Chapter One Continued
A girl with dirty blond hair woven in tight ringlets, and clear blue eyes, stood in the doorway. She wore baggy jeans with holes in them, and a ”Blink 182” t-shirt. Her eyes darted around the room as if looking for something. Plastic key chains hanging from the zippers on her back pack clanked together as she turned to face Miss Farrow.
“Hi” she said in a sweet, high pitched voice, “I’m Imogene, I just moved here...well, really I’ve been here for awhile, but this is my first day of school.” She giggled. Miss Farrow nodded, but before she could speak Imogene continued, “Thanks so much for having me, I’ll just find my own seat...sorry to disturb you...”
She stared straight at Skander and flashed her white teeth. He scowled as she made her way down the aisle. Twenty students arched their necks to watch as she took one of the three empty seats next to him. Imogene ignored her wide-eyed, open-mouthed classmates, as she lifted her backpack up onto the desk. The keychains banged against the metal, she hummed as she sorted through her books and papers.
Skander noticed patches of fabric shrewdly sewn onto the bag displaying words like, “cool”, and “girl power”, and other words that looked like bands he had never heard of.
“I hope you don’t mind” she said, “this spot seemed cozy.” she giggled again, which made Skander cringe. This would not do. The rest of the class was still staring at them, even Miss Farrow seemed transfixed. As much as he hated the idea of sharing his personal space, being the center of attention was worse. He grunted in reply and turned his attention back to the carving.
There was a unified sigh of relief as everyone turned back towards the front of the room. Miss Farrow snapped out of her comma, “welcome Imogene, glad to have you”. Imogene nodded, still smiling.
Skander bent low over the desk, portioning off his space and shielding the view of the intruder to his left. He looked down at his work with a frown. The new girl’s entrance had caused his hand to slip and now there was a line straight across where the bird’s eye should be. Maybe if he made a few adjustments he could make it look like a feather...
“That’s beautiful!” Imogene had leaned over to whisper. Skander was jerked out of his thoughts again, and grasped his knife with white knuckles. He tried his best “shut-up-and-leave-me-alone” glare, but she just beamed back at him as if there was a force field blocking all obvious social cues. The girl was seriously dense.
With one efficient swipe, Skander slashed his knife across the top of his forehead, severing about three inches of black tresses. He let the hair fall to the ground as he watched her blink, the corners of her mouth slowly dropped. Satisfied, he turned back towards his desk and breathed in the dry, earthy, musk of oak.
Author's Note: I don't know if anyone is actually reading this, if so, Thank you, and... I'm sorry! I really wanted to have more up today...I have a great ending to this chapter...at least in my head...but it's not up to the level that I feel comfortable posting yet. This is a work in progress for me. The fact that I'm posting things at all is a huge step. I used to never let anyone read anything I wrote until it was finished. Until it was PERFECT. but you know what? That's how you end up being an author of a book that no one ever reads. One thing I love about NanoWriMo is that it lets you turn off the "editing" brain and just write. That has been totally freeing for me. But now, inviting the editor back in is a tricky process. I love shaping and molding the rough edges into something beautiful, I even like searching for the perfect word and going "ah ha!" after taking out a comma. But my editor brain is like a mouse...if you give him a cookie...well, you know the story. All of a sudden he starts second guessing everything, and the thoughts creep in, "this isn't good enough", "What was I thinking?", "everyone is going to hate it!" (He's a bit melodramatic). The "Pantser" in me (that's "fly by the seat of your pants" as we call it), that I learned to trust in NanoWriMo, is learning to give over control to the editor...but I keep her around for when mr. editor starts to get too carried away. She reminds me of what it's all about, the sheer joy of telling a story.
p.s. I know this makes me sound like I have multiple personality disorder, but if you know many writers or are one yourself...it probably doesn't seem all that strange.
No comments:
Post a Comment