle-eating contest, I tried to keep by Nat and stay away from Sheba, but She kept appearing whenever I tried to get Nat and I lost in the crowd. Nat was obviously confused by this, as she loves Sheba and thinks she’s amazing. For the seventh time I tried to pull Nat closer to the head of the crowd, Nat stopped and pulled me towards her.

“Kyle, let’s stay with Sheba. She’s probably confused as to why we aren’t staying with Her,” Nat narrowed her eyes slightly.

“But I want to get this contest started!” I exclaimed, standing on tiptoe as if trying to peer over the edge of the crowd. “It seems so much fun!”

“You didn’t say that when it was first announced,” Nat arched one of her eyebrows. “Come awn, really, you kept saying that it was one of the stupidest ideas ever.”

“Well, times have changed!” I responded enthusiastically. Nat obviously wasn’t buying it, as she crossed her arms and made sure She was still with us.

I liked the Boston Prep cafeteria. It was a big dome, and the ceiling was glass. The tiles were a maroon red and the walls were white. There were rows upon rows of circular tables, each white with a blue number designed onto the top, and booths with numbers by the wall, which was just a big window. I quickly ran from Nat and Sheba, and slid into the red-cushioned booth, table twenty-seven. It wasn’t long before the two appeared, and Nat sat beside me, Sheba sitting across from us.

“Where are Chandler and Reyna?” I wondered aloud. Right then, the two made their way through the crowd.

“Hey! She’s sitting with us?” Chandler asked, referring to Sheba. I nodded. “Hey, You can sit between me and Rey. We’ll make it work.”

She got out of the booth, and Reyna slid over to the glass wall. She slid in beside Reyna, and Chandler squeezed in, too.

I could’ve sworn that I could see Jessi walking through the crowd with a boy—but I shook the thought quickly from my head, as Headmistress Hendricks stood at the podium.

“Okay, everyone!” she said into the microphone, and everyone was seated. “We’re bringing a plate of waffles around to every table. The person at each table that eats the most—and don’t try to lie, we’ll have teachers monitoring—will advance to the next round. Everyone who doesn’t advance must move across the hallway to the auditorium, where you can entertain yourself with the games provided. You have ten minutes per round to eat as many waffles as you can. Are you all ready to go?”

There was a chorus of roughly 600 “yeah!”s. When the last plate was set down at table 100, and Mr. Lowe was standing by our table, Headmistress Hendricks yelled “Alright, let’s do it! Go!”

The first round was a tie between Her and I. Chandler, Reyna, and Nat distributed hugs and good-byes to me and a good-bye to Sheba. Two boys were moved over to our table, and plates were passed out to the mere 100 remaining students.

Again, shockingly, I had tied with Her. Now there were only about twenty, maybe thirty left. I scowled at Her.

‘Do you not want me to win?’ She asked, and I’m pretty sure her eyes widened with innocence. I didn’t know; I could not see them.

I frowned. I didn’t really care, but it would feel good to win this. I drummed my fingers on the table and the headmistress called for a break, since it takes a good deal of energy to go through twenty-something minutes of hardcore waffle-eating. I decided to talk to Her.

“So, you can read minds, right?” I asked Her, in a hushed voice. She nodded. “Can you pick up anything my friends are saying?”

She stood perfectly still for a few moments, then said, “It’s Chandler’s turn to get a fortune cookie.”

“What are they asking them?”

She listened, and then said, “They’re asking if you will win the contest.”

“What does the cookie say?”

“‘Good clothes open many doors. Go shopping.’ Now they’re talking about how Nat really wants a new pair of cowboy boots, hers are getting scuffed at the toes.”

I laughed. “And nothing about me winning?”

She cut across my laughter and held out Her pale hand, to cut me off. “They’re getting another one, it’s Reyna’s turn… they’re asking the same question… ‘There is always a way—if you are committed.’ Now they’re guessing the Chinese word for ‘dish’.”

“Cai,” I recited, and She nodded. “Do you know Chinese?” I asked Her.

“No, everyone gave up and Reyna gave them the answer.” She smiled. “Hey, you’re being really nice to me. Are we friends?” She asked hopefully.

“No. I’m still getting tons of bad vibes from you and you’re freaking me out with your mind-reading. Besides, you said so yourself, you aren’t from this world, and I don’t feel like I should trust some alien I barely know.”

She was silent, as a plate of waffles was brought over to our table. I was moved to a table which was conveniently occupied by Jessi, a blonde boy, a shy brunette girl, and Rahzel. Great, I was competing against my sisters.

“Best of luck, you guys,” the blonde boy offered. He had a British accent. Exchange student, maybe?

“Thanks, James,” Jessi smiled at him. A waffle plate was laid down, and the five of us began eating. I wondered: did Jessi know this guy? Were they friends? I’d have to get the information out of Jessi later.

Ten minutes passed, and I emerged the victor of our group. The other five (except for the shy brunette) scowled at me and walked off, leaving only five people left, including me. I wondered how I had gotten this far in the contest, and we all grouped together at table 67.

“This is the last round,” Headmistress Hendricks said, looking around at our group. There were three giddy platinum-blondes, who had removed their blazers, Her, and I. I suddenly felt all of the waffles expand in my stomach, and I felt sick. But I knew I had to press on, and keep eating waffles. Biting my lip, I swallowed hard.

“Go.”

I shoved waffles in my face, not daring to stop, for the next ten minutes. I only stopped when Headmistress Hendricks said that time was up, and I swallowed the last bite of my waffle. She looked impressed, and led us into the auditorium, up onto the stage. She stood at the podium, and the five of us were silent.

Headmistress Hendricks cleared her throat into the microphone. Everyone went silent, sitting in the maroon theater seats. They obeyed without question, even though the headmistress’s demeanor was rather friendly. She had short, curly, dark brown hair, rosy cheeks, and a sweet smile. It was something weird about Headmistress Hendricks. Was she like Sheba? No, impossible, I got nothing but good, friendly vibes from the headmistress. But maybe that was her plan…

“To everyone who is here, I just want you all to know that you each did fabulously. I’d like to thank you all for participating and if you get a little chubby, tell your parents or guardians—and the scale—that I’m sorry.” There was a muffled laugh going throughout the crowd. “But, here are the finalists, the ones who made it through, and here are the ranks!” The crowd cheered, and all Headmistress Hendricks had to do was put a finger to her bright red lips to silence everybody. This, I had never really noticed before, but for some reason, it was becoming painstakingly more obvious now that I knew about Sheba.

“In fifth place, we have Candy Adams!” One of the platinum-blondes stood up, putting on a fake smile for the crowd, waving like coming in fifth was her intention. The headmistress told Candy to put her blazer on, and when Candy did so, the headmistress pinned a green ribbon to the breast pocket. The crowd cheered again.

“In fourth place, we have Sandy Adams!” The next platinum-blonde stepped forward, tossing her long, shiny locks over her shoulder and sticking her chest out as if she had won the first prize. I then realized who the three were—they were part of the Adams quintuplets, and every single one of them had light blonde hair, fair skin, and dazzling blue eyes. They were like goddesses, the idols of the school. They were completely alike, all in the same classes, all of them were dating popular boys who were in sports, they even all had their first kiss on the same night (as Reyna told me—her family and the Adams’s are neighbors and Reyna could hear them yelling about it all night long outside on the front porch of their house).

“Third, Mandy Adams!” The third of the Adams quintuplets glided forward, receiving a bronze ribbon, and admiring Sandy’s red one, that matched her blazer so well. My heart beat wildly in my chest. It was just me and Her now, waiting to be announced as either the winner or the runner-up, to receive a gold ribbon or a silver, to be known as the Waffle Queen or not…

“For the runner-up… may I have a drum roll please?” Headmistress Hendricks asked. All of the students patted their legs or stomped the floor to create a drum sound, and the headmistress called out: “The runner-up is Sheba Williams, leaving first place to Kyle Hunt!”

The students applauded, and I could feel my face go red. Headmistress Hendricks pinned a silver ribbon to Sheba’s breast pocket, and She smiled, chin in the air, giving off an arrogant vibe as if she had won, like Sandy’s demeanor. My heart swelled as the gold ribbon was pinned to my own breast pocket, and Jessi, Rahzel, Nat, Reyna, and Chandler ran onstage to jump around in a circle, me in the center.

I felt happy that my friends were congratulatory, and I felt like I was going to burst when they all burst into a chorus of “Happy Birthday”. I hugged them all, and we continued to jump, like winning the waffle-eating contest was like becoming the prom queen. I didn’t even notice Sheba slipping away from the crowd, or the fact that we left Her out of our happy jumping dance. Neither did any of my friends, or siblings.

“Okay, everybody, please take your seats,” Headmistress Hendricks announced at the podium microphone. Everybody scrambled to sit down, and once everyone was sitting, the headmistress went on. “Congratulations to everybody who participated, but mainly to Candy, Sandy, Mandy, Sheba, and especially Kyle. Let’s give them one more round of applause, shall we?”

The students clapped again, and I blushed. Nat patted my shoulder, and gave me a reassuring grin and thumb-up. Everyone around me said “congratulations”, gave me pats on the back or shoulder, or gave me a thumbs-up.

“Now, I’d like everyone to exit SINGLE-FILE—hey! Wait! Sit down!” she raised her voice slightly at the people who had started to stand and talk. Immediately, everyone sat and silence was restored.

“First, I’d like the fifth graders to exit single-file—” A collective groan was heard from the other grades, including mine. Headmistress Hendricks merely smiled. The fifth-graders started chattering, and Rahzel gave me and Jessi a hug before running off with her friend Shelby.

“Just so you know, it’s fourth period! Fourth period!” the headmistress called, so we’d know what class to go to. Once all of the fifth graders had left, she said “alright, go on, eleventh-graders.”

I high-fived my friends—we had expected it to go 5th, 7th, 9th, and 11th, like usual when starting with 5th. I gave Jessi a hug and my group of four friends trotted off out of the auditorium and going off to fourth period.

Typo. At the part where you put "She was silent, as a plate of waffles was brought over to our table. I was moved to a table which was conveniently occupied by Jessi, a blonde boy, a shy brunette girl, and Rahzel. Great, I was competing against my sisters.

“Best of luck, you guys,” the blonde boy offered. He had a British accent. Exchange student, maybe?

“Thanks, James,” Jessi smiled at him. A waffle plate was laid down, and the five of us began eating. I wondered: did Jessi know this guy? Were they friends? I’d have to get the information out of Jessi later.

Ten minutes passed, and I emerged the victor of our group. The other five (except for the shy brunette) scowled at me and walked off, leaving only five people left, including me. I wondered how I had gotten this far in the contest, and we all grouped together at table 67.", You typed there were four other people. Then you said all five of you began eating. So there's altogether five people, and then when Kyle won, you typed "the other five", when there were four. Just saying. 'u'

BUT THIS IS SO COOL. I LOVE IT SO MUCH.

Oh, I see. Stupid typo, hah. XD Thanks for pointing it out. I had to read it over a few times, though, to see if I had worded it weird. XD

I'm not a fan of this next chapter. I was writing it and I got a bunch of ideas later in the chapter, so I had to go back in and edit the earlier bits--so this is a weird chapter. It doesn't make the best of sense and I need to do some heavy revising on it in December. Really. I don't like how it came out--maybe it's cause I got in Rahzel's head for the first time.

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.r.a.h.z.e.l.

I sat in the pure white, brightly lit room, my hair curled, natural make-up smeared all over my face, and cameras and lights everywhere. I sat on the white plush couch, legs crossed, and wrists crossed over one another, resting on my knee. I smiled brightly for the camera, which constantly flashed.

Did you not know?

Did nobody tell you?

I might as well do so…

I used to have a career as a commercial actor and as a model for kids’ magazines, when I was six. They “loved my Asian appearance” and I got cast a few times for a commercial selling kids’ shampoo and some spray that makes your hair tangle-free when you comb it. Have you heard that not all commercials are true? I used that tangle-free hair stuff. It smells nice and fruity but I still had a bunch of tangles when I got out of the bath!

I told my mommy that I felt like a liar, for endorsing (like that word? Jessi taught it to me! It means to sell, to put forward, to give support to) a product that doesn’t work. We talked about it, and I was adamant (Jessi taught me that one, too!) about quitting work as a commercial actress and a model. Mommy said she liked that about me, and said something about me having good values or something.

So why am I here, you ask?

Well, mom said that I got a major casting call—to be in a new kids’ shampoo commercial, and to be in a photo shoot for a new magazine about kids. Today I was tackling the photo shoot, right after the waffle-eating contest. The photo shoot was supposed to run until 6-ish at night, and then I’d get to go home, eat, and all of that.

My mommy said I looked very mature.

My hair was curled, and a fan was blowing it back, and I had on a soft smile. My pose was mature, usually for teenagers or adults, and I had changed out of my school uniform into black Converse, soft white short-shorts, and a white halter top with a few multicolored stripes at the bottom. I was also wearing black-and-white striped thigh-high socks.

I went for a break, and went into my little dressing room, sitting in front of the large, lit-up mirror. It was kind of like the one we had at home, except the mirror was a lot larger, and the lights were brighter. I sat in my director’s chair-style spinny chair, and reached for my water bottle surrounded by the eye makeup. I took a swig, and exhaled sharply. You know, that “Ahhh!” people say after they take a big drink of water. I looked in the mirror, examined my hair, like those girls you see in movies. Maybe I would be one of those girls one day, tall, thin, skinny, and the girl that every guy likes. Jessi says I’ll be a heartbreaker when I grow up. I don’t know what that really means, but I really don’t wanna break someone’s heart! That’d hurt their feelings!

I looked past my shoulder, and that’s when I saw the guy. The guy was my age, and he was going to be in the shoot with me later. We’d be in some group pictures with other people, but he and I would be the main focus. He was pretty cute! Jet-black hair, tanned, Asian skin like mine (but slightly different—he was from a different country than China, I just had to figure out what! I want to know really bad so I don’t mistake him for something else!). He, too, was wearing a white top with multicolored stripes, but his was a plain T-shirt, and instead of girly white short-shorts he had spotless white cargo shorts. Finally (though I thought it was silly!), he was wearing some over-the-knee stripey-socks and Converse, as well.

I spun around in my chair to get a better look at him. He was talking with an older woman, though she looked nothing like him; she had fair skin and feathery blond hair that reached her waist, and, as I could see, wide sparkly blue eyes in contrast to his dark, slightly-squinted ones. They were conversing naturally and smiling at each other as if they were best friends or relatives, but that couldn’t be possible; they looked nothing like each other!

Who is this guy? Gorou Ueno, my guy friend, my best girl friend being Shelby, of course. Gorou has been a co-star in some photo shoots and commercials in the past, and we ended up bonding. We have fun, though I’ve never seen that girl, though, only his dad. Gorou is the spitting image of his dad, kind of like me with my mom. I remember once Gorou told me that he has a lot of siblings. Gorou said that he has five: an older brother, Ichirou; older twin sisters, Toshiko and Taylynn; then another older brother, Shiro; then Gorou; then there was his little brother Rokuro; and finally, a little sister named Chelsea. I think Toshiko and Taylynn are Kyle’s age, but I’m not sure.

“Gorou!” I called out, waving. He looked over at me from his conversation with the woman in the black pinstriped pantsuit, smiled, and waved. I waved him over. I watched as Gorou turned and said something to the woman again; they hugged, and he trotted over to my little dressing-table make-up corner... thing! I don’t know what it’s called! I’ll get Kyle or Jessi to tell me later, if I remember, mommy doesn’t know either.

“What is it?” Gorou asked. “Need help putting some mascara on?” he teased, miming waving a mascara wand over my eyes. If he really had a mascara wand, I’d probably get it all over my face, my eye… anywhere but my eyelashes!

“No!” I laughed giddily, and batted his hand away. “Gorou, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yeah?”

“First off, who were you just talking to you? I mean, you looked so comfortable talking to her, but she looks nothing like you…”

Now it was Gorou’s turn to laugh. “Well, sure she looks nothing like me! She’s my mom, but the thing is, my dad’s Japanese”—that answered my question!—“and the Asian gene is very dominant. But mom says if I marry someone with pale skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes, like her, then there’s a better chance for grandbabies that look American. Or in her case, French-American.”

“Your mom is French?” I asked. “I never knew that! And your dad’s Japanese? And the reason you don’t look like her is because the Asian gene is dominant?”

“Yeah!” Gorou exclaimed. “Mom says that I’ll learn it around seventh or eighth grade, but that’s so long away!”

“Two or three years, isn’t it? It seems so far away!”

“It does! But, mom says that if I do well with this photo shoot and that commercial we’re doing tomorrow, then she’ll see about taking me to ‘The Life of Lauren’ auditions. I’m going to be auditioning as Lauren’s best guy friend, if I can go!”

“Oh, that? I totally forgot about it!” I exclaimed, smacking my palm to my forehead and laughing. “I’m supposed to go next week or so, to try out for Lauren.”

“Really?!” Gorou took a step back. “Awesome! Imagine if we get the part together… wouldn’t that be so cool? We’d get to hang out every day on set! I hope you get the part. It’d be so cool to be the star! And have your name in the title!”

I felt my cheeks flush. “Thanks. Good luck for you, too. You’re still going for an important character, and it might be hard, considering our ethnicities.”

“That’s a big word,” Gorou joked. He said that he loves my extended vocabulary, but he also loves to tease me about it. “Eth-ni-ci-tieeeeeees,” He dragged out the “e” sound at the end, causing a giggle from me. “Don’t worry about it. Just do the best you can at the auditions.”

“You, too,” I told him. My mom and the blonde appeared again, my mom carrying my big purple coat and wearing hers.

“We’re leaving,” my mom announced, and I slid off my chair, and slid on my coat. I grabbed a hair tie and a pin off of the desk, tied my curls into a bun and used a pin to secure them. Gorou put on his own coat, and the four of us walked outside of the building, to the parking lot. Gorou and I continued talking, but for some reason, it felt constricted now that our parents were right behind us. Like we couldn’t talk as freely when they weren’t around.

Kyle said that parents “cramped your style”, and so did Jessi—was this it? Was this the style-cramping that they had so often referred to?

We reached our cars; my mom, a white Suzuki swift, and Gorou’s mom, a blue fiat Ulysse. I knew this due to the fact that during several wait spans of auditions, callbacks, and waiting rooms at hospitals for check-ups (or being sick, or anything the situation calls for); I had asked my mom a lot of questions. If I get tired in the car, and there’s some stupid mom-song on the radio (you know the deal… adults listen to a lot of old music!), I’ll ask her to turn off the music and answer my question.

That’s why I always wear sunglasses in the car. Not just to shield my eyes from bright lights, but so that when I’m tired and I’m sick of her mom-music I can ask her a question that requires a long, thought-out answer. While she’s in the process of answering, I can usually fall asleep and it won’t matter about the mom-music anymore, because I’m a deep sleeper. So she’ll wake me up when we get to wherever.

“Goodbye, Francie!” my mom exclaimed, hugging Gorou’s mother tightly, like she’d hug me or Kyle or Jessi. It was the Affection Hug, as I had called it, only given to people she absolutely adores.

“Bye, Lien!” Mrs. Ueno grinned, and got in the front seat of the Ulysse. Gorou got in the back, and I got in the back of the Suzuki, and we pressed our faces goofily against the window until the cars pulled out. When they did, we waved and turned to whatever our mothers were going to say.

But instead of talking to me like she usually does, mom got on her Blackberry and started chattering away with someone. I sunk back in my seat, sliding my sunglasses on, out of habit. I tapped my fingers against my bare legs. I looked up at the front seat, and saw my mom hang up, only to dial another number immediately. I audibly sighed to show my frustration, but sat up straight when mom started saying that she would like a medium pineapple pizza and a large pepperoni, to be delivered to our house.

“Thankyousomuchmommy!” I exploded once she hung up. I saw her grin in the rearview mirror. “Iloveyousooooomuch!”

“I love you too,” she said. We started talking, about the commercial for tomorrow, and for the ‘The Life of Lauren’ auditions. I told mom that I really wanted to be on that show, that I’d love it, and that Gorou was likely going to audition as well. We talked about other things, too, like school, that stupid science project I told them about this morning (Gorou wasn’t in my science class, he had it fifth period rather than fourth period), and other things. The ride home was roughly thirty minutes, so we had a lot of time to talk.

It's a really good chapter. And I'm sure they'll come in useful later in, but for now, it seems as if you're adding extra fillers- like all those filler episodes in Sailor Moon, you know? But it seems like a whole new story. I bet it's to keep the reader reading, but... too filler-y. It makes you want to think, "Can you please get on with it, please?"

I like this chatper a lot, but I agree with Kelsi. Even though it's good not to have every chatper be: ACTION. ACTION. ACTION. romance. ACTION. ACTION. poetical. ACTION. But a good way to keep the reader not going "O_o should I skip this part and wait?" Is to throw in a little twist sentence that leaves the reader like, "WTHeck!" Cause most of the time, the last setence is the one that really defines that chapter.