Eclipse

Eclipse came out today. It was beyond words brilliant. The romance was incredible, the lines were delivered beautifully, the special effects were much better than I expected. It was amazing. I was very disappointed that Rachelle Lefevre was replaced as Victoria, but I dealt. Jackson Rathbone was incredible as Jasper and I was very happy that he got more screen time. The stars were as breathtaking as ever, and I was very happy that Robert was not given too many cheesy lines and the ones he was given were set up in the perfect scenery and delivered spectacularly. Also, I was glad that Taylor Lautner was not given another line such as, "Or things are going to get very ugly," as in New Moon, which was hilariously horrible. He was very convincing and I am excited for his performance in Breaking Dawn, as he is a big part of that story and (spoiler alert) imprints. Overall, the movie was fabulous, and I cannot wait for Breaking Dawn, whether it comes in two parts or one. Well done, guys.

© 2010

"The Early Recordings of Adam Young" WHAT?! WHERE?! I WANT

Before Owl City there was Sky Sailing...

I will make a wild guess here and say that you most likely are already aware of my love for Owl City and Adam Young. (Same thing.) So, today, when I was doing my every-five-minute checking of Adam's blog and Twitter, I saw the post "A Letter from Adam Young". I read it, of course. And in this 'letter' I found out that Adam Young is releasing on iTunes a new album...but not an Owl City album. No, the artist of this album is known as "Sky Sailing." Turns out, before Adam Young created Owl City, he had created an album that he called "An Airplane Carried Me to Bed". When he created this album, he had called himself "Sky Sailing" and had only dreamed of becoming the phenomenon that he is now. So now, for the sake of his impatient fans that are waiting for his next Owl City album to come out, (this is where a huge flashing arrow pops out of the sky and points to me,) he is releasing his amateur album for all the world to see. Or, um, hear. It can be pre-ordered now on iTunes, (links will come later for I am a faithful future-wife,) and will be officially propelled into space on July 13th (on iTunes) and will be available everywhere on July 27th. I CANNOT FRIDGING WAIT!

http://skysailingmusic.com/

http://skysailingmerch.com/

http://owlcityblog.com/

http://twitter.com/owlcity

© 2010

Devyn part 12

I walked into Barnes and Noble and headed toward the desk with the computers. "Hello," I said to the woman standing behind the counter. She smiled, "Can I help you?"

"Yes. Do you have anything by Devyn Perkins?"

"You mean Devyn Perspective?"

"Um...no..."

"Devyn Perkins is his real name, Perspective is his pen name." I raised my eyebrows, "Oh. Well, yes, then Devyn Perspective, I guess." The woman smiled and nodded, "Upstairs. Let me bring you." She stepped out from behind the desk and walked over to the escalator. I followed her and we rode up the escalator. Then, she lead me through the rows of book cases, and motioned t0 a small table labeled, "Best Sellers of 2009-2010." I looked down and the first thing I saw was a thick hardcover book with a red cover. There were words embossed that covered the entire cover. In large crimson letters over the words it said, "Ginger Kiss". At the bottom of the cover, in all caps, was the name "Devyn Perspective," written in black instead of crimson. There was a stack of this book and next to it was a stack of a slightly thinner book with a picture of a one-way street in nighttime, a single traffic light shedding brightness onto the words, "Penny Lane Knees". At the bottom of the cover, once again in all caps, "Devyn Perspective" was embossed in a dark blue print.

A whole side of the table was covered in piles of all the books Bubba had mentioned, and a few more. I noticed a small sign that said Devyn's pen name, and underneath it was a pile of the book Bubba had told me was dedicated to me. It was thick, but not nearly as thick as Ginger Kiss, Penny Lane Knees, How to Make a Victim, or Cranberry Juice. It had a picture of an "old fashion" TV, with antennae sticking out of the top. On the the top of the screen it showed static, and underneath that were the words, "Friday Nights." This one, along with Ginger Kiss and High School had the words "New York Times bestseller" written underneath "Devyn Perspective" at the bottom of the cover. The rest of the cover was cream-colored. I picked up this book and opened to the first page after the publishers and title. It said in italics, "For Justin: If you'll ever see." I swallowed. I wanted to think that he meant the book, though that made me feel guilty for never reading his work. But I could face that guilt if it meant avoiding what he truly meant by the dedication. I took a breath and turned to the first page. Underneath the chapter number and name were the first words of the book, and I read them quickly, "She called me. She had just been crying. Maybe before I met her, if someone had called me after they had just been crying, I wouldn't have known. But now, after all this time, I could hear the strain in her voice and I recognized the not-yet-even breaths. I could see her face in my mind: her eyes red and swollen, her lips parted, taking in shaky breaths, her cheeks tear-stained and red, and her hair sticking to her forehead from sweat. Even in this vision of her in her darkest time, when she was at her weakest, most vulnerable state, she was beautiful." I blinked. Devyn wasn't talking about his character. I looked down at the book and closed it. I picked up Ginger Kiss and High School, figuring I might at well read the most popular ones first, and headed down the escalator to the cash register, already unzipping my black hole of a purse to find my wallet.

© 2010

Devyn part 11

The job application didn't take me very long. Devyn helped me fill it out. Jacob wasn't kidding when he said they weren't picky about there workers. Basically, the application asked me if I knew how to cook and if I knew how to run a cash register and if I got along well with other people. I filled all of these in positively and hoped for the best, feeling that I had a large chance of getting the job. And not because I was pretty, contrary to Devyn's belief.

I skipped down Devyn's upstairs hallway a couple days later, giddy with excitement. "I got the job!" Devyn peaked around the corner of his office door. "Well, don't you look pretty today," he said with a smirk. I stuck out my tongue at him, "For your information, Jacob said that I have a friendly demeanor that will make customers feel welcome."

"Aka, 'gosh, you're pretty, wanna stand in a close confined space with me for a long time everyday?'" I frowned at Devyn, "This is where you say, 'Golly gee, I'm proud of you!'"

"Golly gee, you've got lucky genes!" Devyn smiled widely at me and turned back to his computer, continuing to work. "What book are you working on?" I asked as I leaned on the back of his chair. "Jet Planes and Steam Ships," he replied. "What's that one about?"

"Jet planes... and steam ships."

"Well, thanks, now I get it."

"No problem." Sighing, I looked over Devyn's shoulder at the words on the screen and read a bit. "A thick fog had rolled over the bay like a blanket over a child. The only thing I could see clearly was the top of the lighthouse as it cast it's rays over the ocean. I tightened my grip on the wrist of the man and pulled him forward, hoping that, despite my current lack of vision, I would be able to bring him to the Corpse and prove to them that I was as innocent as the child who had started this all." I pulled up another chair and sat behind Devyn, reading more, "'It's chilly, bloke, won't you give me the kindness of a jacket?'

'If I should withdraw my grip on your wrist, I have not the slightest doubt in my mind that you should attempt another escape.'

'Have a little faith in a man, won't ya?'

'You tried it once before, you will try it again.'

'Not when I know what you'll do to me if I'm caught.'

'That's just the thing, bloke,' I responded calmly, looking out at the land in front of me as I saw Kenneth emerging from the fog, an oil lantern in his left hand, 'we all believe we'll escape, every time we try, not matter how many times we fail. The only time a bloke doesn't believe he'll escape is when he's not tryin'.'" I leaned away from the computer and looked at Devyn, "This is really good," I told him. He chuckled, "Well, thanks, I guess. I should hope so, considering I'm a published author."

"A best seller!" Annie called from her room next door. Devyn chuckled and continued to type.

"Why have I never read anything you've written?" I asked abruptly. He turned, raising an eyebrow at me, "I don't know. Why haven't you?" For some reason I blushed, and he turned back to his screen and continued to type.

"Bubba, have you ever read something Devyn's written?"

"What? Of course! Every book, some more than once! And I get the behind-the-scenes sneak peeks at the unfinished books too!" Bubba said with a wide smile as he made a drink for a short red-head woman in a trench coat and large wire-rim glasses. Bubba's club might be a downer, but it was always a great place for people-watching. I frowned, "So why have I never read anything of his?"

"What?!" Bubba screeched, turning quickly to face me. I jumped back, "What?"

"You've never read Ginger Kiss?" I frowned, "That sounds like a romance."

"It's not. It's a murder mystery."

"Oh."

"What about Penny Lane Knees?" I frowned deeper, "That's a book?"

"That's Devyn's book. You've really never read anything of his? Good Evenings? How To Make a Victim?" My eyebrows shot up, "These titles are diverse."

"What about High School? That one is my favorite." I whistled, "Wow, I'm behind."

"Well, yea! He's only been an author his whole life! There's even one dedicated to you." He put his hand over his heart, "It is the most romantically depressing book in the history of romantically depressing books." I rose an eyebrow, "A romance?" He put up a finger, "A romantic tragedy. Like Shakespeare." I laughed, "What's it called?"

"Friday Nights. I have all his books, you can borrow it if you want." I shook my head, glancing at my watch to see how much time I had left until my evening shift started, "I prefer to own books I read." I waved bye to him as I stood up to leave, "I'll see you later, Bubba. Looks like I've got a little book shopping to do." Bubba smiled widely and waved.

© 2010

Devyn part 10

"I know that," I started slowly. "Then why did you do it?" Devyn looked frustrated. "I...I mean, what was I... he would have fired me! For being his ex!" Devyn frowned at me, "He never said he was going to fire you."

"It was kind of implied." Devyn sighed, running a hand through his hair. I watched as his hair turned white from flour. "So what are you going to do now?" he asked me. I looked at him. "I don't know. Get a new job." He scrunched his eyebrows, and I saw the Devyn I loved coming back. "What kind of job?"

"I don't know. Waitress. Chef. Astronaut. Movie star." Devyn shook his head with a small grin, "I'm serious, Justin. What are you going to do?" I looked into the kitchen, where the smell of freshly baked cookies was pouring out. "Right now, I'm going to eat a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie made by two of my favorite people in the whole world." I smiled at Devyn and walked into the kitchen.

"You could work with Bubba," Devyn said as we sat in a circle around my dining table later that evening. "Uh uh. Not the way she scares away my customers. No way." I laughed, "Yea, Dev, he's right. I'm not capable of swindling people out of there money." Bubba scoffed and reached over me to the tray of no-longer-fresh chocolate chip cookies I had brought home from Devyn's. "I guess the night club is out of the picture too," Devyn said sarcastically. I laughed outright, "That's for sure. Not in my lifetime."

"Maybe you could be a waitress," Bubba said, putting emphasis on the could. Devyn looked at him and I glared at him. "What! I'm just saying, you know, until you figure out your options. You can't just sit around and wait for a good job to show up. You've got bills to pay." I sighed, "Yea, I guess you're right. Well, who's hiring?"

"There's this little cafe right down the street from my club that's hiring. Jacob's, it's called." I sighed, "Ok. I guess I'll get a job application." Devyn patted me on the back, "It's call gonna be all right." I glared at him, "Oh, now you say it."

The cafe was really adorable. When I walked in, I was welcomed by the warmth of ovens and the smell of freshly baked pastries. Cinnamon, vanilla, gingerbread, and powdered sugar wafted over to me like waves drift onto the sand. Along with all the smells of the kitchen and winter was an abrupt, interrupting smell of pine needles. "Wow," I said in awe as I walked up to the counter, taking in the sweet smells and staring at the endless variations of pastries. "I know," a man behind the counter said with a wide smile. He pointed at my face and added with a look of satisfaction, "I work hard for that reaction." I nodded, my eyes wide, "You do it well." He smiled and asked, "Can I help?" I took in his appearance: tall, almost 6 and a half feet, I would guess, warm brown eyes that matched the cafe in every way possible, thin lips that, as he looked down at the cash register for a moment and his smile faded into a solemn look, seemed to have a little extra skin near the edges rather than being shaped in a perfect half moon, almost like they were formed specifically for smiling. His hair looked like it would normally reach down to his shoulders, but right now it was pulled up in a ponytail with a brown leather band. He had broad shoulders and big hands, and as I noticed the scraps of dough and powdered sugar on his fingers, I wondered how he managed to so elegantly create his treats when his fingers were so big. Everything about him seemed molded to fit right in with the cafe. "I'd like to apply for a job," I said. He looked up at me and blinked, "Oh." He seemed to be caught off guard. "Ok...um..." he turned away from us, hurriedly searching around for something. Finally, he pulled out a stack of papers. "Here's the job application." He shrugged, "Just fill it out. We're not that picky about our workers, at least not until they actually work here." He smiled at me, "You look right for the job. I'm Jacob, by the way. And you are?"

"Justin."

"Justin. Nice to meet you." He smiled and continued, "Well, Justin, have that back here as soon as possible. I should probably..." he motioned slightly towards the customers behind me and I said, "Oh, right, of course. Thank you so much." He smiled, "No problem. See you soon." Devyn and I left the cafe and went back out to his car. "He seems very nice," I said, looking down at the paper in my lap. Devyn closed his car door and pulled on his seatbelt, "He likes you."

"Please. You sounds like my dad."

"No, I'm serious. He'll probably give you the job just because he thinks you're pretty." I grunted rudely, "Well, I won't be making the mistake of dating my boss again, you can count on that." Devyn glanced at me before looking behind him to pull out of the small parking lot. "Uh huh," he replied sarcastically, obviously not believing it. I rolled my eyes, "Devyn, I am offended by how little faith you have in me."

"In some areas, I would trust you with my life. In this particular area, I'd put my money on Tiger Woods getting his wife back before I bet that you won't end up dating that guy." I rolled my eyes, "You're a jerk."

"An honest jerk."

© 2010

Devyn part 9

I sat up in my chair, leaning on my elbows on my deck, and practically hissed into the phone, "Erik. Are you giving me an ultimatum between being with you or keeping my job?" Now, I wasn't thinking about the pain. I wasn't thinking about the dreams I had with his face. I wasn't remembering everything we had or wishing we could continue a future together.

Now, I was just furious.

I could almost hear Erik swallow. "Um, no, that's not exactly what I meant..."

"Forget you, Erik Vincent. I can take you to court for this. I'll sue you," I growled into the phone. Anger was flooding me. I wanted to punch him. I wanted to break something. I wanted to scream. "That's not what I meant, Justin, and you know it. Now, if you'll just listen to me."

"Listen to you! Listen to you! What do you think I've been doing for the last five years of my life, Erik Vincent?! Nothing but that. Listening to you. Pleasing you. Doing just what you wanted, while you went off and rekindled your love with an old flame, leaving me the dirty work of your job, your family, and our relationship. I'm sick of listening to you, Erik. Get someone else to listen. Someone who cares. I quit." I said this all in a voice quiet enough to not be heard by the rest of the office. I was mad, but I wasn't stupid. Getting everyone's attention on Erik and my problems would do nothing but humiliate me. I stood up, looking at my desk. I could always come back for my stuff, I knew that. But I didn't want to. I never wanted to be here again. And, as I looked at my desk, at everything sprayed out on the desk and inside the drawers, I reached out and grabbed three things: my lap top, my purse, and the framed photo of Devyn, Bubba, and I on the day we graduated from college. Sadly enough, those were really the only tings I needed. I walked calmly out of the office and stepped into the elevator, taking me down to my future, away from my past.

"You quit?"

"What was I supposed to do, let him fire me for being his ex?" Bubba put his arm around my shoulders, "Doll face, you need to breath. You know what you need?"

"I have a feeling you're about to tell me," I muttered. "A mani-pedi!" I groaned, "Oh, jeez, kill me now." Bubba frowned, "you don't want a mani-pedi? Bubba will pay!"

"I don't care what Bubba does, as long as he doesn't refer to himself in the third person." I sighed, "I'm gonna go visit Devyn."

"Aw, kid, I don't know..."

"I know it will be awkward. But I don't care. He's my best friend, and I need to talk to him." bubba sighed, "Ok, kid, if you really think that's what's best."

"I know that's what's best."

"Devyn?"

"Do I hear my second-favorite girl in the whole world at the door?" Devyn hollered, and my heart flipped. Devyn. My best friend. My best comforter. He opened the door, "Oh, what's wrong with out princess? Does our princess need some sugar?" He smiled softly at me. He was covered in flower. Annie peeked her head out from the kitchen, "Jesse!" she hollered. I smiled and walked inside.

Devyn looked at the floor as I told him everything. "Do you really think you should have quit?" I blinked, "What?"

"I don't know that it was such a great idea to quit. I mean, what are you going to do now?" I frowned at him, "That was not the response I expected from you." He looked up at me, "What did you expect?" I blushed, thinking of what I really expected. "I don't know. For you to sympathize with me. For you to tell me that it's all gonna be Ok." Devyn frowned, "But it's not, Justin. You quit your job. How are you going to pay for your apartment? Food? Life? Justin, you can't just quit your job and think your life is going to suddenly fall into place." I stared at him. Was this really Devyn in front of me?

© 2010

Devyn part 8

The fourth movie was about halfway done when I found myself dozing off. On my left was Bubba, leaning forward towards the screen, totally engrossed in the movie. On my right was Devyn, leaning back against the couch, shaking his head at the horrible special effects. I opted on Devyn, who looked much more comfortable. I turned myself on the couch and leaned my shoulder on his, my head on his chest. He stiffened, clearly caught off guard, and I yawned. He chuckled and allowed me to make myself comfortable, all my weight on him. Bubba glanced at us and said, over the volume of the TV, "I don't know why you guys put it off so much. It's gonna happen sometime." I yawned and looked at him from the corner of my eye, "What is, Bub?"

"You guys. Someday you're gonna get together, and then you'll regret all the time you wasted apart." I felt myself stiffen on Devyn's lap. Devyn cleared his throat, and i tightened my already-closed eyes. "Well, Bub, I don't know about that, but either way, we're not wasting time apart." I smiled and opened my eyes. Devyn always knew what to say. "That's right, Bub. Devyn's my best friend. I doubt that'll change, but we're definitely not wasting time apart." Bubba looked at me, and something inside me twisted. I felt myself sweating and for some reason unbeknownst to me, I felt slightly guilty. "Alright, kids," Bubba said, taking a long chug of his fifth cup of coffee, "Whatever you say."

Devyn drove me home at about 3 am, after Bubba finally agreed that we had watched enough movies and permitted us to leave. "Geez, I'm exhausted," I groaned, leaning back into Devyn's seat. He laughed, "Visiting Bubba'll do that to you." He dropped me off at my apartment building and I made my way to the elevator drowsily. I pressed the button for my floor and stepped into the small confined space, being carried up to my home.

"Bubba."

"Geez, Justin, it's 10 in the morning! Why are you calling me?" Bubba groaned into the phone.

"Because I don't have any girl friends and I need your help."

"Ugh. Can it wait 'til twelve?"

"NO."

"FINE. What's up?"

"Erik called me." Bubba fell silent. For so long, in fact, that I thought he might have lost connection. "Bub?"

"Erik?"

"Yea."

"He called you."

"Yup."

"About work?"

"Nope."

"Not about work."

"Not about work.""

"What did he say?"

"He left a message."

"Saying?" I paused. Even I couldn't quite process it yet. "He said, 'Justin, I feel like an idiot-I don't know what I should say. I feel like a jerk...I miss you.' And then he hung up."

"You memorized it."

"Sorry."

"Yea." Bubba sighed, "Aw, geez, Justin, I don't know what to tell you. I can't believe that guy had the nerve to call."

"Maybe it was the wrong number."

"He said Justin."

"Oh. Right."

"I really don't know what you should do, kid. It's not like you can just forgive the guy and rekindle your love. He was a jerk, and once a jerk, always a jerk. He didn't just change. He messed up."

"Yea, I know, Bub. But what am I supposed to do? It's obvious I'm still in love with him, I can't just turn him down. And anyway, it's not like he asked to be with me again. It's seems like it should be obvious to everyone that we're a lost cause."

"Maybe he wasn't in his senses."

"Maybe..."

"I don't know, kid. Just go to work, see what happens. If he talks to you, tell me. And be careful."

"Alright. Thanks, Bub."

"See you later, kid." I hung up my phone and looked down at my outfit. I had pulled on the first comfortable clothes I had seen last night- a pair of sweats from Victoria's Secret. I shrugged and left my apartment, figuring if Erik couldn't approach me in sweats, he couldn't approach me at all.

"Call for you on line one. I think it's from upstairs," Debra said, not looking up from underneath her main of oily mouse-brown hair. "K. Thanks." I walked into my cubicle and picked up the phone, pressing the button for line 1, "This is Justin speaking?"

"Justin. It's Erik."

"Hello, Mr. Vincent. May I assist you in something?"

"Um, no. This isn't a business call." I gulped. This was harder than I thought. "I thought we were only allowed to take business calls during working hours, sir."

"Then you're on break. I need to talk to you, Justin."

"Erik-"

"Listen. I know I was a jerk. It was stupid and childish of me, and I'm sorry. But I just can't keep you in my office, working for me, if I have feelings harboring for you. Maybe if we were still together, if I knew you were mine, I wouldn't be so easily distracted. But it's not appropriate for the manager of a business place to stop working to stare at his ex-girlfriend downstairs." I blinked. Whoa. I did not see that one coming.

© 2010

Snuggies, Oreos, Barbecue Chips, and Chick Flicks

So yesterday I had a slumber par-tay with two of the single (???) most amazing people on the face of the planet. And Mars. (Now that is saying something.) We watched some of the single most amazing movies on the planet, wore some of the single most amazing blankets on the planet, and ate some of the single most amazing food on the planet. (I won't go into great detail, but I will tell you that a food not mentioned in the title of this post that was present at this happy-fest was PANDA EXPRESS. That place is my favorite restaurant in the whole world, and it's not even a real restaurant. Not much you can do to top that, mah friend.)

Anywhoodles, it was totally amazing and will be reenacted soon. Joyous occasions are made to be relived. I am having the bestest summer!!

Song recommendation of the day: Since the post is so short day, I'm going to recommend more songs than usual:

Summer Playlist #1:

1. Must Have Done Something Right by Relient K
2. Whoever She Is by The Maine
3. Candelight by Relient K
4. Summer of '98 by The Secret Handshake
5. Everything Is Alright by Motion City Soundtrack
6. These Are the Nights by Making April
7. Big City Dreams by Never Shout Never!
8. Haven't Met You Yet by Michael Buble
9. Trouble by Never Shout Never!
10. Tgif by The Secret Handshake
11. Love in a Box by The Workday Release
12. Spinning by Jack's Mannequin
13. Curl Up and Die by Relient K

and a few Owl City songs that fit the summer mood...

14. Sunburn by Owl City

15. The Airway by Owl City

16. On the Wing by Owl City

17. Hello Seattle by Owl City

and, for some reason unbeknownst to moi:

18. Tip of the Iceberg by Owl City

It doesn't sounds very summery, but it really fits the mood.

All in all, based off of these recommendations and a few other songs that are nice but didn't quite make it onto this playlist, our summer artists are:

Relient K

The Secret Handshake

The Maine

Motion City Soundtrack

Making April

Never Shout Never!

The Workday Release

Jack's Mannequin

and, of course,

Owl City

So, keep listening to these artists as the background music to your sunshiny experiences and I can guarantee your summer will be very movie-like! Until next time-

Siennaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Professional wrestler in all 60 states.)

© 2010

Devyn part 7

"I cannot believe this."

"Really unbelievable."

"What has happened to our culture?"

"It's sad, really."

"I mean, I don't hate him or anything, but...really?"

"It's just surprising."

"Yea, most grown men don't listen to him."

"Most grown people don't listen to him."

"I can't get over this."

"How long is this song?"

"The last song was him too."

"Do you think he's gonna make us listen to his whole album?"

"Ouch. I hope not."

"He's not really horrible or anything, but..."

"Yea."

"This is so strange," I said, as yet another Justin Bieber song started playing. Devyn put his cup down, "Yup. We're gonna hear the whole album."

"Argh!" Devyn picked up his phone and started singing along with the kid, "Shawty is a eenie meenie minie moe lover."

"What I don't get is, why do all these rappers and successful artists sing with him? I mean, Ludacris, Usher, Sean Kingston..."

"Can't resist the Bieber Fever."

"Whatcha gonna do?"

"That's what I said."

"You have it too?"

"Got his album on my iPod." I laughed and grabbed a handful of chips from Lenny's dining room table. "Hey, guys!" Lenny said, waving violently from across the room. I smiled and Devyn saluted him before turning to me and saying, "You wanna go?" I smiled and nodded, and he ushered me quickly out of the apartment as soon as we were sure Lenny wasn't watching us.

"I can't believe after all the effort I put into avoiding this place, somehow I always end up sitting right here." Bubba smiled and pushed a drink across the counter at me. I frowned at him and pushed it back. "You know I don't drink, Bubba."

"Yea, I know." He took the cup back and offered it to Devyn who laughed, "Please, Bub, you know I have an even weaker stomach than this one." Bubba took the cup, "Yea, yea, I know. Niether of you drink. The best people in the world for me to give free products to and you don't even drink or like the clothes in my boutique." I laughed and reached over the counter, grabbing a Pepsi. "Ok. You can't blame me for that one. That's a chick store," Devyn said, scrunching up his nose and grabbing my soda from my hand. I tried to grab it back as Devyn continued to Bubba, "The only one you can nag about that is this little lady." I finally got the soda back and I rolled my eyes, turning back to Bubba, "You know that store isn't my style. It's all frill and lace and patterns and pastels. I like simple tops, nice jeans, and cute sweaters." Bubba rolled his eyes, "My store has cute sweaters," he pouted. I rose an eyebrow, "Your store has sparkly pastel sweaters. There is a difference." Devyn rolled his head back, "Can we talk about something else, please? Anything else, really?" Bubba glanced at the clock on the wall, one of the most obvious signs that this club is a dud. "My shift is off in like thirty minutes. Why don't you guys go entertain yourselves for a while and then I'll take you to my place for a movie marathon." I grinned, "Like in high school." Bubba nodded, smiling, "Like in high school." Devyn groaned, "Oh, awesome, because I have been s0 missing high school lately. That's one of those times in my life that I wish I could relive." He bit down on the edge of his-my-soda can and then emptied it out. I glared at him and then reached over the counter to grab another soda.

"Thirty minutes of non sequitur."

"We could go get some coffee," I suggested. "Bubba'll be overdosing us on caffeine

soon enough."

"We could window shop."

"I never understood the appeal of that particular use of time."

"We could stop to rent some movies."

"Bubba owns every movie ever created, plus some others."

"...We could go into my office building and ride the elevator up and down over and over."

"Eh. Not in the mood."

"We could go back in the club," I say in an irritated if-you-have-a-better-idea-spit-it-out

tone of voice. Devyn twisted his mouth. "Let's go for a walk."

"A walk."

"Yes."

"A walk?"

"Yup."

"Like, just walking? Not going anywhere? Just a walk?"

"That would a general definition of 'a walk', yes."

"Isn't that pretty much the same as window-shopping, only minus the looking in windows

part?"

"I suppose it could be looked upon that way by someone narrow-minded."

"Hey!"

"Well! Geez louise, Justin, can we just go for a walk without all the interrogation?" I shrugged,

"I guess so."

"Gosh, I appreciate that."

"You should." Devyn laughed and we walked down the street in silence.

© 2010

Compatible, In an Incompatible Kind of Way part 8

Peter and I took a break from practicing that night and just watched the movie in silence. We were in his room, and as the movie came to a close, Peter took his lap top, quit DVD player, and opened his iTunes account. The usual sounds of Nirvana spilled out of the tiny speakers, filling the room with a welcoming feeling that I was used to. I was laying on Peter's pillow, and he lay down next to me on the opposite side of the pillow. I wanted to write. But I was so distracted, something that was unusual and irritating for me. Being alone with Peter was always when I was was the least distracted, when I could lose myself in thoughts of nothing but my characters, their thoughts, their lives. But now, I was thinking about everything but my stories. I was paying attention to the lyrics of the songs I had listened to hundreds of times and never really heard. The smells of the room seemed especially strong today, and I wondered if he had liquid incense somewhere in the room. The dim lighting was disrupted by a beam of sunlight pouring in from the window by Peter's desk. I was irritated that the hair by my forehead was already oily after I had washed it just the night before. I made a mental note to wash it again when I got home. I heard Peter sigh and looked over at him. His eyes were closed and he was breathing steadily, his chest rising and then falling almost in tune with the music. I saw my hand reach out and touch his shirt, but it was as if my wrist had been disconnected from my body. His eyelids rose, his eyes wide, and I quickly pulled my hand back. I blushed and looked down at my hands, now tightly clasped together in my lap. What the heck was that? Peter sat up and took his lap top from the end of his bed, pulling it up onto his lap and opening a word document- a rare thing for him since he so preferred free hand. I felt like I should write too. But I just could not focus. So instead I found myself watching his screen as he wrote. At first I was just looking at the shapes of the letters and the swiftness with which his hands pressed each memorized key, ideas spilling from his mind to the screen. Then I started reading the words. And I felt like I was the one writing it. I was almost predicting everything he would type next- but it wasn't predictable. Every word dripped a resemblance to my own writing. Every loose thought reflected my own. Every lyrical rhythm sang my ideas, my imagination. He finally paused, lost for a moment, and I pulled the lap top onto my lap, typing the words he would have discovered seconds later. He watched the screen as I typed, reading my words. Then he looked at me. I kept typing until I was finished. And then I ran the mouse up the screen, selected file, and saved the document as "peter and victoria". Peter looked at the screen again, and then at me. And now, finally, I was not distracted. All my thoughts were settled on one single thing: Peter.

© 2010

Compatible, In an Incompatible Kind of Way part 7

The next few weeks were full of practices. We practiced every single

scene over and over-every scene except the play scene. That one was

Mrs. Kimple's favorite, and therefore would be left until everything else

was taken care of. So, finally, after everything else in the play had been

perfected, the sets created, and the lines for every scene, (including the play,)

memorized along with the actions that went along with them, Mrs. Kimple

saved an entire day just for going over this scene. Of course, we would be

perfecting it and going over the entire play in the days to come, getting

closer and closer to the day of release-but today was our first day going over

this scene. Peter did his lines perfectly- stumbling as he was supposed to,

pretending to be distracted by my beauty. I was wearing my costume and full

make up, as this was our first dress rehearsal. The spotlight, still being

worked on, came onto me, and I sang. I was swept into the moment. I was lost

in the music. I tried to imagine myself as Jamie- a girl locked in her leukemia

and her fatherly protection-this was her moment to shine, her moment in

which no one would mock her, her moment to forget all about her disease, her

life, her fear, everything-to just sing. "So I lay my head back down, and I lift my

hand and pray-to be only yours, I pray, to be only yours, I pray, to be only yours

I know now, you're my only hope." I walked around to the chair facing Peter's-

Landon's-and sat down. I looked into his eyes, and he was so convincing, he

looked so mesmerized, that for a moment I was nervous, worrying that my

acting was nothing compared to his. Then I hummed to him, and all my

nervousness blew away. Peter looked at me, his eyes searching my face as Landon's

had searched Jamie's, and he cupped his hands around my face and kissed me. And

in that moment, I was Jamie. And he was Landon. And it went against every part

of me, and I was so shocked, but I was so lost in him, I was so in love. I quickly

pulled away, just as Jamie had, and looked at Landon. At Peter. He was staring at

me just as Landon had stared at Jamie. Mrs. Kimple and the students in the

audience broke into applause, and I was Victoria again. I smiled, satisfied that I

had done well, and looked out at the audience. But when I look back at Peter, he

was still Landon. He was still looking at me like Jamie. And I felt this feeling in

the pit of my stomach, this uncontrollable twist inside me, this unidentified longing.

Peter blinked at me and I felt my cheeks grow warm. What was going on?

© 2010

Compatible, In an Incompatible Kind of Way part 6

The following day at practice was the first time Peter and I spoke to each other since the, "Hello." Well, we didn't technically talk to each other, but rather our characters. We spent the day going over two scenes: Clay Gephardt's initiation, and Landon and Jamie's bus drive home from Saturday-morning tutoring. The differences between the play and the movie were that the bus drive was not a bus but simply walking home. Jamie walked in front of him before, but then slowed down so she could talk to him. When Landon blew her off, she sped up again and walked in front of him. This was a hard scene to play out on a stage, where their really isn't that much room to be walking home. I found out during this practice that there would most likely be more time in this play dimming the lights and moving set pieces that there would be actual acting. Mrs. Kimple was upset that the students hadn't cut out more scenes of the movie, but the students who had written the script insisted that everything they left in was necessary.

"Hey!" I say to Peter, feeling strange addressing him. He glances at me but doesn't take his headphones off. "Do you want to buy some raffle tickets? I'm trying to raise money to buy Jefferson's new computers." Peter looks at me in a mocking way and says, "No." I can't help but feel this strangeness in me, having him say something to me directly. Having him address me as if the only strange thing about us talking is that I'm Jesus freak Jamie Sullivan and he's popular Landon Carter. "So, I saw you in there with Lewis, and I know it can be very difficult, but maybe you should try backing into it from somewhere else." He glances down at his CD player. "Are you gonna go visit Clay Gephardt?" I ask him. He scoffs. "That would be a no," I say in response to his scoff. I continue in persistence, "Do you know that they moved him from the hospital to that rehab place on Oak Street?" Peter pulls his headphones off quickly, in obvious irritation. "Is this your idea of small talk or something? Because if it is, your social skills need some work." He practically spits our the word work, treating me just as Landon treats Jamie- as if I am lower than him. I can't believe what a good actor he is, and I only hope I'm doing half as well as he is. "No one forced him to jump," he says, rolling his eyes. "It's called peer pressure," I reply, "And how would do you know about that?" Peter asks in annoyance. "You read it in that precious book?" he asks, motioning his head toward the bible I'm carrying. I pull the bible up toward my chest in protection and smile down at the floor. "Please don't pretend like you know me, Ok?" I ask softly. He laughs, "But I do. I do. We have all the same classes and same schools since kindergarden. Why, you're Jamie Sullivan." He says this all in a mocking tone, and then he smiles. "You sit at lunch table seven-which isn't exactly the reject table but is definitely in self-exile territory." He snickers, "You have exactly one sweater. You like to look at your feet when you walk. Oh hey and yea, and for fun, you like tutor on the weekends and hang out with the cool kids from the Stars and Planets." He laughs, "Now how's that sounds?" I shrug, "Thoroughly predictable. Nothing I haven't heard before." He raises and eybrow and eyes me, trying to look casual but obviously curious as he asks, "You don't care what people think about you?"

"No." I smile and walk ahead of him. He scrunches his eyebrows and pulls his headphones back on. "Perfect! That was perfect!" Mrs. Kimple says in excitement and she claps her hands together. "That was amazing. Now, tonight I want all of you to watch the movie- because I know you all have it- and say all your lines along with your characters. If you mess up, start the scene over again. Do this up to the scene we just practiced. Tomorrow, we are literally going to run through that entire portion of the play, without the sets or props. You got that?" Everyone starts murmuring in horror of the idea of having to have that many lines memorized by tomorrow, especially since many of the kids haven't practiced that much up to now. Peter and I do exactly as Mrs. Kimple told us when we get home, and it feels strange to be talking with each other, even just at parts when our characters talk. This is going to take some getting used to.

© 2010

Compatible, In an Incompatible Kind of Way part 5

"You were really good!"

"Nice job."

"You'll definitely get the part."

"You didn't look nervous at all!"

"You know, you even kind of look like Mandy Moore a little bit!" I smiled as people congratulated me on my audition and thanked them. Peter walked next to me, smiling slightly. He had auditioned shortly after me, and I couldn't believe how well he had done. He had done the same scene as me, but playing Landon instead of Jamie. He did better than Quinton had. As I had watched him, it had been as if I had just accidently walked into the conversation, and was witnessing a boy's heart break right in front of me as he found out about his girlfriend's cancer. I envied him for the fact that he hadn't had to sing. Now I was really worried. What if he got in, but I didn't? What would I do with myself?

As Peter sat with me later and we quickly did our homework so that we could write, I stopped every once in a while to stare at the wall, but not in my usual way, getting distracted with all my stories. No, now I was pausing out of worried thoughts. Peter looked up at me and scrunched his eyebrows, as if to ask, "What's wrong?" I shook my head in response, as if to say, "Nothing, nothing." But as Peter eyed me as we finished our homework, I knew that we were both well aware that it wasn't nothing.

The following day was the day when things really took a turn, for better or worse I would not yet find out. We walked into the school and I lagged behing Peter as he walked through the hallways to the casting list. I almost wished the teachers at this school would take as long to choose their cast as some other teachers do. Our school, however, tries to put on three plays or musicals each year, so the whole process is hurried along faster than at other schools, including the casting. Peter walks up to the door and and I look over his shoulder at the cast list.

High School Spring Play- A Walk To Remember

Jamie Sullivan- Victoria Stephens

Understudy- Lilly Jean

Landon Carter- Peter Holland

Understudy- Tom Phillips

Reverend Sullivan- Jake Matthews

Understudy- Phil Geoffrey

Cynthia Carter- Katherine Ginger

Understudy- Kelly Maya

Belinda- Seraphina Collins

Understudy- Lauren Vincent

Dean- George Stewart

Understudy- Jeff Lewis

Eric- Jonathan Lucas

Tracie- Patricia Mia

Walker- Billy Kenneth

Clay Gephardt- Henry Lucas

Understudy- Weston Falker

Mr. Kelly- Luke Jacobs

Dr. Carter- Heath White

Understudy-

I stopped reading after that. Reading the entire cast list wasn't really going to

make a difference in the fact that I had been cast as the lead. I took a deep

breath and looked at the bottom of the paper-

First Practice

Today after school in the Theater Arts Room-312

"Wow, Peter, Victoria, good job, you guys! You guys are gonna be awesome in

those parts," a red head girl named Seraphina, who had been cast as Belinda, said

to us with a wide smile. "Especially since you guys are so compatible. The love

between you guys is gonna be unbelievably realistic. I can't wait to work with you

guys!" She smiled widely and waved to us as the bell rang, hurrying off to her first

period. I walked next to Peter to our first class, shocked and horrified.

The school day passed slowly as I worried about play practice. When we finally

walked into the theater classroom after sixth period, it was filled with the cast.

Mrs. Kimple had to stand up on a desk to announce to the group that understudy

practice and discussion would happen in an hour and a half, after cast practice. The

grumbling understudies exited the room, wondering what to do for an hour and a

half as we practiced. The room was still crowded with people once all the

understudies were gone, but at least now there was a little more room to maneuver.

Mrs. Kimple asked everyone to please find a seat, and Peter and I ended up with a

lot of other kids on the floor. Mrs. Kimple handed a pile of scripts to Jake Matthews

and he passed them on. Eventually, everyone in the room had a script. We listened

quietly as Mrs. Kimple explained the legist of what was going to happen within the

time between now and the actual putting on of the production. After she finished

over the basics, she said to us, "Now, as I suspect you all now, we like to get things

done quickly in this department, so that we can have time for more amazing

productions in every year. So, official practice will start tomorrow. I would like to

ask that only characters labeled as "main characters" on the script come tomorrow,

but I expect everyone to be working on their scripts on their own. It will not be

acceptable for the smaller parts to come to their practices next week not knowing

any of their lines and not having practiced. Is that clear?" Everyone mumbled their

agreement and Mrs. Kimple nodded. "Good. Then I'll see all of you at your next

practice." She excused us to leave and called in the understudies. Peter and I

walked home and got straight to our homework. We finished quickly and I felt

like maybe we should start going over our lines, but Peter pulled out his notebook

and started writing, so I imitated him. I guess our first practice would be tomorrow.

At practice the next day, Mrs. Kimple did what she was best at doing- got straight to

the point. She had us spend the entire session memorizing our lines, because she

said she "didn't trust us to do it on our own time." She vowed that we would all

have our scripts memorized by the end of the week, which scared me deeply. Peter

and I sat in silence that night, reading the entire script over and over. When we

finally went to sleep that night, I already had a vague remembrance of all the main

scenes.

© 2010

I'm Flipping Out

One of my favorite books, (I still love it, even if it's a little out of my age range now,) Flipped, by Wendelin Van Draanen, is coming into theaters as a major motion picture in August! I didn't know anything about it and then I turned on my computer and WHAMMO! there was an advertisement for it! So I watched the trailer and it looks absolutely amazing. I cannot wait for it come out! (Ok, yea, I can, considering the wait will be part of my summer vacation, which I will be enjoying.) But anywho, I'm super excited!!! YAY!

© 2010

OHMYGOODNESSOHMYGOODNESSOHMYGOODNESS

I HAVE TO CHANGE MY SUMMARY OF MOI TO SAY THAT I AM AN ASPIRING AUTHOR IN HIGH SCHOOL OH MY GOODNESS I'M IN HIGH SCHOOL OH MY GOODNESS OH MY GOODNESS OH MY GOODNESS.

Dude, I'm starving. I'm gonna go get something to eat.

Ooh! I have Oreos! I looooooove Oreos!

© 2010

Compatible, In an Incompatible Kind of Way part 4

Dialogue for audition courtesy of movie A Walk To Remember, script

written by Karen Janszen

The theater was filled. Completely. I shook my head as Peter and I searched for a pair of empty seats. At any other school, this would never happen. At other schools, most guys who audition for plays are made fun of. Here, though, and for this particular play, you were made fun of if you didn't audition. Peter had seemed shocked when I had responded to Kelly Maya's inquiry of whether or not I was auditioning positively. I could tell he wanted to ask me the same questions I wanted to ask him, but he got an advantage over me as Kelly asked, "Oh really? I didn't think you would. What changed your mind?" I shrugged, "I don't know. I really like the movie. I don't think I'll get in anyway, so there's no reason not to audition. Besides, Peter's auditioning." Kelly nodded, "Ohhh, Ok. That's why." I frowned at her as she walked away and turned to Peter. His eyes had softened and his lips had curved upward just slightly in the corners. I wanted to say, "What?" but instead I looked at the floor, wondering why I was blushing.

There was one singing part in the play, and that was the part of Jamie Sullivan. I didn't really want to get into the play, and seeing as pretty much every girl in the junior and senior classes was trying put for the part, I figured auditioning for her would be my safest bet. Peter, too, auditioned for a main character, Landon Carter. I figured neither of us would get in and we could just go on with our lives. But as girls started auditioning, I felt myself wincing. I didn't have the voice of Mariah Carey or Alicia Keyes, but, according to visitors who heard my shower singing, I did have "a beautiful voice". I wasn't sure that it was exactly opera-singer material or anything, but it was certainly better than the singing spilling out of these girls. I was relieved when a few girls finally sang reasonably well, and one even better than Ms. Carey, but then they started acting. Apparently, at this school, it's one or the other, because none of them could act for the life of the, especially better-than-Mariah-girl. There were five of them, and two of them stood up there with their scripts, reciting the word emotionlessly, one recited the words emotionlessly memorized, one talked like she sang- with a beautiful, convincing voice but a completely blank expression, and the fifth, better-than-Mariah-girl, threw her arms about, widened her eyes to the size of golf balls, and practically screamed her lines into the audience. Everyone jumped back in their seats. When it finally came to my turn, my heart had dropped and my hands were shaking-not because I was scared of not getting in, but the opposite. I didn't exactly think the part of Jamie was pinned down to be mine, but I had a feeling that, with these options, I would definitely get a part somewhere in the play. I hadn't done a lot of acting outside of in-class productions and an acting camp I attended one summer before making an oath to never return, so I was hoping my lack of experience would work to my advantage. But, unfortunately, it was not my lack of skills in acting that inspired my hatred for acting camp, but the other campers. I was now horrified to remember that acting had almost came naturally to me. I had thought at the time that it made sense that I could act, since I was always pretending to be my characters and "acting" as them. Now, as I stepped onto the stage, I swallowed hard. "I'm Victoria Stephens," I said into the microphone, reciting the required introductory for everyone auditioning, "and I will be singing Only Hope by Mandy Moore." I moved slightly away from the microphone as I cleared my throat and nodded to the pianist. She played the first notes and I stepped back towards the mike, softening my eyes and raising my eyebrows slightly as I sang the first words, "There's a song that inside of my soul...It's the one that I've tried to write over, and over again...I'm awake in the infinite cold, but you sing to me over and over and over again, so I lay my head back down... and I lift my hands and pray, to be only yours, I pray, to be only yours, I know now, you're my only hope." I paused as the pianist ran her fingers quickly and skillfully down the keys, and I felt myself getting lost in the song I grew up listening to, "Sing to me the song of the stars, of your galaxy dancing and laughing and laughing again, when it feels like my dreams are so far... sing to me of the plans that you have for me over again. So I lay my head back down, and I lift my hands and pray, to be only yours, I pray, to be only yours, I know now, you're my only hope. I give you my destiny, I'm giving you all of-"

"That's enough, Miss Stephens," Mrs. Kimple, the drama teacher, cut me off. I blushed and nodded, hurrying towards the stairs that lead off the stage. "No, no, Victoria! You still have to recite your lines with Mr. Longway." I blushed brighter and nodded, "Oh, right, of course." I hurried back to the middle of the stage as Quinton Longway came out from backstage to go over my lines with me. He held out a script and I shook my head. He put it down beside him and turned to me, "I'll take you home, you'll be better to-" I cut him off, as Mandy had in the movie, "No, no, Landon! I'm sick." I paused. "I have leucemia." He laughed quietly, nervously, "No. You're-you're eighteen, you're-you're perfect."

"No, no. I found out two years ago and I've stopped responding to treatments." He looked down and paused. He looked up at me and I made my face appear as if I was trying to keep myself calm. "So why didn't you tell me?" I took a shaky breath in, "The doctor said I should go on, and live life normally," I motioned slightly with my arm, "as best I could, I-" I paused, "I didn't want anyone to be weird around me." I shrugged slightly, my eyes tearing. "Including me?" he asked, with slight anger. "Especially you!" I exclaimed in a shaky voice. I took a deep breath in, "You know, I was getting along with everything fine, I accepted it, and then you happened!" I looked up, tilting my head toward the ceiling, taking another deep, shaky breath in. "I do not need a reason to be angry with God," I said, my voice filled with tears. He brought his hand up to his hair in an expression of stress and I took another shaky breath before turning from him and running toward offstage, pretending to cry. I stopped running and turned to the audience, taking a breath in that was also shaky, but for different reasons. The audience broke out into applause and Mrs. Kimple nodded, releasing me to exit the stage. I hurried down the stairs and took my seat next to Peter.

© 2010

Compatible, In an Incompatible Kind of Way part 3

There was a light so bright there, I was almost afraid of becoming blind. It spilled over the rocks and reflected itself on the water, so that in front of us lay a spectacle so completely breathtaking, I had not the ability to think of anything other than the beauty of it. A gust of wind pulled my hair off my back and stirred my oxygen so that the breaths that came out of me were staccato and forced. Peter took my sweater off out of our bag and cast it over my shoulders, and I pulled my arms through the sleeves as Peter walked ahead of me, the straightness of his shoulders not effected by the bite of the wind that was as cold as the river. I could almost feel the presence of the people who had stood here before me. There words ran through my veins and there steps pounded in my mind. Peter sat down, pulled out his note pad, and clicked his pen.

Sunday I took Peter with my family down to visit my cousins, who lived a couple hours

away. The first time I brought Peter with me to visit relatives, they asked me over and over if

he was my boyfriend, even after I assured them multiple times that he was not. They kept this

up for a few more trips until they finally got the picture. Peter, like me, was always very polite

to my relatives, and responded to whatever questions they asked him as thoroughly as was

necessary in the situation, but he never engaged himself into conversation. Usually we just

ended up sitting next to each other on the couch in silence and listening to the chatter of the

family, creating our stories. Sunday was no different.

It was monday that changed things.

Peter drove me to school and nothing was different about the school from the outside. But

when we walked into the courtyard, we were shocked. There were life size cardboard cutouts of

of Shane West and Mandy Moore in the middle of the quad, movie posters of A Walk to

Remember, and flyers for play auditions taped to every locker and all over the empty wall space

between the lockers. "Hey, Victoria! You should audition!" Peri, a short girl with short hair,

called to me from across the hallway. I shrugged and smiled at her, and Peter grabbed a flyer

off the wall. I watched as he looked over it. He looked up at me and folded the flyer, sticking it

in his bag. I walked next to him to our first period and was surprised by his reply when Samuel

Gordon called out to him, "Peter! You gonna audition?" Sam was smiling widely and sappily

and I was about to roll my eyes when Peter said, "I think so." Sam nodded, smile still present,

"You definitely should! You'll nail Landon." I blinked at Sam. For some reason, 98% of the

student population recently decided that they love the movie A Walk to Remember. Why

they're discovering this now, a number of years after the movie was released, I shall never

know, but somehow they managed to convince the theater department to allow the junior and

senior classes to put on the play. The deal was, we write the script, we get the play. The kids

asked if they could get the movie script and use that, but the drama teacher teamed up with the

English teachers to refuse this proposal, insisting that script was in "movie format" and would

not work on stage. Which was somewhat true, but everyone knows it could have been edited

and the English teachers just really wanted us to write. I think most of the teachers didn't think

we would actually write it, but some kids sat down in front of their TV screens one night and

typed out all the dialogue of all the characters, and soon after that, some other kids sat down

and in between all the dialogue wrote all the actions the actors made as they spoke. Once the

whole movie had been typed out, some other kids took the typed-out-movie and formatted it

into "play format". The teachers then had no choice but to allow us to put on the play. I wasn't

shocked that the juniors and seniors were actually going through with it, or that they were so

excited about it, but I was surprised that Peter was going to audition. We walked into our class

and for the first time since I had met Peter, I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to ask him why he

was going to audition, since when did he act? I had so many questions, but now, I didn't want to

say them out loud. And it wasn't so much because I felt like I would be ruining something by

breaking the silence, but more that I wasn't quite sure how to format the questions. As we

walked into our homeroom and found play audition flyers on every desk, I picked one up and

looked it over. I glanced at Peter, then back at the paper, and decided that I wanted to audition

too. After all, what would I do if he got in? I knew I couldn't live a minute without him.

Maybe this could be interesting.

© 2010

Compatible, In an Incompatible Kind of Way part 2

WOW, I haven't written in this in a LONG time. As Russel would say, "No time like now to change that!" (I'm such a dork.)

Peter's room was dimly lit and always smelled like cinnamon and apples. Clothes littered the floor and Peter always played old Nirvana and Pink Floyd songs through his Mac lap top, which was always on his bed, plugged into charger. Every once in a while, a pop-up would come onto the screen that said, "You need to restart your computer," and the music would stop so that whatever note has been playing would repeat over and over until he pressed the restart button. I usually sprawled myself out on his bed, and he sat next to me as he kept the lap top by his feet so he could change the music every once in a while. We both preferred free hand, so we would just stay their together for hours, holding our notebooks, staring out in front of us and clicking our pens to write down any ideas we got that were worth saving.

I sat on Peter's bed and ran my brush through my long blonde hair. I used to have dark hair, but it bleaches with the sun and I decided not to dye it back, seeing as so many people in the world seem to long for natural blonde hair. As I run the brush through my hair, a million different scenarios play through my head of girls brushing their hair- modern stories, stories from the 80's, stories from the 1800's, stories from all different parts of the world. I caught Peter looking over from the corner of my eye and could almost see the same stories I was imagining reflecting back at me in his eyes. We both sat in our usual silence, watching as long strands of hair broke free from my scalp and knotted themselves with the brussels of my hairbrush.

Peter had a tendency of walking toward the door and pushing it open for me before leaving the room. He did this now, and I walked in front of him until we reached the end of the hallway, at which point I moved so that he could lead the way to whatever room he wanted to go to. He took me into the kitchen, and I sat down at the counter and closed my eyes, putting my head down on the marble countertop. It was cold and I listened to my breaths as Peter walked around the kitchen, making us food of some sort. After about ten minutes, he pushed a plate underneath my arm and I sat up and looked down at a sandwich. I smiled at him and took a bite, and he kept his same solemn expression as he sat down next to me and ate.

The following day was Saturday. Peter came to my bedroom door at 7 am and

knocked, and I jumped up in bed, startled. For whatever reasons, I had barely slept that

night, and when he came I was sitting in bed, staring at the wall and thinking about a girl

with long, black hair and a large amount of money on her name. I looked at Peter and he

held up his backpack. I got out of bed and realized I was wearing my silk pajamas. The lights

had been off in my room when I changed into them the night before, and Peter had been

showering in his bathroom. When he came out, I had already gotten under the covers, safely

out of his view. I felt like I should blush as I jumped out of bed in the pink silk short shorts and

lacy pink silk tank top, but Peter didn't even glance away from his backpack, which he was

searching through, as I hurried over to my closet. Peter wasn't like a brother to me at all. But

he was as close to me as I can imagine my brother and I would be if i had one. Maybe even

closer. ...In a distant sort of way.

© 2010

Frappuccinos Are My Life

I am a Starbucks addict. I don't go there that much, I wish I could go more. I believe that place is like the brand name of coffee shops. Makes sense, it's expensive and amazing. So I bought a frap, sipped it on my way home, came in the house, did some stuff, and then POOF! it was gone. I walked around the house searching for it and singing about it in a French opera voice. I did not find it. I was sad. Then, when my sister came home from somewhere unbeknownst to moi, she found it and gave it to me. I was very excited. Then I drank the rest. It was super yummy. And now I want another one.

© 2010

Wait, What?

"Um, Ok, you don't make any sense."

"Look who's talking."

"What did I say?"

"Nothing."

"Then how-"

"Exactly."

"What?"

"See!"

"See what?!"

"That's exactly my point!"

"What is??"

"That!"

"What?!"

"Exactly!"

"Exactly what?!"

"What!"

"That's what I'm asking!"

"What is?"

"What!"

"Huh?"

"UGH."

... because I can. :)

© 2010

Broken Glass, Broken Hearts part 56

I dove for the phone when I slammed the front door of our house.

"Nice job getting the phone, idiot!" I called to Jake. "Yea, whatever!"

he screamed back. I rolled my eyes and pressed talk, "Hello?"

"Hi, this is Tammy. Is Angela there?" I was silent until she said, "Hello?"

"Uh, yea, this is her. Hi, Tammy."

"Oh, Angela, hey."

"Hey. What's up?" I sat down on one of the stools in the kitchen and held

the phone up to my ear, slightly shocked by this call. "Oh, not much. Uh, I

was just thinking...Junior Prom is coming up soon at your school, right?"

I blinked. I had forgotten about Junior Prom. "Oh. Um, yea, I guess it is."

"I thought I might come to the States for a week during my break and maybe

come to the dance, if you're cool with that." I gaped, and then she added, "Um,

yea, I was thinking maybe I could stay with you. I mean, if your parents are Ok

with it, of course, and if you want me to..." She drifted off and I felt myself

gaping at the nothingness in front of me. I closed my mouth, "Uh, yea, that

sounds awesome! I'm sure my parents will be fine with that!" I could hear

Tammy's smile as she replied, "Cool. So, I'll see you at the airport in a week I

guess, right? I'll call you with the details."

"Yea, course. Cool."

"Cool."

"Bye, I guess."

"Bye bye! See you soon!" Tammy hung up and I smiled in front of me. "Who was

that?" Jake asked as he came into the kitchen, opening the cupboard and pulling

out the oreos. He offered the package to me and I grabbed three before replying,

"Tammy. She's coming to stay with us next week."

"Wow. I completely forgot about Junior Prom."

"But you're going, right?" Sadie asked, and I recognized the usual sound of her

chewing gum as she held the receiver to her ear with her shoulder. "Are you

painting your nails?" I asked suddenly, ignoring her question. She paused before

replying, "Toe nails, technically. How'd you know?"

"Seems like you always chew gum and take long pauses between sentences when

you're painting your nails or doing your hair. You take pauses when you're watching

TV or typing, too, but you don't have gum in those scenarios." I picked up a couple

textbooks from my floor as I said this, setting them back on my desk. Sadie was

silent for a minute, and at first I thought she was just pausing to paint again, but then

she replied, "Wow," and I knew she had just paused in shock.

"Well, I mean, you call me a lot. And I go to your house a lot. So it's only natural that

I'd pick up on your habits." I could hear the smile in Sadie's voice as she replied,

"Yea, I guess so. Although,I can honestly say I have no idea what you're doing."

"I'm talking to you. Nothing else." Sadie was quiet for another moment, but I could

read her so easily, I knew she was pausing to smile, not to paint. Not wanting her to

think I meant something I didn't, I quickly added, "Well, I mean, I'm also sort of

cleaning my room." Sadie snapped out of it, "You? CLEAN? Puh-lease. How stupid

do you think I am?" I smiled. This was the Sadie I liked. Sadie my funny, easy-going,

breezy friend. Sadie my friend, only a friend.

© 2010