Or: I'm at this volunteer thing all Saturday (actually typing this up on Friday) so this is a bit of a lazy post.
Okay, first: I got interviewed!! Check it out.
I'm not feeling so hot today. Ran on too little sleep and crashed like crazy, then scratched my eyelid and my eye swelled up... so, I'm going to post an excerpt of my WIR (work-in-revision) for you all to read. Let me know what you think!
Oh, yeah, there's some PG-13 content in this. I've starred out the swears, but read at your own risk.
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It snowed all night, which was just fabulous. More f*cking snow. Just what we needed.
Reaching up with the weather muscle in my brain, I pressed and poked and prodded until the clouds opened up, pouring rain down on our fair city like the tears of a broken heart.
When Mason yelled at me to get out of bed and get ready for school, I pressed harder. Felt for the buzz of lightning deep in the clouds, the electricity. I hoped for enough of a storm to keep me home and away from the noise.
Nada. Mother Nature refused to comply, deciding to be satisfied with a steady pounding downpour. Much like my own mother, Mother Nature could be a real bitch sometimes. Once things got this far out of my control, I couldn’t get them back.
I gave up on the idea of staying home and got dressed.
“Come on, I’ll give you a ride to school so you won’t be late.”
Mason greeted me with the offer from the kitchen table as I clomped down the stairs.
“Coffee.”
Mason stood up, still wearing his work clothes. Light blue dress shirt, black dress pants. No radio or gun belt, though. He always took them as soon as he got off duty and locked them away in the safe within minutes of getting home. It made me nervous if he left them out and I think it made him nervous to leave them out when I was home.
“No time. You’re nearly late already.”
I grabbed the coffee pot and a mug. “Coffee.”
Like he did every morning when I came down late, he took away my mug and hustled me out the door. Damn older brother. Why did he always have to be so freaking responsible?
Mason parked his truck right next to the curb in front of the school. “Have a nice day, kid.”
I muttered something back as I slid out of his truck, unable to come up with a decent – nice – response this early in the morning, and ran for the front door.
Just before I reached the school stairs, a tall boy pushed in front of me. He stopped dead in his tracks and I walked right into his back. My face smashed into the cold, soaked fabric of his jacket with the force of a slap in the dark.
“Agh!” I jumped back. “Godd*mn. You freaking did that on purpose!”
He didn’t even bothering to turn around, just muttered, “Well, maybe you shouldn’t walk so close to me.”
Oh, man. I knew that voice all too well.
“You got in my way,” I said, fists clenching at my sides. Why did it have to be him? What did I do to deserve that?
He shrugged. My pretty gold eyeshadow now graced the back of his jacket, a bright contrast to the black fabric. I didn’t want to imagine what my face looked like right now.
“Probably. Watch out,” he said and jumped up the last of the stairs.
Watch out for what? Without thinking, I looked up just in time to see a load of wet slush slide off the roof.
Onto my face.
“F*ck!”
I stumbled forward, swiping at my eyes and smearing my makeup further. At my annoyed noise, the boy glanced over his shoulder. His dark hair fell in a wet tangle over his eyes but I caught a glimpse of one dark eyebrow lifting before he spoke again.
“It’s not ladylike to curse.”
Ladylike? Well, it wouldn’t exactly be ladylike for me to punch him in the gut either, but I fought back the urge to do just that.
I sloshed up the stairs just in time to watch the heavy metal door slam shut. The jerk wasn’t exactly a gentleman himself.
Inside the school, I headed straight to the bathroom. Cursed again when I saw myself in the mirror. I looked like some sort of reject Broadway raccoon. It took a full five minutes to clean the melted makeup from around my eyes and the rest of my face.
Before I had time to put some back on, several giggling, far too bubbly girls invaded the bathroom. I bailed for the relative safety of my locker.
I slipped out my damp sweatshirt, pulling on another, dry, hoodie from inside my locker to cover up my tank top the second I had the damp one off. Over the years I’d become good at that, and I had both arms in the sleeves almost to my shoulders in seconds.
Frigid hands landed on my shoulders, shocking cold where the last few patches of my skin were bared.
I shrieked and drove my elbow backwards into the owner’s stomach.
An all-too-familiar voice gasped my name, sending my own stomach plummeting towards my knees. Oh God, what had I done now?
Barely breathing, I turned around.
Half bent over, Cameron stared at me with shock on his face. I’ve never, ever, hit him like that. I pounded the crap out of him a couple times when we were kids, trying to be like the boys, but not like this.
“Wanna explain that?” he asked.
Explain why I’d just assaulted the only friend I actually had? No problem.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “You scared the crap out of me. Why are your hands so freaking cold?”
He stared at me like I’d lost my mind. I probably had. “Because the bathrooms never have hot water and I had to scrub paint off my hands? What’s with you?”
Everything.
“Nothing. I’m going to be late for class. See you at lunch, okay?”
He still looked at me like I had gone round the bend, but he nodded. He always did. We’d eaten lunch together everyday since he moved here, except for when he caught chicken pox from me. And, of course, when my bruises were too obvious for me to come to school.
The noise became too much even before the class filled up. I put my earbuds in and shoved the volume up as far as I could stand. It didn’t matter what kind of music, as long as I turned it loud to block as much sound as possible.
The voices came anyway.
What is she wearing? Tacky trailer trash slut.
Good God, I need a hit.
Wonder if he’d put out on the first date.
I slipped my hand into my pocket and turned the music up louder.
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Okay, that's my excerpt. My first one ever, too!!
Peace and cookies,
Laina
