The leaves were dulling as the sun light began to fade behind the clouds. The sidewalks and buildings were mute gray and stained with the coming and going rain. Emerson trudged through any and all the puddles, giving little notice to the water collecting on his dress shoes. Amber was smiling to herself about her choice to skip heels for the night. She danced along side Emerson in her boots. He kept his hands in his coat pockets while she fiddled with a stray hair.
“So tonight is?” She said noting the setting sun she could see just over a distant bar.
“Eventful,” Emerson said his eyes forward even as cars splashed by through the watery streets. A cool wind followed behind the vehicle, throwing stray leaves around like confetti.
“I’ll say.”
“Well what would you have?” He said.
“A textbook free night, for starts,” her eyes scanned the streets. A cat grin broke across her face. He didn’t need to look to know she was a child who had just found matches. “How about there.” She nodded at the bar.
Emerson shook his head. “You know I don’t-”
“I know, but look at the sign.”
He squinted. “A meat raffle? You’re joking.”
She smiled. “Not in the least. I’ve never been to one, it couldn’t hurt.”
“I’m a vegetarian.” He said pulling his hands out of his pockets. He cupped them together and blew a hot breath inside.
“Since when?”
“Since I saw that sign.”
“Amazing ability to commit on the spot,” she laughed while twisting the hair around her pinky, “I think we must test this further.”
“Don’t push it.”
“That’s what she said.”
“How old are you?”
“Old enough to know when I want to go to a meat raffle, I will go.”
“By yourself?”
“You wouldn’t trust me in a bar alone….with men!”
“Point there,” he slapped her hand occupied with the hair. She let it fall to her side. “Let’s go.”
“Okay!” She said and darted across the street. She was in the bar before her could call her name.
“I meant leave,” Emerson said looking up at the clouds to see when it would rain again.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Journal-(Exercise 2)
Them's Fighting Words
Journal pg. 355
“You’re kidding, right? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re an idiot. You are a complete idiot! What would make you do that? Throwing that away-“
“Okay, so I threw it away. You know a little space would be nice.”
“Space? I’ll get in your face as much as I want. You are such and idiot. You knew how much that meant to me.”
“Then why were you always saying, ‘oh that old dress, it’s going to crap.’?”
“Because you rolled your damn eyes when ever I made a big deal out of it!”
“It was old.”
“I’d like to see you use that excuse for snuffing an old person.”
“Snuffing?”
“Shut up, just shut up. You’re the moron.”
“I’m shaking.”
“Jerk.
Journal pg. 355
“You’re kidding, right? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re an idiot. You are a complete idiot! What would make you do that? Throwing that away-“
“Okay, so I threw it away. You know a little space would be nice.”
“Space? I’ll get in your face as much as I want. You are such and idiot. You knew how much that meant to me.”
“Then why were you always saying, ‘oh that old dress, it’s going to crap.’?”
“Because you rolled your damn eyes when ever I made a big deal out of it!”
“It was old.”
“I’d like to see you use that excuse for snuffing an old person.”
“Snuffing?”
“Shut up, just shut up. You’re the moron.”
“I’m shaking.”
“Jerk.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Journal-#2 (Exercise 2)
I could feel a thumbing, my heart beat? It must be, because it sounded so close. My hand moved as if guided by invisible strings to my chest. I could feel it, my heart was pumping, but this was not the same as the noise. I moved to my head, my temples, I think. Yes, this is where the sound hid; it was the racing of blood in my head. It throbbed. It wasn’t until my eyes opened that I knew they had been closed.
There was light, too much light and I was flat on my back. Above me something was swinging, something, like wood. It was wood. It was the seat of a swing that swayed in the light breeze. I sat up, with cool grass beneath my palms, and looked at the tree. It was heavy with emerald leaves. A single one fluttered down, landing in my lap. The fronts of my jeans were clean, but as I rolled achingly to my side I could see my back was smeared with grass stains and dirt. The earth underneath me was bothered, pressed down by my weight. I looked from the tree, to the ground, to my back. I listened the throbbing in my head.
“You’re an idiot!” It chanted like needles.
There was light, too much light and I was flat on my back. Above me something was swinging, something, like wood. It was wood. It was the seat of a swing that swayed in the light breeze. I sat up, with cool grass beneath my palms, and looked at the tree. It was heavy with emerald leaves. A single one fluttered down, landing in my lap. The fronts of my jeans were clean, but as I rolled achingly to my side I could see my back was smeared with grass stains and dirt. The earth underneath me was bothered, pressed down by my weight. I looked from the tree, to the ground, to my back. I listened the throbbing in my head.
“You’re an idiot!” It chanted like needles.
Journal-#1 (Character by Setting)
I'm sorry if this seems short! I felt like what I had was enough to the get the idea across and anymore than this would feel too forced. Enjoy!
An unsuccessful painter-
I thin thread of light was leaking through the dusty drawn blinds, shinning onto the desk. On it was a neat stack of papers, the top covered in ink sketches of circles upon circles. A pen was chapped and to the slide. Above the desk was a shelf covered with books on plants, a wooden box with a single green paint stain across it, and an outdated gameboy advanced. A chair was pulled up to the desk a clean button up shirt draped across it. Sewn to the breast pocket was a name tag embroidered “Ray”.
An unsuccessful painter-
I thin thread of light was leaking through the dusty drawn blinds, shinning onto the desk. On it was a neat stack of papers, the top covered in ink sketches of circles upon circles. A pen was chapped and to the slide. Above the desk was a shelf covered with books on plants, a wooden box with a single green paint stain across it, and an outdated gameboy advanced. A chair was pulled up to the desk a clean button up shirt draped across it. Sewn to the breast pocket was a name tag embroidered “Ray”.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Journal-#2 (Difficult Material)
Journal #2
First Person:
I remember the judgment filled middle school days even though I want to forget. I didn’t mind my time spent in the library or the stories I had written that my teachers had praised, but I did want to forget the game. Trying to fit in was never my strong point. I had given up on it a long time ago. Still, whether you want to be in it or not, the game will always find you. It happened when I and my friend were sitting on the bus. IN her lap was a list of names and she was inspecting them. Beside each name was a number, 1-10. It was a list of every girl in my grade and the number represented how each boy had ranked the girl. 1 was low and 10’s were high.
“What did I get?” I couldn’t help but asking, peeking for my name.
My friend turned the list over. “You don’t want to know.”
I laughed. I already knew my fate. “I already know,” I smiled, “I got all zeros, that’s okay! Just tell me I got all zeros.”
“It’s not that…”
“Come on,” curiosity was getting to me.
She sighed. “You weren’t on the list.”
My frown dropped. “Oh.”
Second Person:
Alex and Natalie loaded with the rest of their class onto the stuffy bus. Natalie slid into a middle seat and Alex after her. Alex’s eyes were focused on the floor, Natalie pulled out a piece of paper. Spotting it out of her peripherals Alex peeked at the paper. It was a list. She noted all the names were girls in their grade. Beside the names were numbers, the highest being ten.
“That’s the list isn’t it?” Alex asked.
Natalie flipped the paper over, her eyes stern with secret. “Yeah.”
“They ranked every girl in our class?”
“Yeah.”
Alex pushed up her maroon glasses. She already knew the boys judgment of her. The pretty popular girls would have gleaming 10 plastered all around their names, and Alex would have fat goose eggs.
“What did I get?” She asked with a smile.
Natalie shook her head. “You don’t want to know.”
Alex laughed, flashing her white teeth. She surveyed her long, to the floor hair and countless necklaces. It wasn’t hard to see she wasn’t a beauty. “I already know. I got all zeros, that’s okay! Just tell me I got all zeros.”
Natalie was still shaking her head. “It’s not that…”
Curiosity was welling in Alex’s eyes. She was not about to let this go. “Come on,”
Natalie sighed. “You weren’t on the list.”
Alex’s face filled with disappointment. “Oh.”
First Person:
I remember the judgment filled middle school days even though I want to forget. I didn’t mind my time spent in the library or the stories I had written that my teachers had praised, but I did want to forget the game. Trying to fit in was never my strong point. I had given up on it a long time ago. Still, whether you want to be in it or not, the game will always find you. It happened when I and my friend were sitting on the bus. IN her lap was a list of names and she was inspecting them. Beside each name was a number, 1-10. It was a list of every girl in my grade and the number represented how each boy had ranked the girl. 1 was low and 10’s were high.
“What did I get?” I couldn’t help but asking, peeking for my name.
My friend turned the list over. “You don’t want to know.”
I laughed. I already knew my fate. “I already know,” I smiled, “I got all zeros, that’s okay! Just tell me I got all zeros.”
“It’s not that…”
“Come on,” curiosity was getting to me.
She sighed. “You weren’t on the list.”
My frown dropped. “Oh.”
Second Person:
Alex and Natalie loaded with the rest of their class onto the stuffy bus. Natalie slid into a middle seat and Alex after her. Alex’s eyes were focused on the floor, Natalie pulled out a piece of paper. Spotting it out of her peripherals Alex peeked at the paper. It was a list. She noted all the names were girls in their grade. Beside the names were numbers, the highest being ten.
“That’s the list isn’t it?” Alex asked.
Natalie flipped the paper over, her eyes stern with secret. “Yeah.”
“They ranked every girl in our class?”
“Yeah.”
Alex pushed up her maroon glasses. She already knew the boys judgment of her. The pretty popular girls would have gleaming 10 plastered all around their names, and Alex would have fat goose eggs.
“What did I get?” She asked with a smile.
Natalie shook her head. “You don’t want to know.”
Alex laughed, flashing her white teeth. She surveyed her long, to the floor hair and countless necklaces. It wasn’t hard to see she wasn’t a beauty. “I already know. I got all zeros, that’s okay! Just tell me I got all zeros.”
Natalie was still shaking her head. “It’s not that…”
Curiosity was welling in Alex’s eyes. She was not about to let this go. “Come on,”
Natalie sighed. “You weren’t on the list.”
Alex’s face filled with disappointment. “Oh.”
Journal-#1(My Nightmare Fake Date!!!!)
I realized I was ten minutes late as I packed my truck between two pathetically small hybrids. I killed the engine and rushed inside, the rain pounding against my coat. It was a tiny coffee shop filled with tables of geeks pouring over their computers and couples sharing books, this wasn’t a good sign. One girl sat alone at a table in the back corner, staring into space with tense, gray-blue eyes. Above her head was a teddy bear head mounted as if it were the real thing. Was it so hard to get a damn real animal?
I tapped the table twice and she nearly jumped out of her chair. Those spacey eyes grew into frying pans and then relaxed into dessert plates. She forced a nervous smile and motioned to the chair.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said in more a squeak then a voice, “I’m Alex.”
“Hi.” I answered pulling myself out of my coat. Her eyes were locked down at her cup, as if removing my jacket would suddenly make me naked.
“It’s nice weather out.” She commented, gazing with dreamy eyes out the window.
“Pretty shitty.” I said.
She looked injured. “Oh, well…not everyone likes rain!” She smiled. “I’m glad you were able to the find this place, I come here all the time.”
I looked around. The lighting was warm enough, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of it trying to be outdoorsy amongst the Wi-Fi connections and “cutesy” bear leg rests.
I could see this girl had fallen for the charm but had little to do with the actual woods. She was restrained in a dark blue turtleneck and jean vest. Her hair was shorter than most teenage boys and her head band had a little bow on it. I couldn’t figure out if she wanted to be an adult or a child. I knew this was not going to work out. I thought about getting up and leaving, but she looked like she had worked up the confidence to talk all morning. Fine, might as well make this fun for me. I already figured out the chords to hit.
“So do you hunt?” I was cutting to the chase.
Her eyes dilated again. That was a no.
“What?” It seemed like every dead animal in the world was crossing her mind. “No, I couldn’t. I’d feel so horrible killing something. I’m sorry.”
“Great,” I mumbled. I was trying to squeeze back my laughter. If she was a vegetarian I was going to flip.
“What?” her face wrinkled.
“Nothing.”
Her hers retreated into her lap. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She repeated. I didn’t even know what there was for her to apologize for. A few “Hail Mary’s” paced through her watery eyes. Was she going to cry? Why would she do that?
She waited. It seemed like she didn’t want to force conversation on me if I didn’t want it. I rolled my eyes and snickered. She noticed this and paused her thoughts. She looked directly at me. It seemed that I had hit a chord. Now her eyes took on a new emotion, she was insulted. I knew her politeness was too good to be true.
“Are you making fun of me?” She snapped.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, actually. Now tell me, how tight did you whine yourself this morning?”
“How dare you.” She whispered, her voice burning with anger. She was trying to compose herself, but was failing. “This is over,” she stood up still trying to compose herself, “Goodbye.” She flew to the door but turned around. “You’re a real jerk, you know that?”
I tried to hold my laughter in until she left, but failed miserably. I stood up and went back to my truck. I wondered if the game was on tonight.
I tapped the table twice and she nearly jumped out of her chair. Those spacey eyes grew into frying pans and then relaxed into dessert plates. She forced a nervous smile and motioned to the chair.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said in more a squeak then a voice, “I’m Alex.”
“Hi.” I answered pulling myself out of my coat. Her eyes were locked down at her cup, as if removing my jacket would suddenly make me naked.
“It’s nice weather out.” She commented, gazing with dreamy eyes out the window.
“Pretty shitty.” I said.
She looked injured. “Oh, well…not everyone likes rain!” She smiled. “I’m glad you were able to the find this place, I come here all the time.”
I looked around. The lighting was warm enough, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of it trying to be outdoorsy amongst the Wi-Fi connections and “cutesy” bear leg rests.
I could see this girl had fallen for the charm but had little to do with the actual woods. She was restrained in a dark blue turtleneck and jean vest. Her hair was shorter than most teenage boys and her head band had a little bow on it. I couldn’t figure out if she wanted to be an adult or a child. I knew this was not going to work out. I thought about getting up and leaving, but she looked like she had worked up the confidence to talk all morning. Fine, might as well make this fun for me. I already figured out the chords to hit.
“So do you hunt?” I was cutting to the chase.
Her eyes dilated again. That was a no.
“What?” It seemed like every dead animal in the world was crossing her mind. “No, I couldn’t. I’d feel so horrible killing something. I’m sorry.”
“Great,” I mumbled. I was trying to squeeze back my laughter. If she was a vegetarian I was going to flip.
“What?” her face wrinkled.
“Nothing.”
Her hers retreated into her lap. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She repeated. I didn’t even know what there was for her to apologize for. A few “Hail Mary’s” paced through her watery eyes. Was she going to cry? Why would she do that?
She waited. It seemed like she didn’t want to force conversation on me if I didn’t want it. I rolled my eyes and snickered. She noticed this and paused her thoughts. She looked directly at me. It seemed that I had hit a chord. Now her eyes took on a new emotion, she was insulted. I knew her politeness was too good to be true.
“Are you making fun of me?” She snapped.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, actually. Now tell me, how tight did you whine yourself this morning?”
“How dare you.” She whispered, her voice burning with anger. She was trying to compose herself, but was failing. “This is over,” she stood up still trying to compose herself, “Goodbye.” She flew to the door but turned around. “You’re a real jerk, you know that?”
I tried to hold my laughter in until she left, but failed miserably. I stood up and went back to my truck. I wondered if the game was on tonight.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Journal-#1 (Complications! Oh my!)
Journal #1
Cora and her father sat across from each other at the kitchen table. Around them were the usually pans hanging from the ceiling and a pot of spaghetti working its way to a boil on the stove. The fridge was covered with magnets and pictures ranging from when she was a chubby toddler, up until her graduation from college last year. The windows were lined with lemon colored curtains covered with patterns of tulip outlines. Outside it was getting dark early, the days getting shorter. The table was already set, two plates, two cups, two forks, and two napkins. She was busy finishing an email on her laptop balancing in her lap and her father was fiddling with the sleeve of his blouse.
“Sorry Dad,” she clicked send, “okay done.”
“They’re really keeping you busy there,” he commented.
Cora shut her computer. “Tell me about it,” she laughed. “They’ve already got me practically babysitting this author who usually tries to runaway every time his deadline comes around. They told me to kidnap him and force him to write if I have to, but make sure it gets done.”
“The life of an editor,” he smiled with rosy lips.
“Yep,” she smiled.
They both jumped as the sound of breaking glass shook the room. On the floor was a brick with a post-it duct taped to it. Cora’s father lazily got up and picked the brick up.
“LEAVE NOW QUEER!” It said.
Cora’s father laughed.
“Transvestite, not gay. Can’t any of these people get it right?”
“You smeared your lipstick,” Cora noted.
Cora and her father sat across from each other at the kitchen table. Around them were the usually pans hanging from the ceiling and a pot of spaghetti working its way to a boil on the stove. The fridge was covered with magnets and pictures ranging from when she was a chubby toddler, up until her graduation from college last year. The windows were lined with lemon colored curtains covered with patterns of tulip outlines. Outside it was getting dark early, the days getting shorter. The table was already set, two plates, two cups, two forks, and two napkins. She was busy finishing an email on her laptop balancing in her lap and her father was fiddling with the sleeve of his blouse.
“Sorry Dad,” she clicked send, “okay done.”
“They’re really keeping you busy there,” he commented.
Cora shut her computer. “Tell me about it,” she laughed. “They’ve already got me practically babysitting this author who usually tries to runaway every time his deadline comes around. They told me to kidnap him and force him to write if I have to, but make sure it gets done.”
“The life of an editor,” he smiled with rosy lips.
“Yep,” she smiled.
They both jumped as the sound of breaking glass shook the room. On the floor was a brick with a post-it duct taped to it. Cora’s father lazily got up and picked the brick up.
“LEAVE NOW QUEER!” It said.
Cora’s father laughed.
“Transvestite, not gay. Can’t any of these people get it right?”
“You smeared your lipstick,” Cora noted.
Journal-#2 Choking Puffins
Journal #2
Start:
In seventh grade I dared try out for my first high school play. I had been in smaller, community productions for kids, but nothing as serious and “playing with the big kids”. Usually when I try out for a play I am relaxed, and fueled by a burst of hyper energy, but things were different this time. For starters, I was shaking, badly. A huge flock of butterflies had decided to also throw a party in my stomach. Worst of all, it was as open audition, everyone in the same room taking turns going. I would have to perform in front of teenagers almost five years older than me. I sat next time my sister and worried. The play was “The Crucible” and I never having seen the play picked a simple poem to recite: “There once was a Puffin”. One by one, everyone gaze there auditions until it was finally my turn. I got up there, got about a third of the way into the poem, and froze. I had never choked before. I could feel my face flushing, my mind completely blank. My sister sat in the audience mouthing the next line to me, but I couldn’t understand. I stopped and went back to my seat, nearly in tears. The rest of the people went, the whole time I was re-reciting the poem in my head. Finally it was the final call for auditions and I asked to get back up and do it again. By some miracle I not only got through the entire poem, but I nailed it. I knew it was perfect, but wished I could have done so the first time. Feeling good that I at least did it right in the end, I went home and waited for the cast list. The next week I heard the news, I got in. I was an extra, but I had actually made it into a high school play.
Scene:
It was coming back again, that boiling in her stomach that worked up into her throat. Her mouth was filling with spit, ready to slide out a bucket of vomit. She was glad she had no food in her to lose; she had been too nervous all day to eat.
Abby sat in one of the worn padded chair in the auditorium. She and a group of about thirty teenagers, all bigger than her, all sat clustered in the center seats.
“I will call your name. When I do come up, just say your name and what you’ll be reciting. Relax and take your time.” Mr. Green said, pushing up his glasses.
Abby tried to concentrate of his smile. With was warm and wrinkled. He didn’t look like the type of teacher to be annoyed by a first time audition.
The coil in her stomach only tightened.
“You’re going to be fine,” Dale, her brother whispered, squeezing her arm tight.
His smile was relaxed. Abby crinkled her nose.
“Easy for you to say,” she mumbled.
Mr. Green leaped off the stage and took his place in the audience, a clipboard in his lap.
“Dale? You want to go first? Show the new kids how it’s done?”
Dale stood up. “Sure!”
Everyone one clapped as Dale took the stage.
“I will be doing a monologue from Blithe Spirit,” he said.
Abby’s ears went dead. She only absorbed Dale moving his arms about as he yelled to his character’s dead wives. She looked around; everyone was on the verge of cheering, hands ready to burst into applause. Dale ended in center stage. Abby’s knew her ears were working again as the sound of everyone cheering rumbled in her head.
Dale pranced back to his seat and gave her arm a squeezed.
“Nice,” she whispered.
“Thanks, sis,” he smiled, wide and full of teeth.
“Great job Dale!” Mr. Green said, trying to quiet down the final claps. “Who’s next?” He looked around. “Dale, is that your little sister?”
Dale put his arm around Abby. “Yep! She’s better at this than me!”
“I’d love to see that,” Mr. Green said. “Would you like to go next?”
Everyone’s eyes went to Abby. She could feel there corneas burning her skin. She looked to Dale, desperate to go home, but he just grinned. She stood up and went to the stage.
“No way out now,” she said under her breath.
She stood in center stage doing everything possible to look past everyone. “Um, hi. I’m Abby Hughes and I’m going to be reciting the poem “There once was a Puffin.”
A few snickers rocked through the room. Dale was shooting a look around.
Abby opened her mouth and let the first lines out. They were still fresh; she had only learned this poem the night before, Dale’s voice still warm in her mind.
“Come on Abby! You have to try out,” he nudged her shoulder, “Mr. Green will be really impressed if a seventh grader tries out for the high school play. At least you’ll make a good impression!”
“Fine.” Abby huffed in defeat.
She quickly set her mind back to the poem. She was on the fifth line and counting.
“He ate little fishes that were most delicious…” She paused. “He ate little fishes that were most delicious…” She repeated.
Her stomach was starting to boil again. She looked at Dale; he was the only thing she could see. He was mouthing the words, but it only looked like moving lips. She stopped, went back into the audience and sat down.
“It’s okay!” Dale assured her.
“No it isn’t.” She buried her face in her hands feeling red and torn.
“Well, next?” Mr. Green said, trying to smile.
Start:
In seventh grade I dared try out for my first high school play. I had been in smaller, community productions for kids, but nothing as serious and “playing with the big kids”. Usually when I try out for a play I am relaxed, and fueled by a burst of hyper energy, but things were different this time. For starters, I was shaking, badly. A huge flock of butterflies had decided to also throw a party in my stomach. Worst of all, it was as open audition, everyone in the same room taking turns going. I would have to perform in front of teenagers almost five years older than me. I sat next time my sister and worried. The play was “The Crucible” and I never having seen the play picked a simple poem to recite: “There once was a Puffin”. One by one, everyone gaze there auditions until it was finally my turn. I got up there, got about a third of the way into the poem, and froze. I had never choked before. I could feel my face flushing, my mind completely blank. My sister sat in the audience mouthing the next line to me, but I couldn’t understand. I stopped and went back to my seat, nearly in tears. The rest of the people went, the whole time I was re-reciting the poem in my head. Finally it was the final call for auditions and I asked to get back up and do it again. By some miracle I not only got through the entire poem, but I nailed it. I knew it was perfect, but wished I could have done so the first time. Feeling good that I at least did it right in the end, I went home and waited for the cast list. The next week I heard the news, I got in. I was an extra, but I had actually made it into a high school play.
Scene:
It was coming back again, that boiling in her stomach that worked up into her throat. Her mouth was filling with spit, ready to slide out a bucket of vomit. She was glad she had no food in her to lose; she had been too nervous all day to eat.
Abby sat in one of the worn padded chair in the auditorium. She and a group of about thirty teenagers, all bigger than her, all sat clustered in the center seats.
“I will call your name. When I do come up, just say your name and what you’ll be reciting. Relax and take your time.” Mr. Green said, pushing up his glasses.
Abby tried to concentrate of his smile. With was warm and wrinkled. He didn’t look like the type of teacher to be annoyed by a first time audition.
The coil in her stomach only tightened.
“You’re going to be fine,” Dale, her brother whispered, squeezing her arm tight.
His smile was relaxed. Abby crinkled her nose.
“Easy for you to say,” she mumbled.
Mr. Green leaped off the stage and took his place in the audience, a clipboard in his lap.
“Dale? You want to go first? Show the new kids how it’s done?”
Dale stood up. “Sure!”
Everyone one clapped as Dale took the stage.
“I will be doing a monologue from Blithe Spirit,” he said.
Abby’s ears went dead. She only absorbed Dale moving his arms about as he yelled to his character’s dead wives. She looked around; everyone was on the verge of cheering, hands ready to burst into applause. Dale ended in center stage. Abby’s knew her ears were working again as the sound of everyone cheering rumbled in her head.
Dale pranced back to his seat and gave her arm a squeezed.
“Nice,” she whispered.
“Thanks, sis,” he smiled, wide and full of teeth.
“Great job Dale!” Mr. Green said, trying to quiet down the final claps. “Who’s next?” He looked around. “Dale, is that your little sister?”
Dale put his arm around Abby. “Yep! She’s better at this than me!”
“I’d love to see that,” Mr. Green said. “Would you like to go next?”
Everyone’s eyes went to Abby. She could feel there corneas burning her skin. She looked to Dale, desperate to go home, but he just grinned. She stood up and went to the stage.
“No way out now,” she said under her breath.
She stood in center stage doing everything possible to look past everyone. “Um, hi. I’m Abby Hughes and I’m going to be reciting the poem “There once was a Puffin.”
A few snickers rocked through the room. Dale was shooting a look around.
Abby opened her mouth and let the first lines out. They were still fresh; she had only learned this poem the night before, Dale’s voice still warm in her mind.
“Come on Abby! You have to try out,” he nudged her shoulder, “Mr. Green will be really impressed if a seventh grader tries out for the high school play. At least you’ll make a good impression!”
“Fine.” Abby huffed in defeat.
She quickly set her mind back to the poem. She was on the fifth line and counting.
“He ate little fishes that were most delicious…” She paused. “He ate little fishes that were most delicious…” She repeated.
Her stomach was starting to boil again. She looked at Dale; he was the only thing she could see. He was mouthing the words, but it only looked like moving lips. She stopped, went back into the audience and sat down.
“It’s okay!” Dale assured her.
“No it isn’t.” She buried her face in her hands feeling red and torn.
“Well, next?” Mr. Green said, trying to smile.
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