Enclosed

For security reasons, the end of Enclosed will not be posted on this blog, but if you know me personally, I can show it to you, and I'm hoping to get it published as a novella, so if you don't know me, I'll let you know if it ever makes it! Thanks, guys :)

Enclosed part 14 (short story)

"You have nothing to be sorry for," I said, playing nervously with the edge of my shirt. I looked up at him, and he looked into my eyes. My stomach tightened into a knot and I swallowed. I looked down at my fingers again, continuing to play with my shirt. "I miss you, Jamie," Mitch whispered. My heartbeat quickened and I took a much-too-loud, shaky breath in. I looked up at him, my palms sweating and the knot in my stomach tightening even more. "I miss you too," I said. He looked down. "Then...why...but..." he wasn't stuttering. He was waiting for me to respond. "Those guys," I said, knowing exactly what he had been trying to ask, "meant nothing to me. I..." I trailed off, and once again looked down, wishing I had the confidence to just look him in the eye and tell him everything I wanted to say. "I was just trying to fill your place." He looked at me, "Did it work?" I shook my head. "It didn't work for me either," he said, sighing. I remembered the few girls he had dated since freshman year. Each new girlfriend of his had been like a slap in the face, especially the first one after me. He told me he couldn't be in a relationship when he knew he was going to die. Had he meant he couldn't be in a relationship, or had he meant he couldn't be in a relationship with me? At the time I had thought that he had used this as an excuse because he didn't love me, and he didn't want to waste what was left if his time with me. But now, as I thought about it, maybe it was because he did love me. And, like, myself for him, he couldn't deal with the thought of losing me. And he didn't want me to have to deal with losing him. But I needed him, even if it was just until he...until he was gone. "Mitch," I whispered, my eyes welling up with tears. I finally looked up at him, finally kept his gaze. "What are we doing?" He swallowed. "What?" he asked, his voice straggly. "What-" I started, but then he started coughing. Hard. A lot. "Mitch!" I screamed. He bent over, and tried to pick himself up on the couch. I helped him, freaking out, and he motioned to the kitchen, so I quickly brought him over to the sink. He coughed so hard as I pulled him along. It scared me. He leaned over the sink and blood came out of his mouth. I covered my mouth, crying hard. I didn't know what to do. "VIOLET!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, not moving away from Mitch's side. Violet came running down the stairs, and, seeing her brother, immediately ran over. "Go," she yelled at me. I walked over to the couch and sat down, holding my head in my hands. After a few minutes, he came back into the living room and lay down on the couch.

I got up and without thinking lay next to him. Luckily, I was thin and the couch was wide, so I didn't fall off. He took my hand in his own, and squeezed it. I turned on my side and stared at him-so tired, so weary, so weak. "He'll be fine," Violet said. "Happens..." she paused, lookng at the ground, "all the time." I nodded and she said, "Holler if you need me," she laughed then, "again." She walked back to the stairs and went back up them. I looked at Mitch again. He had his eyes closed and he was breathing heavily. "You're ok?" I whispered. He nodded, "Violet...she's a good sister." He smiled and chuckled, and then took my hand up to his lips, kissing it. I was startled, and clearly he was too, because he opened his eyes and then sat up. "Ok. The world hasn't stopped. What now?" What now? Good question.

What now, Mitch Merson?

© 2010

Lovely, Lazy, Hot, and Not part 5

Venice

Friday comes, and I walk into the school with mixed emotions. Nervous about the party, happy because of the party, and worried because the new kid was going to be there. "Venice!" that now-familiar british voice yells to me. Speaking of the devil. I turn, "Hey, Russel," I say coldly. He laughs, "Oh, just wait, you'll drop your grudge for me."

"Right," I reply sarcastically. I roll my eyes and we walk into the math class room.

I walk into the science class room just as class starts. I sit down quickly in front of James and he smiles at me as I slide into the chair. I swallow a groan and face the board. "Hey, Venice," James whispers. I close my eyes, irritated. "Hi," I reply, colder than I had greeted Russel. James peels back a bit, but then goes on to say, "So you going to Thomas's party tonight?" I freeze and spin in my chair, "What?" I growl quietly through my teeth. He jumps back slightly and says, "Uh, Thomas's...party...are you going?" I narrow my eyes, "Are you?" He swallows, "Um," swallow, "yea." I blink and pull back a bit. "You are?" I ask, confused. He nods. I turn back the board and whisper, "Who else is going?" I see him shrug from the corner of my eye, "I don't know. Samantha, I think," of course. Anywhere Russel goes, Samantha is sure to follow. Honestly, he's been here three days and already she's obsessed with him. "So, then Mimi and Gigi are going, too," I whisper, spitting their names. James nods, "That was my guess." Mimi and Gigi-yes, those really are there names, and yes, they really are best friends- are inseparable- form each other and from Samantha. They follow her everywhere. Of course, they're not the only ones. Every 'Spirit Horse' club member follows around Samantha Pickens. Spirit Horse is the school's riding team. I love riding, but I'm not professional at it, and I certainly don't want to be on any team that Samantha Pickens leads. The Spirit Horse members act like they're the 'popular people', but in reality, it's Marley, Erica, and all their followers that are the real 'populars'. They're richer than everyone else and more hardcore than everyone else-and crueler than everyone else. They are the most typical high school populars in the world- except, of course, for their country accents, ranches, and 'barn parties' instead of night clubs.

Oh, the country life.

"I heard Gene saying he was going, and some of his friends agreed with him." Ok, here's the thing about Gene- he's a genius, always raising his hand in class and turning assignments in early, he dreams of attending Yale, he says words like 'justifiably' in normal conversations, he wears large, round glasses... and so on and so forth. However, he is also the fastest jockey in town, he plays football and basketball, he has gorgeous blue eyes and a strong, built body, and he is dating Marley. Weird, I know, but it's the truth. "So pretty much the whole junior class is going to be there," I whispered harshly, shocked and annoyed. He paused, and then said, "Pretty much, yea."

"Fabulous."

"I don't know if that was sarcastic or not."

"Neither do I."

© 2010

Enclosed part 13 (short story)

"Jamie?"

"Hm?" Mitch was quiet for a minute before saying, quietly, "I'm sorry." I turned to him, surprised. "For what?" He looked me straight in the eyes, "Leaving you." And he meant it. I could see in his eyes, he meant it. After Mitch, my love life had been kind of a joke. People always got mad at me for breaking the dating and friendship rules-stealing guys from friends, leaving them for other guys, leaving them for another girl's guy again...it was a full circle. It was just me moving through a crowd of people, trying desperately to hook onto one of them, to hold them and love them, but eventually falling away from them, leaving them hating me and me regretting. I never felt about anyone the way I had felt about Mitch. And we had gone out in ninth grade-before we really knew what love was, before we could even drive ourselves to our dates. But somehow, we had connected in such a way that it was almost unreal-when I told people about how I felt about him, they didn't believe me. They said I was too young to know what love was. And for a while, I thought maybe they were right. But then I experienced "high school love", the kind where you feel completely and utterly attached to someone, where you can't stop thinking about them, and then once you get them, for a while you enjoy it. But then you lose interest. Then someone else catches your eye. I experienced that plenty of times, and even though I told myself it wasn't true, I knew that what I had felt with Mitch had been different. He didn't want anything from me. I didn't want anything from him. We just wanted to be together...to make each other happy. When he broke up with me, I didn't protest, because I wanted, more than anything else, for him to be happy. I cried for hours on end when I found out about his cancer, but I kept a happy face around him 24/7 because I didn't want to make it worse for him. I didn't cry to him, begging him to come back to me, to let me spend at least what was left of his life with him, though I couldn't stand the thought of being without him. I didn't have my friends tell him what a jerk he was for leaving me. I didn't say the classic, "This is hurting me, too, you know." When he called us off, I just left. When I saw him in the hallways, I smiled at him and kept walking. When I was assigned the seat next to him in class, I worked with him. When he asked another girl to the dance, and I bumped into them with my date, I smiled and walked away. I wanted to tell him how much all this hurt me. I wanted to try to get him back. But I didn't. Because I loved him...and I wanted what was best for him, more than what was the most pleasing for me.

© 2010

Lovely, Lazy, Hot, and Not part 4

Thomas

I walk into my house and drop my backpack by the front door, sighing as I flip the lights on. "Dad?" I yell. No reply. Either he's at work, or out. I walk into the kitchen and grab an apple off the counter. I go out the back door and stand in the backyard, crunching into the sweet red fruit. My yard is the smallest in the town, suitable for a family in a suburban area, not the country. I go back inside and turn on the tiny little TV. There's nothing on the few channels that we get. I turn it back off and walk up to my room. With so little do, it's a struggle being a slacker. "Thomas?" my dad yells as the front door slams closed. I run downstairs. "Hi, dad." My dad looks at me, "Oh, good, you're home. I'm going out for the night. You want me to call a friend so you can stay with them?" I sigh, "No."

"Alright then, you can stay home by yourself, right? Of course you can, you're seventeen." He waves as he walks back toward the front door, "See ya, son!" The front door slams for the second time in that minute. Angry, I grab my car keys from the counter and go out in the driveway, where I can already see my dad speeding away. I get into my beat up old pick-up truck and pull out of the driveway. If only I had friends to stay with.

My dad and I live alone in our small house and my dad is never home. He didn't used to be gone so often. He used to care about me...about where I went, what I ate, who I hung out with, my grades. Not anymore. Not since my mom died. I pull into the school parking lot after driving around the town for quite a while, listening to music and doing absolutely nothing else. I get out of my car, locking it and walking with my hands in my pockets toward the locked gate. I stare at it, into the school, and wonder how it came to this: the most entertaining thing to do being visiting my school at 8 PM, in the pitch black. I kick the gate, anger swelling up inside me, and fall onto the ground, leaning against the gate and using every ounce of my strength to persist myself from screaming. Everyone seems to think life is so easy for me. They thin that every day, I go home, hang out with some random partiers from out of town, and don't have a care in the world because I have a wagonload of money to fall back on. This story spread when I was in about eighth grade, and nobody got it out of their head, not even Venice Taily, the only person who seems to at least tolerate me. Where they came up with it, I'll never know. All I know is that it's as far from the truth as a story could possibly be.

© 2010

Lovely, Lazy, Hot, and Not part 3

James

I get on the bus and sit in the only available seat: next to super-slacker Thomas. "Hey," he says as I sit down. "Hey," I reply. Awkward. "Hey, you wanna come to a party at my place Friday night?" he says after a few minutes of silence. Just at that moment, the bus doors open at my spot, my freedom awaiting me. "Um," I say, standing up and slinging my backpack onto my shoulder. I blink at him and decide to be honest, "Not really, no." Thomas sighs, and then his face lights up, "Venice will be there," he says. Venice. He knows I like Venice? Wow, I didn't know I was that obvious. "Oh," I reply. He smiles, "So will I see you there?" I shrug. He smiles, "See you then, Luther." I get out of the bus hurriedly then and watch as it drives off. That Thomas is such an annoying jerk. But I know I have to go, if Venice is going. It's not like she'll ever talk to me anywhere else. I adjust my backpack strap on my shoulder and turn, walking toward my house. My brother comes in from the back door as I hang my bag on the coat rack and takes off his hat, placing it on the table. "Hey, brother," he says, smiling largely like he always does after a long ride on Misty. "Hey," I reply, taking the books I need for homework from my bag and tossing them onto the couch. "How was your first day back?" he asks as I open the cupboard and pull out a bag of chips, ripping them open and grabbing a handful. He walks up next to me, opening the fridge and taking out the milk. I take another handful of chips and he takes the cap off the milk, chugging it from the bottle. Mom comes in with her usual getup: high boots and her signature hat. She has her rugged boots on, so she must've been out in the yard with Jesse. "Oh, boys!" mom exclaims, "Honestly! Eat like proper folk, will you?" My mom's accent slurs her protests. "Aw, mom, let us be," Jesse replies, rolling his eyes and putting the milk back in the fridge. Mom rolls her eyes, "Honestly, boys, you know better than that. Leave those nasty habits for the cows." A country family, you could call mine. It's not as if mine is the only one in town. With all the farmhouses, large flats of land for every family, barns of horses, cows, chickens and such, no one is surprised to see my brother, my parents, and myself riding around with our, as tourists call them, 'cowboy' boots, hats, and accents. (Well, I refuse to wear the hats or boots, but my accent is something I can't control, obviously. I just keep myself from saying 'Howdy!', unlike the rest of my family.) Misty, the family's horse, is a real prize. A beautiful white Arabian, worth quite a lot. My dad won her in a bet, (a big bet that my mom hated him for until he won.) Our other horse is a much cheaper horse, but just as sweet and almost as fast. Savannah, we call her. She's a mix breed and we use her mostly for transportation, unlike Misty, who we use for pleasure rides and work. Of course, we do have a car, but if my parents can help it, they take the horses instead. We have a small family, and mom usually rides with dad if they want us to take a family ride, but riding on the back of Savannah with Jesse is just awkward, so around my sixteenth birthday, my parents finally bought me a bike. (A motorcycle, not a bicycle.) She's a real beauty, slick black and completely redone by the father of the family we bought it from. So much redone, in fact, that the name of the bike isn't even there anymore. Jesse and I got to the tendency of calling it 'The Blackbird' so eventually I painted the word Blackbird onto it in silver. It looks pretty nice, actually, and it definitely beats sitting awkwardly behind Jesse as the other people on the road watch us and snicker. One tourist even stooped to rolling down his car window and yelling, "Brokeback Mountain!"

That was less than a week before we bought The Blackbird.

© 2010

Lovely, Lazy, Hot, and Not part 2

Russel

I walk out of the school and get on my skateboard, riding out of the traffic of parents and high schoolers. I ride down the large hill outside the school and into a neighborhood, my backpack heavy on my back. I stop my skateboard and pick it up as I walk over to the pathway I took to get to school. Trees bend over me, causing a shade. I walk about a half mile before I finally see him. "Jameson!" I yell, "What's with not coming to pick me up?" I step out of the path and onto the big open field that is my yard. Jameson stops grooming his horse, "Oh, Russel!" he groans in his heavy, syrupy British accent, much stronger than my own. "I completely forgot! What time does school get out?" I roll my eyes, "Three, Jameson. I'm going inside." I walk past him and across five acres of the yard to reach our large farmhouse. "I'm home, mum!" I yell. "Hello, Russel!" my mum yells back. Stacy runs down the stairs and bumps me as she runs toward the front door. "Watch it!" I yell to her back as she hurries toward the driveway, where her boyfriend had just pulled up in his truck. She ignores me and gets into his truck, driving off. "Mum, where's Stacy going to?" I yell. "Oh, I don't know, honey!" my mum yells. I can tell she's holding the baby. "Out, she said!" I roll my eyes and walk up the stairs, toward my bedroom. Kenny came out of his room and smiles, "Hi, Russel! How was school? Mine was awesome!" I smile and ruffle the hair of my six year old little brother, "It was good, Kenny. I'm glad yours was too." He smiles and runs downstairs to play in the yard. "WHERE'S STACY?" Amber yells. I turn to see her as she runs up to me from the attic stairs. "Out." Amber rolls her eyes, "Always! Geez, she was supposed to milk the cows with me tonight, and now I'm going to have to do it all by myself again!" She sticks her lip out and pouts toward me. I sigh, "Fine. I'll help you."

"Oh, thanks Russel! You're my favorite brother!"

"Hey!" Jameson yells as he comes back into the house, "I heard that." Amber smiles, "You were meant to!" she says happily, skipping down the stairs. I roll my eyes and close my bedroom door behind me. Other than myself, my parents have six kids. Amber and Stacy are twins and fifteen years old, (Amber is spoiled and Stacy thinks she knows everything,) Jameson is nineteen, one year older than me. He would be in college, but we all had to go back a grade when we moved to America nine years ago. Isobel is twenty four and visits one a month from college, and the youngest, Lellin, is a six month old baby girl. I'm pretty sure that after three years, we would all have American accents by now-if it weren't for the fact there are nine of us to keep us, as mum calls it, "British as ever".

"Hey, Russel."

"Hey, Charlie. What's up?"

"Do you have the science homework?"

"We didn't have any. Just studying."

"Oh, ok. Thanks." he was quiet for a minute, and I can tell he's going to hang up, so I quickly say, "So, are you going to Thomas's party friday night?" Charlie falls silent. "Um..." he says after a while, "no."

"Why not?" he's quiet again. "Uh...I...I don't think I was invited," he stammers. "Well, you are now. Invite all your friends, too. I don't know anyone but you, yet, so I thought maybe I could meet some people at this party." Charlie's silent again. "Charlie?"

"Yea, I'm here." Silence. "It's just...uh...well, to be honest, Russel, nobody actually...wants to go to Thomas's party. No one wants to be seen at a party thrown by Thomas." This is strange. "Why?"

"'Cause he's a freak. Such a slacker," I almost hear Charlie roll his eyes, "he never does anything." I shrug, though I knew he can't see me, "Well, I'm going. And so is Venice." Charlie sounds surprised, "Venice? You've met Venice?"

"Yup. She seems nice." Charlie is quiet yet again. "Uh, yea. Sure." I sigh, "What's wrong with Venice?"

"Oh! No, nothing, it's just...I don't know. I don't really know her, I guess. She kind of keeps to herself. A lot." I smile, "Maybe I can change that." Charlie laughs now, "Yea, good luck with that one. You're not the first guy to try and win over the heart or Venice Taily."

"Oh yea?"

"Yea, Russel. Yea." I chuckle, "Well, see you, Charlie."

"See ya." I hang up and fall back on my bed, a new discovery running through my mind: if you change the lettering, Venice's name is 'Venice Italy'.

© 2010

Phewph!

I've tried to make it easier to look at my blog. I put summaries of all the most-added-to stories on pages at the top of my blog and put the blog archive closer to the top so it would be easier to find. Sorry about any inconveniences in the past, I hope this makes thing easier for you! :)

Lovely, Lazy, Hot, and Not part 1

Note: I'm not sure if this one will ever be finished, and I'm not completely committed to it, but

I'm going to write in it for at least the time being because, well, it's fun. Also, don't expect other

posts to be this long. They're not going to be.

Venice

I walk down the hallway and people eye me, whispering and chuckling. I just hold my bag closer to me and keep walking. “These jerks will never get anywhere in life, anyway,” I muttered to myself. “Oh-my-goodness! Venice? Is that you! Oh-my-goodness I haven’t seen you in forever!” Jesse cries out to me from about fifteen feet away, holding the ‘Ve’ for longer than necessary. I smile sarcastically and tilt my head slightly, “Oh, Jesse! You haven’t changed a bit!” Jesse laughs but her smile drops when she realizes that the last time she saw me was before fat camp. She opens her mouth to say something, but I wave and say, “See you around!”

I sit down in the only empty desk in the classroom and the stupid skater next to me rams his freaking skateboard into my heel. “Ow!” I yelp. He pretends to cough to cover a laugh and the teacher eyes me with irritation. “Is there a problem, miss?” he asks, sighing. “No,” I say sweetly. He nods and turns around, continuing to write on the board. The skater smiles at the board and I keep my gaze forward as I sneak my foot into the space between us...onto the skateboard...and... “Ow!” he screams. I smile as the teacher turns around, angry. “I don’t know what’s going on over here, but it needs to stop now.”

“Sorry,” the skater says in a slightly British accent. British? A British skater? I didn’t even know that was possible. I walk out of the classroom with the strap of my bag across my chest and the skater walks up in front of me, blocking the staircase. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?” he says in his Brit way. I smile-once again-sarcastically and say, “Thanks for noticing,” before shoving my way past him and hurrying down the staircase. He puts his hand to his mouth and whistles and I trip on the last stair, startled. He laughs as I keep my gaze on the ground and hurry out of the staircase and into the busy hallway.

“I’m Russel, by the way,” the skater says as he sits down across from me at the lunch table I am reading at. I put my book down, “You think you’re real slick, don’t you?”

“Slick? I’m not sure I even know what that means. And it’s not because I’m British, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ve lived here for about nine years and I’ve yet to hear someone say ‘slick’.”

“Well you have now. Do you think that just because you have a British accent, you can charm me or something?”

“Usually works. Skateboard helps too.” I roll my eyes, fold the page of my book, and stand up, slinging my backpack around me again. “See ya, Russel.”

“Some other time, then!” he calls out as I walk away. I wave at him without looking back as I walk to the building my next class is in.

I sit at my desk and write notes about Kinetic Energy. Ths kid behind me pokes me in the back and I groan inwardly. I don’t turn. He pokes me again. I still don’t turn. He pokes me a third time, “What do you want, James?” I hiss. “Do you have a pencil?” he asks. I close my eyes. It is fifty minutes into class. We have been taking notes this entire period. He can not be serious. I furiously unzip my pencil pouch and pull out a dull pencil, throwing it at him. “Thanks,” he whispers. I roll my eyes and turn back around. James has liked me since seventh grade. He will never understand that I will never like him back. The door slings open, letting a ray of light into the classroom. Mr. Jones swivels to see who has interrupted him. Thomas slugs into the room, smiling sloppily at Mr. Jones. Everyone around me rolls their eyes, but I can’t help but grin. Thomas is the most sluggish, sloppy, slacking, stupid guy in the whole school. But he has the most gorgeous face in the world. His eyes in themselves are enough to make me swoon- light blue-green with gold flecks. His lips are full but not huge, and he smiles loosely, easily, lazily, like he’s the happiest guy in the world. He always looks like he just woke up from the best night of sleep ever known to mankind. Messy and slouching, but grinning from ear-to-ear and somehow shining in that ‘I’m completely satisfied’ way. “Thomas,” Mr. Jones hisses through his gritted teeth. Here’s the thing: I’m probably the only person in this entire school, (except Laylee, Thomas’s adopted sister,) who doesn't think that Thomas is a total jerk. The rest of the world sees him only for who he looks like: a guy who doesn’t try hard for anything but still gets everything he wants. His grades are insanely low, of course, but somehow he never fails more than one class, (the maximum for not being held back,) and his grades never trouble him- or his parents. College has never-and will never-phase his mind, and his parents don’t care. He’s filthy rich, and it seems they don’t expect anything education-related from him. His sister, on the other hand, is going to be valedictorian of her class. She’s the smartest kid in her grade, and she works harder than anyone else in the entire school. People wonder how in the world they could possibly be related.

The answer? Like I said, she’s adopted.

I’ve liked Thomas since tenth grade, when we had three classes together and he talked to me sometimes, (while I was trying to get my work done, usually, but whatever.) Thomas walks over and sits in the empty seat next to me.

I swear, I didn’t plan this.

I continue writing notes. “Hey, Venice,” he says. I blush, (bright red. Very bright red.) and reply, “Hi!” in an all-too-squeaky voice. “Hey, so, I’m having this party at my house on Friday night,” I really need to be focusing on what Mr. Jones is saying right now, (my grade has gone down to a B-), but I can’t help but listen now that he’s said that. “I was wondering if you wanted to come,” he says. I smile and nod, blushing even brighter. “Cool,” he says, “Invite anyone you want.” He turns away from me and starts doodling on his binder. He doesn’t even try to look like he's taking notes. I’m not sure if I should be horrified or impressed, but I decided to be impressed because the horrified slot is already pretty much filled by every other kid in the classroom.

Thomas jogs up to me after school, “Hey,” he says, “Hi,” I reply again. “So, anyway, the party’s at seven, and-you know my address, right?” I nod, and then realize that I shouldn’t have, because he never gave it to me. (I have it, he just never gave it to me. I am not a creepy stalker. I just like to have it in case...in case of situations like this. Shut up. Don’t judge me.) “Cool,” Thomas says, and I smile. “Hey! It’s Thomas, right?” a slightly British accent says from behind Thomas and I. I turn to see Russel walking up. “Oh, hey...” Russel pauses, trying to remember my name, “you.”

“It’s Venice.”

“Oh. Hey, Venice. Cool name.” He smiles at me and I roll my eyes. He turns to Thomas, “So, Thomas, I heard there’s a party at your place on Friday night?” Thomas nods, eyebrows raised. Most people wouldn’t be asking about a party that Thomas throws. Most people would be avoiding it. Russel raises an eyebrow also, “Am I invited?” Thomas looks confused, “What’s your name again?” Russel laughs, “It’s Russel. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m new here.” Now it’s my turn to raise an eyebrow, “You too?” Russel looks at me, “You’re new? Huh.” He looks befuddled, “Weird. Seems like you already know everybody.” I laugh, “That’s because I do. I went to a different school, but the same neighborhood, and we all went to the same middle school. We all know each other. I also went here sophomore year.” Russel nods, “Oh, right. That makes sense.” He turns back to Thomas, “So, what’s your address?”

“Oh, yea,” Thomas says. He pulls a pen out of his bag and writes it on a random piece of notebook paper. “Here,” he says, handing it to Russel. It’s probably the first time I’ve ever seen him nervous. Like I said, people don’t generally ask to be invited to Thomas’s parties. And Thomas knows I like him, (well, maybe he doesn’t know I...like like him, but he knows I don’t hate him,) so he's used to being treated like a normal human being by me. This guy, on the other hand... Russel smiles, “Thanks, man. See you there, guys!” He smiles and waves, walking off. Thomas runs his hand through his hair, his eyebrows furrowed. “Well that was weird,” he mutters. I laugh, “See you later, Thomas.” He smiles at me, “Yea, see ya, Venice.”

© 2010

Famfi, I love you.

On Valentine's day, (well, technically two days before Valentine's Day because the holiday fell on a Sunday this year,) my school had Valentine's grams given out to students whose friends and or secret admirers and or not-so-secret admirers and or stalkers had bought them for them. I was sitting innocently in class when I received one from my sister-at-heart Famfi. Touched, I read it. It said "To: Sienna From: irish chevy truck guy". Now, if you don't know my friends, which you probably don't unless you are one of my friends, Hi, friend! then you most likely don't understand why I would be receiving a Valentine gram from and Irish Chevy truck guy. It's a long story/inside joke, which I am afraid I cannot share with you, (that would ruin the concept of 'inside joke',) but I will tell you what the message said (in fancy cursive):

Dear Sienna,

I have waited countless years for this, the day that I proclaim my love for you. I've always loved you and I always will love you with all of my being. Since our first meeting on that lonely road in my beloved country of Ireland, I thank God every day. I can't stop thinking about you and your blue Chevy truck. I'm so very glad that your tire exploded and you ran off the road. But even more, I am glad that your very attractive and overly amazing friend Famfi was unable to the tires. I then came to your rescue. After all, I am an Irish mechanic. But what you don't know about me is that I own one of the largest whiskey companies in Ireland. Basically, I'm filthy rich. And I love only you.

Love always,

Your irish Chevy Truck Guy

xoxo ILY Sienna

Like I said, it makes a lot more sense if you know all our inside jokes related to Ireland and Chevy trucks (particularly blue ones), but even without this knowledge, you can not doubt the supreme awesomeness of that Valentine gram.

Famfi, I love you.

Visit www.famfiswonderland.blogspot.com to see Famfi's genius-ness for yourself!

© 2010

Enclosed part 12 (short story)

"What should we do now?" Mitch asked as I came over and sat, once again, on one of the

couches. I shrugged, "Parcheesi?"

"What is that, anyway?" I paused and thought about it for a minute, "You know, I don't really

know." Mitch got up and walked over to the computer, then groaned when he remembered the

power-outage. He turned to me, "Do you have internet connection on your phone?"

"Yea." He came over and I took my phone from my pocket. He took it from me and pressed

buttons for a while before looking up at me, saying, "Parcheesi- a four-person Indian board

game in which cowrie shells are thrown to determine the movements of pieces around the board." I laughed, "Well there you have it. Now I won't spend my whole life wondering." He smiled, putting his hand to his chest, "Thanks to me!" I laughed again, "Thanks to you. And to internet phone connection."

"Phone internet connection."

"Yea, whatever." He laughed and sat down next to me. I yawned and leaned my head back on the couch, closing my eyes. "Tired?" he asked. I opened my eyes again and smiled, "Course not. I was just resting my eyes." Mitch laughed, "Oh, wow. Never heard that one before." I smiled, "Of course you haven't. I just made it up. He rolled his eyes and put his arm around the pillow I was leaning against, making me freeze up. I tired to relax my body. Geez, he hadn't even put his arm around me and I was straightening. "But seriously," he said, picking at a string on the couch, "What should we do?"

"I don't know, what do you want to do?"

"Don't you dare." I laughed, "Seriously, I don't know what there is to do. It's your house, not mine." He took his arm away from the couch, spreading both his arms to display the room, "What's mine is yours," he sang. "Don't you dare," I replied. He laughed. He jumped up, "I have just had an epiphany!" I jumped up next to him, "Oh, do share!" He turned to me, "We shall make those stupid collages my sister bought all the stuff for!" I frowned at him, "That is the saddest epiphany ever known to man." He shrugged, "Hey, it's not like you suggested anything." My eyes widened, "I just had an epiphany!" I yelled. "Shhh!!!" he hissed. "What?"

"You're a dork," I said, taking his baseball cap off his head and smacking him with it. He tackled me, wrapping one of his arms around my waste and holding me in a headlock with the other. I laughed long and hard until he finally released me, and then we went into the kitchen to get the collage supplies. He pulled out a magazine and opened it, reading the headline of a glossy purple page, "Who Wore it Best- See Who's Rocking the Look, and Who Can't Get the Hook". He looked up at me, "'Can't get the hook'? What does the even mean?" I shrugged, "Don't ask me." He rose an eyebrow, "You're a girl. Aren't you supposed to know what all this stuff means? Love it, even?" I rolled my eyes, "Stereotypical."

"Stereotype," he said with a grin, and I fell silent. Because I knew he was right.

© 2010

In order to try and make the next part of Enclosed not have out-of-control spacing, I am posting this.

I hate spacing problems.

Random, but necessary.

Today, my not-so-close friend introduced this British guy to my friends and I. We were

extremely hyper and yelling and laughing and hiding under a table and then we made him come

under the table because it was raining butthenwegotoutandthenweweremorehyperandandand...

you get the point. But anyway, he eventually, (with a smile, I might add,) said the classic, "Are

they always like this?" to which I replied, "Yes, we are."

I love when people ask that question.

© 2010

Broken Glass, Broken Hearts part 49

It was four o'clock, and the sky was dark and ominous. That's one of those things that people say and think that they are being creative and totally original, when really they're about the five millionth person to say this. The rain poured outside and I sat with my chin on the windowsill, feeling like one of the little kids in The Cat in the Hat. Sadie called earlier and asked if I wanted to do something, and I told her that I would prefer to stay home and have a rain day, just get used to my new house.

So there I sat.

I sighed and closed the curtains, walking into the living room and sitting next to Milly on the couch. She was eating cheddar popcorn and watching "A Thousand Ways to Die". "I hate this show," I announced to her. "Thanks for the input," she replied, crunching down on another piece of popcorn. I was quiet for another minute as a man was shown riding down the road on top of a mattress. "Can we change the channel?"

"No."

"Why not?

"There's nothing else on." I sighed and got up, walking back into the kitchen and wishing I hadn't turned down Sadie. There was absolutely nothing to do. Nothing. I opened the fridge and pulled out an apple. Then I put it back. I hate apples. I closed the fridge and walked over to the cupboard, opening it and searching for barbecue chips. We didn't have any. I sighed and walked out of the kitchen and back into my room. The house was small, and even with people over there wasn't much to do. By myself, I was bored out of my flipping mind. I sat down and tried to study for Chemistry, but I couldn't concentrate. I tried to read a novel, but it was a total chick book and bored me even more than I had been before I had opened it. I went on the computer and tried to find something funny to watch on the internet, but all I could find was stupid kids making videos of themselves in their rooms while avoiding doing their homework or music videos for singers who never made it to Hollywood. I sighed and turned my computer off again. "THERE'S NOTHING TO DO!" I moaned. "SHUT UP!" Milly yelled back. "I'M HOME!" a familiar voice yelled as the front door slammed open loudly, "WHO MISSED ME?!" Milly and I were both silent for a moment, (in utter shock,) before yelling in unison, "JANE!" I ran out of my room and we tackled her. Jane laughed and pulled her suitcase next to her. Jane was a senior in college and had probably visited about seven times all together since sophomore year, three Christmases, two Thanksgivings, and a couple of special occasions. (One of them being my first dance at a new school. I'll never understand girls.) "What are you doing here?" I asked, taking her suticase and rolling it toward the guest room. "Is mom here?" she asked, ignoring me question. It was weird how she came into the house acting like it was the one she had grown up in and then immediately asked to see mom as if she had been the person she grew up with. Well, ok, obviously she had more time with mom and dad than Milly or I did, but still. "She's at the grocery store, but she'll be home soon," Milly said, smiling brightly for the first time since we moved here. "Oh, good," Jane said, also smiling widely. "There's someone I want her to meet." She smiled at Milly and I, "And I want you guys to meet him, too!" Uh-oh. Him. Bad news. I waited for a man with a mohawk, five facial piercings, and a half dozen tattoos per arm to walk in, or maybe a cheating football jock like the last guy she had dated. But instead walked in a decent looking guy in a leather jacket, jeans, and Etnies. He smiled at us, "How all you guys doing?" he asked. Milly blushed and I narrowed my eyes. Was this nice guy thing an act? Luckily, he was only about a half inch taller than me, so I was able to step up next to him and give him a look that said the classic, "hurt her and you're dead meat". He nodded at me as if to say he got the message. I expected him to sling his arm around my sister's waist and pull her close to him, maybe even kissing her shoulder. But instead he said, "Great to meet you all. Is there only one bed in the guest room?" I nodded, my eyes still narrow. He nodded too, "Ok, then. I'll sleep on the couch." He smiled genuinely at Milly and I and then took Jane's bag from me, swinging it over his shoulder, (even though it had wheels,) and carrying it to the guest room. He came back out a few seconds later and said, "My name is Robert. You can call me Rob, for short, if you prefer, but not Bob." He frowned, "I hate the name Bob." Milly laughed, "Ok, Robert. Nice to meet you." He smiled, "And you must be Milly?" She nodded and stuck out her hand, which he shook, grinning. Then he turned to me, "And you're Tyler." I nodded. He stuck out his hand and I shook it firmly. "Nice to meet you, Tyler. I promise I'll take good care of your big sister." He smiled genuinely and I thought he looked trustworthy. But you never knew. "Ima go use the loo, if you don't mind," he said, grinning. He walked off toward the bathroom and Milly and I immediately turned to face Jane. "He seems nice," Milly said. "Who is he?" I asked. Jane laughed, "He's Robert. My fiance."

Jeez, a little warning would have been nice.

© 2010

Enclosed part 11 (short story)

Mitch held out his arms and I ran into them, shivering insanely. He laughed, "What'd you take from grammy?"

"The owner of that house was about twenty-two," I replied with a smile. Mitch blinked, "What? Really?"

"Mhm."

"Wow," he shook his head, "weird. So, what'd you take from twenty-two-year-old-grandma?" I rolled my eyes and took out the piece of toilet paper. Mitch looked at it, then back at me, and shook his head. "That's your grand finale?" I pouted, "She was so sweet! And she recently lost her husband in the war, right before her baby was born. I couldn't take anything of value from her." Mitch frowned, "Hm." He was quiet, and he shoved his hands into his pockets. I walked quietly next to him towards his house before he said, "That's a young age to go." I almost stopped walking, and I closed my eyes. "Mitch-" I whispered. He kept walking. "Forget I said it," he said. He adjusted his baseball cap on his head, and tears instantly sprung up in my eyes. Why had Mitch and I broken up, you ask? Mitch didn't want to be in a relationship after he... found out. I walked faster to catch up to him and grabbed his hand, connecting mine with his. He looked me in the eyes, so strong, so brave, so sincere. He amazed me every day with is bravery. He immediately looked away and we continued the walk to his house in silence.

He threw the front door open and flopped down on the couch. "Man it is cold out there!" he hollered. "Be quiemph!" Violet yelled from upstairs. I laughed. "Ok, let's see the good," Mitch said, rubbing his hands together. I chuckled and poured the contents of the backpack we had used onto the coffee table, carefully placing the piece of toilet paper next to the pile. Mitch laughed and pulled a tiny rubber ducky out of the pile. He sighed and shook his head, "Surely this will be missed."

"No!" I protested, "there were like a billion ducks in that tub!" Mitch pointed at me with the duck and lectured, "Aw, but what if this one were a one-of-a-kind or something?" I rolled my eyes, "There were like a billion others of that duck in the tub." Mitch laughed, "Well what if this one were a family novelty?" I eyed him as I sat down across from him. "Mitch," I said. "Hmmm?"

"No." He laughed yet again and put the duck back in the pile, looking through the other little things. I got up and walked into the kitchen, pulling a piece of cold pizza out of the box. Mitch looked up, "More pizza? Don't you think you've had enough?" I gaped, "I only had two pieces!" Mitch looked at me with a smile and his eyes softened. I froze for a minute and tried to keep my eyes from widening. Then he shook his head and looked away, snapping me out of my trance. I sat down at the kitchen table and took a bite of the pizza, smiling at the floor.

© 2010

Enclosed part 10 (short story)

"Can I use your bathroom?" I asked reluctantly, almost yawning in the middle of the five word sentence. I was on my eleventh house, and I exhausted. If only the driveways on Mitch's street were normal instead of huge hills and never ending dirt paths with creepy trees. As I had walked down the third dirt pathway with the creepiest trees yet, Mitch had walked with me. I jumped as a bat came out of one of the trees and Mitch, laughing, took my hand and pulled me into him, giving me a noogie and shoving his baseball cap on my head. I broke out into a fit of giggles and my stomach twisted out of control, my temperature soaring despite the cold breeze biting through my thin sweater to my skin. As I walked away from the house, (I had been declined use of the bathroom,) I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself. Mitch took his jacket off and offered it to me. I looked at it, then back at him, and scrunched my nose. "Ok, sweet gesture, but first of all, that thing is puny and would make no difference whatsoever in my body temperature, and second of all, it's probably covered in gross boy sweat." Mitch shook his head, putting his jacket back on, and pushed me in front of him. He chuckled and I smiled as we walked to the next house.

"Last house," Mitch informed me. "Finally," I replied. He punched me playfully in the arm, "You're a wimp."

"I am not!"

"Are too."

"I just walked up and down thirteen driveways, 'used' nine different bathrooms of complete strangers who could've been murderers or worse-"

"Worse?"

"-and dealt with your annoying little comments along the way." Mitch laughed, "You're right. You are such a beast."

"Thank you."

"Mhm. Now go finish what you started."

"I hate you," I muttered under my breath.

"I realize," he replied with a smirk. I groaned and walked up a (finally) short driveway to a modest little house with a front porch that had a bench swing and a light pink rocking chair. Who's grandma lives here, I wonder? The door opened and I almost did a double-take. A twenty-something, (early twenties, I can tell you that much,) dark blonde with flannel sunflower pajamas and a baby wrapped in a teddy bear-print blanket opened the door, smiling tiredly. "Can I help you?" she asked in a sweet, milky voice. Almost like someone had taken a Hershey's bar, transformed it into a sound, and put it into her larynx. I gulped. For some reason, out of all the weirdos who had opened their doors on this street, (and one person who didn't,) taking something from the bathroom of this woman scared me the most. I felt like even stepping into her house would be a horrible thing to do. She looked like one of those moms who spends all their hours baking for their kids and yet somehow managed to pay the bills without the help of a husband. "Hi. I'm-I'm...my name's Jamie." the woman looked slightly confused, (who wouldn't when a random stranger was standing on your porch in the middle of the night introducing themself?) but she replied, "Hello, Jamie. I'm Beverly. And this is my daughter, Sonia." I smiled at the adorable little baby. She had black, straight hair on her tiny newborn head and big blue eyes that stared at me, wide-eyed and mystified. "She's beautiful," I replied, because she was. Beverly smiled, "Thank you. Is there something I can help you with?" I snapped back into reality, tearing my eyes away from the gorgeous little child and looking instead at the tired-but-beautiful mother who cradled her for dear life. "Can I use your bathroom?" I asked. She laughed slightly and opened the door, "Sure, of course you can. Come right on in."

"Where's your husband?" I asked as she let me into her house, leading me to the bathroom. I immediately regretted it. How did I know she had a husband? How did I know she hadn't had a divorce, or never have been married at all? I felt like slapping myself. Beverly's eyes got sad, "He passed away a few months ago, just before Sonia was born. He was a soldier, and he was shot in the chest." I gasped, "Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry!" She smiled sadly, "It's alright. I knew when I married him that something like this might happen. I just..." she looked down, "didn't expect it to happen...so soon." I felt like grabbing her into a tight hug and trying to comfort her, but right then she suddenly turned and said, "Here it is. You can let yourself out when you're done. Just make sure you lock the door behind you." She smiled at me, sniffled slightly, and walked away. I turned to the small little bathroom. It had white walls with little pink flowers and a soft pink rug. The bathtub had a bucket of bath toys in it and I smiled as I breathed in the smell of cinnamon. I looked down at the toilet paper and saw that it was pink, too, with little flowers printed on it. I'll admit, normally I might have been kind of disgusted by this early-twenties single mother living alone in a grandma house with pink toilet paper and a rocking chair on the front porch that looked a hundred years old, but everything about Beverly made me feel affectionate toward her, as if she were my grandmother. (Aunt would make more sense, seeing as she wasn't much older than me, but I'm talking hypothetically here.) I couldn't help it. I reached down and ripped off a square of the toilet paper and then left the sweet little house, not even bothering to flush the toilet and pretend to wash my hands.

© 2010

Enclosed part 9 (short story)

So I was gliding down the hallway of this large suburban house, feeling as awkward as I knew to be humanly possible. A middle-aged mother with dyed red hair, way too much make-up, and a fuzzy pink robe walked in front of me, leading me to the bathroom. I had a feeling that the only reason she let me into her picture-perfect suburban dream home was because she thought I was homeless. Even the scary plastic-smile people have pity, I guess. "Here it is," she said, stopping in front of one of the doors. "Thanks," I said as I turned the knob on the door and stepped in. The woman yawned and walked down the hallway to her bedroom without another word. Hm. Maybe she didn't think I was a hobo after all. I closed the bathroom door and looked around, my face flushed with fear though I knew that whatever I took would most likely not be missed. On the far end of the sink, near the outer wall, was a little glass fish bowl. It was perfect. I walked over and took one of the little light blue flat marbles out of the decorative little bowl. I pocketed it, flushed the toilet for effect, turned the sink on and then off again for safety precautions, and then hurried out of the daisy-scented house, my shoes booming loudly on the marble floor of the entryway. I slammed the front door and ran down to the bottom of the driveway where Mitch stood, leaning against a lamp post and grinning at me. I giggled and pulled the flat marble out of the back pocket of my jeans. He laughed and took it from me, holding it between the length of his fingers. It glinted in the moonlight. I looked up in his face and saw that his eyes, too, were glinting. He caught me staring and looked down at me, smiling. Even without his hair, he was the most gorgeous guy in our town, at least. Maybe even in the whole area. There was no doubting Mitch's looks. "Ok," he said with his sly grin, "one down. About...fourteen to go." I groaned and walked in front of him to the next house on that side of the street. We had flipped a coin and I had lost, so he got to truth or dare me first. I chose dare, worrying what he might ask for truth. Mitch, being the insane boy that he is, dared me to ask to use the bathroom on every single house on his block, and if that weren't annoying enough, (especially considering that it was about ten thirty PM and all the people on Mitch's street went to bed at, say, seven thirty? Eight, at most,) he also told me that in every house that I was allowed in, I had to take something from the bathroom. Not exactly a criminal act considering I could technically take a square of toilet paper and it would have to count, but it was still weird for me. I was never the type to do anything like this. I mean, I wouldn't say I was shy or anything, but I was definitely never a rebel. Not that the dare was that rebellious. It just felt like it to me.

© 2010

Enclosed part 8 (short story)

Red sauce splattered down Mitch's sweatshirt. He threw up his hands, "Fabulous!" he muttered loudly. I laughed and threw him some napkins. He attempted to wipe it off, but it looked like it was going to stain. I glanced at Violet, waiting for her to make some witty comment on how he looked like he had been shot in the chest by Chuck Norris or something, but she said nothing. "Violet?" I said. "Hmmmm?" she replied, barely opening her eyes and picking her head up from her arms as she lay next to her now-empty plate on the table. "You should get some sleep, Vi," Mitch said, still wiping at the sauce. She sat up, attempting to widen here eyes. "No, no, I'm-" (yawn,) "fine. I'm fine. I am-" (yawn again,) "not...tired...at all." She yawned again and stood up, scootling over to the living room and falling down on a couch, pulling a blanket over herself and positioning the couch cushion to her liking. Mitch and I brought our dishes to the sink and then went over to the couches, watching as Violet fell asleep. Soon enough, she was once-again sleep-breathing, but this time, she was really out of it. Mitch scooped her up in his arms and walked towards the staircase. He turned to me, "Could you open her bedroom door for me?" he asked. I nodded quickly, "Of course!" and ran ahead of him, (you guessed it, tripping all the way, which he chuckled at,) and then finally opened the door to her musky rose scented bedroom. He put her on the bed, pulling off her shoes and socks and carefully taking her jacket off, (I thought he might even take her bra off for her, because who wants to sleep in a bra?, but as he was a brother, he had no experiences with bras and would probably feel weird doing that anyway. Frankly, I would feel weird if he did do that. Creepy. Why did I even think of that? Why am I telling you this? Who are you, anyway? Why do I tell you everything that happens in my life?!) I was totally impressed by what a sweet brother he was being, but my heart just melted when he positioned her pillow under her, pulled the covers over her, and kissed her lightly on the forehead. It was one of those moments where you just want to go, "Awwwww!", but obviously never actually do. Unfortunately, I actually did. "Awwwww!" I swooned. He turned and looked at me like I had grown a duck bill and was breaking out in a purple rash from head to toe. "Sorry," I muttered, my face turning red as a beet, (rather than purple.) He smiled and said, "You're cute when you turn red," which of course made me turn even redder. "Um...ok. Thanks, I guess." Mitch stepped out of the room, closing the door. "Should we go to bed now, too?" I asked, looking up at him. He shrugged, "I'm not tired. Are you?" I couldn't help but smile as he pulled off his pizza stained sweatshirt, throwing it in the direction of the laundry room, and turned to face me in his body-fitting band shirt. "Nope." Mitch shrugged again, "Ok, so what do you want to do?" I narrowed my eyes at him, smiling wider. "Truth or dare."

"Oh my goodness, this should be interesting."

© 2010

Enclosed part 7 (short story)

Violet got up and ran up the stairs, tripping about five times. "This family," I muttered, chuckling as I got up and walked over to the stairs. I walked once again to the third floor and walked into the guest room. I wasn't sure exactly why we had all suddenly headed up the stairs and settled in our rooms, but...I sat down on the bed and looked around. "Um," I said. I smiled, "Um..." I said a little louder. "Um," I yelled. "UM!!!" I hollered at the top of my lungs. "WHAT?!" Violet screamed. I laughed, skipped out of the guest room, skipped down the stairs to the second floor, (also tripping about five times, but in a smaller span of stairs,) and opened the door to her room dramatically. "Where are your parents, young lady?" I hollered in her face. She blinked.

There is a lot of blinking going on here.

"Um...I think they're in Hawaii." I blinked, (see what I mean?!), "You think they're in Hawaii? Isn't that something you should be positive of?" She shrugged and walked out of her room, crossed the hallway, and through open the door to Mitch's room. "Hey, Mitch?"

"Thanks for knocking, sis."

"Yea, no problem. Where're mom and dad?"

"The Caribbean. Second honeymoon. Is that the fifteenth time I've told you that today?"

"What are you doing in here?" Violet asked, ignoring his question and sitting on his bed. "Well, I was going to change my clothes, but seeing as their a girl in my room-"

"Oh, Mitch, silly boy, I saw you in diapers."

"That's because you were in diapers at the same time, doofus. And I wasn't talking about you." They both turned, (quite dramatically, I might add,) and glared in my direction. I stepped over the borderline to his room and put my hands over my eyes, "I'm not looking!"

"SHE'S PEAKING!" Violet hollered, jumping up and lunging across the room to me. Mitch took the opportunity to also lunge across, the room...and push Violet out, slamming and locking the door behind her. "You're a poop!" she yelled. "Go downstairs!" he yelled back, "I'll be there in a minute!"

"Do you want barbecue chips?" Violet asked me, pausing in braiding my hair, (which she did not ask my permission to do before she started.) "Um...aren't you guys going to have, like, dinner or something?"

"Or something."

"Funny."

"That's what they tell me!" Violet jumped up, allowing my hair to fall out of the braid she just concentratedly put together, pulling my hair out of my skull in the process. I laugh/sighed and got up, following her to the kitchen and sitting down on one of the bar stools in fornt of the counter. "I'll order pizza," Violet told me. I nodded, "Ok. Yum." She called the pizza place and ordered two large pepperoni pizzas, [not asking for my input, (it's a good thing I'm not a vegetarian.)] Mitch came downstairs then, dressed in jeans a baggy sweatshirt. "You changed?" I asked. "Shut up," he replied with a smile.

© 2010

Enclosed part 6 (short story)

We sat on the couch huddled around the lap top as the movie ended and the credits came onto the screen, the most dramatic song from the movie playing again. Violet was passed out on Mitch's shoulder, her mouth open slightly as she breathed quietly in that sleep-breath way. I laughed. Mitch smiled, "This is what she's like at night," he said, "hyper-active for a while, but then she'll just pass out. Dead asleep." I laughed, "That's weird. Most people aren't hyper at night." She suddenly woke as Mitch stood up. "I'm hyper at night because when I wake up in the morning, I'm tired. Then through out the day, I wake up more and more, so by the time night rolls around, I'm wide awake!" She smiled, her eyes sleepy. "And she's up!" Mitch yelled in a baseball announcer voice. "Good morning sunshine," I said with a smile, closing the lap top. She rolled her eyes at us, "I've only been asleep for like fifteen minutes."

"Correction," Mitch said, grinning, "Fifty minutes." Violet opened her mouth. "Really?" she asked in disbelief. I nodded, "Yea, you fell asleep at around the middle of the movie."

"Huh," she replied. She shrugged and ran into the kitchen, opening the fridge and taking out the milk, sniffing it to make sure it hadn't spoiled, and putting it back in. "All the food in the fridge is going to be spoiled by tomorrow morning," Violet complained to Mitch. He stretched and replied, "Then I guess we're going shopping tomorrow." Violet rolled her eyes and turned to cupboard, pulling out a pack of oreos and ripping them open. She took and oreo and pulled it apart, licking off the frosting before eating the actual cookie part.

"Got any...fours?" I asked Mitch. He scanned his cards and Violet yawned, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Don't look at my cards!" he shrieked. She rolled her eyes and then closed them, "I can't see them," she said, yawning again. "Go fish," Mitch said to me. I sighed and pulled yet another card from the deck. Violet pulled up her hand and glanced at her watch. "9:30," she announced. "That's nice," Mitch and I repliec in unison. "Blargh! Mfenshneemillompleh," Violet yelled, jumping up from her chair. Mitch and I both stared at her with wide eyes. "Um...sorry. I didn't catch that," Mitch said, blinking at her. She sighed and rolled her eyes, "I sai-aid, blargh, mfenshnaymillompleh."

"Actually, I think it was mfenshneemillompleh," I corrected. She shook her head, "No. Definitely shnay."

"Shnee."

"Shnay."

"Shnee."

"Shnay!"

"Shnee!"

"SHNAY!"

"SHNEE!"

Mitch stood up, "You two are crazier than a couple of overweight koalas in a polka dot bar!" he yelled. Now it was his turn to get blinked at. "A polka dot bar?" I asked. Violet doubled over laughing, and Mitch sighed and took all the dirty dishes off the coffee table, bringing them into the kitchen and turning on the faucet. No water came out. "Dang power outage!" he yelled. He turned to us, "No flushing the toilet." He walked over to the stairs and up to his room. Violet turned to me. "Why did you go out with him again?" she asked me. I shrugged, "He was hot?"

"You were in ninth grade."

"You say that like that makes him any less hot."

"He was zit-man! And he had the weirdest hair!" I laughed, "His acne was a flaw, but I had acne too, and I thought his hair was one of his best qualities."

"One of his best physical qualities?" I laughed again, "Nope. One of his best overall qualities." Violet slapped her hand over her heart, "Now that," she started, "is deep."

"Isn't it, though?"

© 2010

Enclosed part 5(short story)

"Do you want to go straight home, or is there another stop you want to make?" Mitch asked as he pulled out of the parking lot, my ex-people watching in disbelief as we drove off. "We have board games at home, right?" Vi asked. Mitch laughed, "I believe so. A closet full." She shrugged, "Then I don't see why else we would need to stop." Mitch looked in the mirror at me, "How 'bout you, Jamie? You need anything?" I looked up into his soft, light blue eyes. "Uh...could we stop at Vons?"

"What for?"

"A toothbrush?" Mitch smiled and Vi laughed. "Ok," Mitch said, turning on the street Vons was on, "Here we are."

"Should we buy disposable napkins?" Vi asked as she walked up to Mitch and I. I was standing in the toiletry aisle trying to find a good toothbrush as Mitch sat on the ground behind me, leaning his head against the rack of bed covers behind him and closing his eyes. Violet, meanwhile, was running around the store trying to find every pointless appliance your heart could desire and asking us if she should buy them. Mitch opened his eyes and rose an eyebrow at Violet, and I laughed at her as she as she stood there jumping up and down. "Aren't all napkins disposable?" Mitch asked. Violet stopped bouncing. She was silent for a minute as we watched her, waiting for her response. "Oh," she said finally. She shrugged, "Ok, whatever. I'm gonna go look in the toy aisle." Mitch chuckled as Vi ran off again and I smiled and turned back to the toothbrushes.

As Mitch and I walked up to the check-out, Violet ran up behind us cradling a basketful of pointless crud. "VI-o-letttt," Mitch groaned. "What?" she asked. "These are the simple necessary ingredients of an all-nighter in the pitch black."

"You didn't seem to need any of those things for tonight before we came here."

"Yes, well, my ignorance was disturbed by my realization of what I had not thought of." I looked at her, confused, as I gave a ten to the cashier. The cashier looked at her strangely too. She dumped all her crud on the counter and Mitch groaned again as she pulled two twenties out of her wallet.

Mitch closed the garage and pulled out a pack of matches from his pocket, relighting all the candles. By now it was at least seven forty five, and it was pouring rain outside. "We should watch a movie," Violet suggested as she sorted through all her Vons junk on the couch. "The power, Vi," Mitch said, rolling his eyes. "On the lap top, Mitch," Violet replied, sitting on the ground and sorting all her stuff on the table. "What did you buy, anyway?" Mitch asked, taking off his ball cap and pushing it onto her head. She whacked it off, and it landed on the couch. "I bought candy, a yo-yo-"

"We already have a yo-yo."

"Whatever. Walky-talkies,"

"How much were those?"

"They're cheap. They'll probably be broken by tomorrow."

"Than why'd you buy them?!"

"We won't need them tomorrow, dumbhead. Anyway, I bought two discs of the original Betty Boop show,"

"NO POWER, VI!"

"LAP TOP, MITCH! ANYway, I bought two magazines, to make collages with, glitter, to decorate the collages with, safety scissors, for the collages, and construction paper and glue sticks. Also for the collages."

"Oh, is that all?"

"No. I also bought gummy worms."

"I think that fits in the category of 'candy'."

"Well, I don't. I also bought some other stuff, but that stuff was mostly just stuff I forgot I needed."

"Like what?!"

"Like shampoo, smart guy!" Mitch threw his hands up in frustration and lay down on the couch. I looked from him, to her, to him, to her, to him, and then once again to her, and burst out laughing.

© 2010

Enclosed part 4 (short story)

After playing 'I've Never' for probably about an hour and a half, Violet stood up. She looked at her glow-in-the-dark watch and announced to us, "It is officially seven thirty on Friday the fourteenth." I laughed, "Friday the fourteenth. That sounds like a book. Or a song." Mitch and violet stared at me like there was vines growing out of my ears. "Maybe like...an emo song. My Chemical Romance? What do you think?" Mitch shook his head, and I thought he was just shaking it at me, but then he said, "No, more like Good Charlotte." Violet shrugged, "Personally, I think it sounds more like a country song." Now it was Violet's turn to be vines-out-of-ears girl. "What? Oh, come on, tell me you can't see Tim McGraw singing that one." She pretended to pull out a banjo and said, "Howdy, folks! I'll be playing a new ensemble for you today, I call it 'Friday the Fourteenth." She stared solemnly at the wall, tearing up her eyes, and said, "This one's fur you, Suey James." Mitch and I fell on the ground laughing as Violet belted out words about a cold friday evening in Louisiana and how she missed her Suey and her...Duey...the...duck, and how she wished she could enjoy Suey's meatloaf again and take little Duey on his final hunting trip. "You are a coock," I told Violet as I wiped tears from my eyes from laughing so hard. She smiled, "Why thank you."

"And that, my friend, sounded nothing like Tim McGraw." Mitch nodded, smiling slightly, "Yup. Definitely Good Charlotte." Violet cocked her head at us, "I didn't know Joel Madden was married to a Suey James." We burst out laughing again. "I want Ben and Jerry's," Mitch said, leaning back into his couch and putting his arms up around his head, intertwining his fingers. "That sounds good," Violet agreed, sitting on the arm of his couch and almost knocking over about three candles. "Its raining," I reminded them. "So?" they asked in unison. I laughed and shrugged, "Ok, sure. Let's go to Ben and Jerry's."

Mitch put his arm around his seat as he looked behind him, pulling out of their three-car garage. I sat in the backseat and Violet sat in the front, pressing the channel buttons over and over until she found a good station that worked. I looked out the window and stared at the trees as we sped down the road to town. Mitch pulled into an open parking spot a few stores down from Ben and Jerry's. I stepped out of the car with Violet and Mitch and, I swear, it was like one of those scenes in a teen movie-the one where the female protagonist gets out of her hot new boy's car as her mean girl ex-best friend and mean boy ex-boyfriend watched her, their mouths wide open. Except in this case, there was multiple mean boy ex-boyfriends and, obviously, Mitch was not my new boy. He was my old boy, and I knew he would never come back to me. Not that I would go back to him either...

"Whoa! Jamie!" Samantha called out, holding the 'ie'. I rolled my eyes and started heading towards Ben and Jerry's, Violet walking ahead of me. I expected Mitch to follow us, but I turned slightly to make sure and saw him still standing by his car, eyeing my ex-people. "Mitch!" I called out. I immediately regretted it. He turned around and looked at me. I wanted to close my eyes, but I knew it would only intensify the awkwardness of the moment. I stared at him with pleading eyes, and he walked toward me. He put a ball cap on as he walked toward me, and, to my surprise, swung his arm around my shoulders. "What are you-" I started, but he cut me off, "Just go with it," he hissed. As we walked into the little ice cream shop, I turned to him. "What was that?"

"Your friends."

"They're not my friends. And even if they were, why did you do that?" He shrugged. I imagined him running his hand through his hair at that moment, but instead he reached up and pulled his baseball cap down slightly further. "I don't know. I just...I don't know." A smile played with the corner of my mouth so I quickly stepped up to the counter and ordered Phish Food. "Ooh!" Violet said, coming up to the counter again, "Change my order! I want that too!" I laughed and walked over to the pick-up side of the counter with Violet as Mitch ordered.

© 2010

Enclosed part 3 (short story)

"VIOLET!"

"IT WASN'T ME!" I heard Mitch groan loudly and I slowly made my way over to the door, feeling around to find the handle and then turning it and stepping out into the hallway. "ARE YOU GUYS OK?" Mitch called, his voice coming slowly up the stairs. "Yea!" Violet and I yelled in unison. I inched my way down the hallway and toward the staircase. "I'm gonna find the candles," Violet called out. "Me too," Mitch replied, "Jamie? Do you think you can come down to the first floor? It's best that we all stay on the same floor so no one gets hurt." I nodded, and then, realizing that he couldn't see me, yelled out, "Yea, I'm coming."

"Careful..." Mitch called, his voice drifting off. "Ok, no, wait," clearly he had been remembering all my experiences with klutziness. "Stay right there. I'll come get you." I stopped on the third stair down and kept both hands on the rail as I listened to Mitch's footsteps coming up the stairs. I waited a minute before I felt Mitch grabbing my arm. He slid his hand down to my hand, latching his fingers in mine, and pulled me slowly down the long stairwell. "Thank you," I said when we reached the bottom. He grunted in response, and Violet called out, "I found the candles!"

"You keep them all in one place?" I asked, making out the outline of Mitch's body in the dark and squinting to try and find his eyes. "Yea." He paused, "We have a lot of power-outages."

"Aw." I walked behind him as he walked toward Violet's voice. She lit the first candle and held it up to her face so we could see her. She lit two more and handed them to us, and then we helped her take out and light all twenty three of their candles. "You have a lot of candles," I said. Violet laughed, "Less than we'd like, with a house like this." I nodded, understanding, and followed them to the living room, where we placed the candles in candle holders and sat down on the couches, all holding our own small candle holder that had a handle and overheating from all the tiny surrounding flames. "Now what?" Violet asked after a few minutes of staring at the flames. "What do you guys usually do during power-outages?" I asked after another minute of silence. Mitch smiled, "We play 'I've Never'." I shrugged, "Ok. Let's do that." Violet laughed, "PG rated though, no beer."

"Good. I don't drink."

"Neither do we," Mitch replied, turning his candle in his hands. Violet leaned forward on her couch, placing her candle on the coffee table in front of her, "We usually just scream 'I HAVE!' if we have done it, rather than the beer-chugging." I laughed, "Ok. Let's do it." Violet smiled, "I've never been to Australia with a kangaroo in my bag."

"I HAVE!" Mitch called out. They laughed and my eyebrows rose, "Huh?" Violet laughed at me, sitting there confused. "It's more fun if you occasionally throw in something...abstract." I smiled back. "Ok." I looked at them both, a sly smile on my lips, "I've never lived in a four story house."

"I HAVE!" they cried out in unison. I laughed outright, and Mitch said, "I've never had a boyfriend."

"I HAVE!" Violet and I yelled with a laugh. "But I'm glad you haven't," I said to Mitch, laughing. He smiled. "I've never kissed Mitch," Violet said, smiling mischievously. I blushed, and thanked the Lord that they couldn't see my cheeks well enough to see them redden because of the power-outage. "I have," I said, much quieter than I had said it for the other questions. "Louder!" Violet yelled with a laugh. Mitch was silent. I threw my head back and, with a laugh, screamed at the top of my lungs, "I HAVE!" We all erupted in laughter. "Oh my gosh, the neighbors definitely heard that," Violet said through her sweet little giggles. I smiled. Then I locked my hands together and said, staring at Mitch, "I've never had cancer." Mitch stared at me, Violet gasped, and I smiled slightly. Mitch smiled back, a full smile, his cheeks going up and his eyes narrowing. "I HAVE!" he yelled, at least five times louder than my loudest scream. We all fell over laughing again. "I've never been trapped out of my own street," Violet said. "I HAVE!" I yelled, "And my voice will be completely gone by the end of this game." Violet laughed. "I've never had avocado ice cream," Mitch said, wrinkling his nose. "I HAVE!" Violet and I screamed, laughing. "Nasty," Mitch said, "that stuff is disgusting."

"Actually, it's pretty good," I protested. "Yea, and who are you to judge if you've never had it before?" Violet said. Mitch scoffed, "I never have, and never will, eat that stuff. The name itself is nasty." I laughed, "I've never met a movie star."

"I HAVE!" Violet yelled. She looked at Mitch, "You have too! You were their when we met...what's his name...Adam Sandler!" Mitch laughed, "Movie star. Right. Adam Sandler is a joke."

"Hey!" I protested once again, "I like him!" Mitch laughed at me, "Well, you have no taste in actors." I smiled. "You've really never seen a movie star?" Violet asked me. I nodded. "That's a bummer." I shrugged, "I don't really care. I figure the people around me are probably more interesting in person anyway." Mitch smiled at me. "Ok, well, I've never..." Violet paused, putting her fingers on her chin as she tried to think of something, "I've never...ooh! I've never worn cheetah print underwear while riding a motorbike through the Amazon with John Travolta." Mitch rose an eyebrow, "Neiter have I."

"I HAVE!" I yelled. Violet and I laughed and Mitch shook his head, "Girls. What is it with John Travolta?"

"Hell-oooo! Danny Zuko! Grease! That movie was pure genious," Violet said. Mitch rolled his eyes, "Depends on you definition of the word genious." I laughed, "I've never been to Canada."

"I HAVE!" Violet and Mitch yelled. I laughed as they started telling me about "All the Wonders of Canadia".

Maybe this wouldn't be such a boring night after all.

© 2010

Enclosed part 2 (short story)

I walked awkwardly into the big house and looked around. I sighed. "The guest room is on the third floor, second door on the left," Violet called as she ran up the stairs, dumping her wet rain jacket on a huge lounge chair in the living room and slamming a door closed behind her. I pulled the strap of my backpack higher up on my shoulder and walked up the stairs. "Mitch," I said quietly as he stepped out of the hallway on the second floor, shocking me. "Hi." A shiver went down my spine as I tried to keep myself from staring at his bald head, where his shaggy black hair was when we were going out. "What are you doing here, Jamie?" he asked in a scraggly voice. I could tell he had just been throwing up. "Vi was giving me a ride home, 'cause everyone else had left, and my street was closed, so I have to stay-"

"Vi was giving you a ride home? What do you mean?"

"Um...she was giving me a ride, there was no one else there, I was stranded." Mitch rolled his eyes, "You would be." He nudged past me and walked down the stairs, heading toward the kitchen, without another word. I closed my eyes and just stood there for a moment before continuing up the stairs.

I pulled out my cell phone once I was in the guest room with the door closed.

After calling my parents and explaining where I was , I dialed my sister's number,

"Hey, Riley."

"Heyyyy Jamie-kins! Connor's on the other line."

"Hi Connor."

"Hey, James."

"It's Jamie." Riley giggled in her I'm-flirting-with-a-guy way, and I rolled my eyes. Fabulous. And here I wanted to have an actual conversation with the girl. "Listen, I gotta go, guys. I'll talk to you later."

"Bye, Connor!"

"Yea, talk to you later."

"So, what's up, Jamie-kins?" I sighed and lay back on the bed. "I'm at Mitch and Violet's."

"WHAT?! What do you mean?!"

"I mean I am currently sitting in the guest room of the house belong to the parents of Mitch and Violet Merson."

"Wow," Riley said. She paused. "What are you doing there?"

"Um, currently? Staring at the ceiling and wishing to be anywhere else." Riley sighed, "No, I meant, why are you there?"

"Well, Violet was giving me a ride ho-"

"Hold on."

"Yea?"

"Violet was giving you a ride home? As in Violet Baudelaire Violet?"

"Creative, Lemony Snicket."

"I didn't think of it."

"Then completely unoriginal." Riley snorted before continuing to say, "What was Violet doing giving you a ride home?" I sighed, "Everyone had left except her and me, so she gave me a ride home."

"Wow. Violet Merson doing a good deed."

"Mhm."

"But that still doesn't explain to me what you're doing in the Merson house."

"Our street was closed. Accident."

"Isn't there a way around?"

"Nope."

"Couldn't you just go by foot?"

"The crash was still being cleaned up. Nothing I can do about it."

"Aw man, that sucks. I'm sorry."

"Yea, whatever." I sighed, "I wish you still lived here, Ri." Riley chuckled, "Sorry, sis, but California is the place for me. I'm not a big rain person, you might have noticed."

"Yea, I noticed. She chuckled again. I heard someone yelling something in the background and Riley put her hand over the receiver, yelling something back. "Listen, I gotta go, Jamie-kins. I'll call you later, k?"

"Yea, ok, sure." I sighed as I hung up and flopped down on the bed again. It was 6 o'clock on a Friday evening. It was pitch black because it was still winter. I didn't have anything interesting in my bag, not a book or a magazine...even my cell phone didn't allow unlimited texting. I sighed and groaned. "What the heck am I supposed to do for four hours?" I asked the ceiling. The next thing that happened was so completely ironic and perfect that I had to laugh outright at the sheer pathetic-ness of myself at that moment.

The power went out.

© 2010