Original Fic unedited
So I sat down to write tonight. I really felt uninspired. I'm sick again and doped up on cold medicine and I've been tired all day. But I want to keep up my writing streak so I had to put something down.
I told myself I should keep going with the SG-1 fic I was writing last month. But I just couldn't make myself. The story is getting confusing and I'm only focusing on what's happening to Sam and Jack (they are now separated). I thought maybe I could start adding Daniel and Teal'c's story but I don't even remember what they were doing and didn't feel like searching through my posts to find out. So new stuff it was.
I sat there for the longest time with no idea what to write, though. I looked at the prompts at writerverse to see if there was something to spark my interest. I found two that I liked for the weekly quick fic but no stories came to mind. Then I searched through notes I have laying around and found one that was about a girl whose sister dies. She then kind of inadvertently falls in with the sister's boyfriend that she hates and they form a tentative friendship based around their mutual grief. I wasn't sure I wanted to start on anything so heavy but the picture of the girl suddenly became clear to me... at least her clothes. And then the story just took off from there. I've been reading a ton of YA romance and this story was actually sparked by a novel description I read with the basic premise of a girl sliding into the position her sister had when she dies. It was more about her suddenly being popular and everyone wanting to be her friend because of the death. I wanted to write something different, though. For myself. Or maybe Meagan and her friends (she's starting to get into this stuff, too).
So, anyway...
I'm posting the first chapter in all its unedited glory (please ignore any glaring spelling, grammar or style errors)
The working title is: Whatever It Means (because that was the first thing that popped into my head--you'll see why)
[Whatever It Means, chapter 1]Whatever It Means
chapter 1
by Jen Connelly
Black is the new pink. The new blue. And yellow. And green, purple, orange, brown, grey. It's the only color in my wardrobe now. Ever since that day. My mom thinks I need therapy. By best friend, Hannah, is concerned. My dad tries to ignore it. And everyone at school stares when I walk through the halls. Like they've never seen a girl dressed all in black. Whatever.
It's the last day of my sophomore year. My eyes are glued to the clock as I count each little tick. I hate waiting. I get all antsy, my leg starts hammering away and I find myself unable to keep my hands still. Today I'm playing with my pencil--rolling it between my fingers, balancing it on the back of my hand, sliding it into the friendship bracelet on my wrist and winding it tight like a tourniquet until my fingers start to turn blue. Whatever.
"Zoe."
I realize too late that Mr. Vernon is speaking to me. Why that guy has a bug up his butt about getting me to participate I have no idea. I stare intently at my desk, hands and legs finally stilled. He's waiting for me to answer whatever question he'd asked. Or to contribute to the topic of discussion. I have no idea what the class has been talking about--the only thing on my mind is the time. 2:52. He calls my name again but I keep ignoring him. I ignore all the idiots in my class that are now staring at me too. You think he's--they'd--take the hint that I'm not in the mood to talk. About anything. Whatever.
2:55. Vernon has moved on to Spencer Hills who is always more than ready to add his two cents. More like two dollars. That boy loves to talk, especially about himself and all that knowledge he has. What a self-serving, self-involved douche. 2:58. Two more minutes to go. My leg is pounding the floor, rocking my desk and my fingers are twiddling my pencil even faster. I have this nearly uncontrollable urge to chew on my fingernails but I swore to give that up after I made myself bleed once. Eyes to the clock. 3:00. Finally.
The bell rings and I'm out of my seat a beat later, my bag thrown over my shoulder. I hurry towards the door, head down, hands shoved deep in my pockets. I left the pencil on the desk. I present for Mr. Vernon. Amazingly I make it out the door. I could see Vernon try to head my way but he got blindsided by loving students wanting him to sign their year book. They think he's cute. He's one of the few male teachers at the school that are young. In fact, Vernon started this year straight out of college--twenty-three years old. He is kind of cute in that geeky, school teacher sort of way. Not that I was paying attention. Let those other delusional idiots make googly eyes. I'd rather not have all that attention. Whatever. It's over now.
I've already cleared out my locker so I'm heading for the nearest exit but I'm so content on watching my Chuck Taylor clad feet move quickly across the ugly beige linoleum that I don't notice the kid step out of the side hall right in front of me. Damn. I run smack into him. He's so tall and solid I pretty much bounce off and land with a thud on my butt. Sigh. Around me kids snicker and whisper but I ignore them. It's the last day of school, who gives a crap what they think. I'm already the center of the rumor mill around here anyway. I glance up with a frown at the brick wall I just hit and come face to face with the last person I ever want to see again--Colby Wheeler. Whatever.
I slap away the hand he offers then jump to my feet and push past him. He's got about six inches and sixty pounds but slam my shoulder into him with everything I have. He staggers back and I leave the school with a smile on my face. It's replaced with a grimace once I hit the parking lot. Damn, that hurt. But I wasn't going to think about Colby Wheeler. He could drop off the face of the planet and make me the happiest girl alive. Of course he won't. Because he's asshole. But a girl can dream, can't she?
The weather outside is considerably warmer than the temperature controlled classrooms--all of which seem to be set on Arctic Winter. The sun beats down on my black hoodie, sweat popping up around my neck and down my back. I hate being hot. I hate being sweaty and sticky even more. Even more than I hate exposing my arms. Whatever.
I peel off the hoodie, tossing it into my mostly empty back pack. The walk home is about four miles and I'm suddenly regretting not bringing a water bottle today. I stop to dig in my pocket to see how much change I have. I could go grab a bottle at the Gas & Go. Or, you know, take the freaking bus or something. A car pulls up along side me real slow and purposeful. I roll my eyes--way too many creepers in this town. I shoot the driver a glare that should have melted his soul but I'm the one that's surprised. I stand there like a deer caught in headlights.
"Hey, Zoe," Colby says, "you need a ride?"
I just stare at him completely flabbergasted. What the hell is he talking to me for? I don't want to talk to him. I haven't talked to him. Not since... then. We had an agreement--although unvoiced. He stayed away from me, I stayed away from him and we never, ever speak. So why the hell does he have to go and screw it all up now. And on the last day of school. This is supposed to be my day. I rework that glare to little effect. Whatever.
"Not from you," I say as I start walking again. He rolls along with me.
"Come on, don't be like that. It's hotter than hell out. You gonna walk all the way home?"
"That's the plan."
"Let me give you a lift." I'm trying my damnedest to not let him get to me but every word out of his mouth sets off a wave of panic that is quickly bubbling to the surface in the form of rage. "I have air conditioning."
"Get lost."
I pick up the pace. The truth is I'm not actually going home. I rarely go home after school any more. I just can't deal with it--my mother's grief and my father's disappointment. They fuss over me constantly. I guess they're just trying to fill a hole but I'm going crazy. He's still following me and I'm beyond pissed now. I pull out my phone and start dialing.
"Who you calling?" he asks with a jerk of his chin.
I glance over at him so he can get the full effects of my words. "The cops. There's some creep following me and I don't feel safe." On the phone an answering machine picks up: You've reached the Darwin residence. We can't come to the phone right but you know the drill. Beeeep. I glare back at Colby. We're at a stalemate. Will he call my bluff? I'm starting to think that if he does I really will call the cops--he's such a freaking asshole. He's not moving so I have to up the ante. "Uh, yes,"I say quickly, "I'd like to report a strange man following me in a car. I'm sixteen. Yeah. It's a blue Ford Mustang, let me see if I can get the license number."
"Whatever," Colby says suddenly. "I was just trying to be nice. You don't have to be ,such a fucking bitch all the time." He peeled away before I could form a retort. Whatever.
I quickly call back to my house, punch in the code to our answering machine and delete the message. Thank god my parents don't get home for another hour. In my hand I have two dollars and sixty-nine cents in various bills and coins. Enough to take the bus AND buy a water. I smile as I veer off towards the Gas & Go. If I ignore the interruption of Colby Wheeler I can still have a great day. It's all about positive thinking. That's what the therapist said. Not that I was really listening. I never do.
I stick the earbuds of my iPod into my ears and set it to shuffle. Adele's deep, throaty voice drowns out the noise of five hundred high schoolers hitting the streets after the last day of school. It will be a good day. It will. Colby Wheeler be damned.
I told myself I should keep going with the SG-1 fic I was writing last month. But I just couldn't make myself. The story is getting confusing and I'm only focusing on what's happening to Sam and Jack (they are now separated). I thought maybe I could start adding Daniel and Teal'c's story but I don't even remember what they were doing and didn't feel like searching through my posts to find out. So new stuff it was.
I sat there for the longest time with no idea what to write, though. I looked at the prompts at writerverse to see if there was something to spark my interest. I found two that I liked for the weekly quick fic but no stories came to mind. Then I searched through notes I have laying around and found one that was about a girl whose sister dies. She then kind of inadvertently falls in with the sister's boyfriend that she hates and they form a tentative friendship based around their mutual grief. I wasn't sure I wanted to start on anything so heavy but the picture of the girl suddenly became clear to me... at least her clothes. And then the story just took off from there. I've been reading a ton of YA romance and this story was actually sparked by a novel description I read with the basic premise of a girl sliding into the position her sister had when she dies. It was more about her suddenly being popular and everyone wanting to be her friend because of the death. I wanted to write something different, though. For myself. Or maybe Meagan and her friends (she's starting to get into this stuff, too).
So, anyway...
I'm posting the first chapter in all its unedited glory (please ignore any glaring spelling, grammar or style errors)
The working title is: Whatever It Means (because that was the first thing that popped into my head--you'll see why)
[Whatever It Means, chapter 1]Whatever It Means
chapter 1
by Jen Connelly
Black is the new pink. The new blue. And yellow. And green, purple, orange, brown, grey. It's the only color in my wardrobe now. Ever since that day. My mom thinks I need therapy. By best friend, Hannah, is concerned. My dad tries to ignore it. And everyone at school stares when I walk through the halls. Like they've never seen a girl dressed all in black. Whatever.
It's the last day of my sophomore year. My eyes are glued to the clock as I count each little tick. I hate waiting. I get all antsy, my leg starts hammering away and I find myself unable to keep my hands still. Today I'm playing with my pencil--rolling it between my fingers, balancing it on the back of my hand, sliding it into the friendship bracelet on my wrist and winding it tight like a tourniquet until my fingers start to turn blue. Whatever.
"Zoe."
I realize too late that Mr. Vernon is speaking to me. Why that guy has a bug up his butt about getting me to participate I have no idea. I stare intently at my desk, hands and legs finally stilled. He's waiting for me to answer whatever question he'd asked. Or to contribute to the topic of discussion. I have no idea what the class has been talking about--the only thing on my mind is the time. 2:52. He calls my name again but I keep ignoring him. I ignore all the idiots in my class that are now staring at me too. You think he's--they'd--take the hint that I'm not in the mood to talk. About anything. Whatever.
2:55. Vernon has moved on to Spencer Hills who is always more than ready to add his two cents. More like two dollars. That boy loves to talk, especially about himself and all that knowledge he has. What a self-serving, self-involved douche. 2:58. Two more minutes to go. My leg is pounding the floor, rocking my desk and my fingers are twiddling my pencil even faster. I have this nearly uncontrollable urge to chew on my fingernails but I swore to give that up after I made myself bleed once. Eyes to the clock. 3:00. Finally.
The bell rings and I'm out of my seat a beat later, my bag thrown over my shoulder. I hurry towards the door, head down, hands shoved deep in my pockets. I left the pencil on the desk. I present for Mr. Vernon. Amazingly I make it out the door. I could see Vernon try to head my way but he got blindsided by loving students wanting him to sign their year book. They think he's cute. He's one of the few male teachers at the school that are young. In fact, Vernon started this year straight out of college--twenty-three years old. He is kind of cute in that geeky, school teacher sort of way. Not that I was paying attention. Let those other delusional idiots make googly eyes. I'd rather not have all that attention. Whatever. It's over now.
I've already cleared out my locker so I'm heading for the nearest exit but I'm so content on watching my Chuck Taylor clad feet move quickly across the ugly beige linoleum that I don't notice the kid step out of the side hall right in front of me. Damn. I run smack into him. He's so tall and solid I pretty much bounce off and land with a thud on my butt. Sigh. Around me kids snicker and whisper but I ignore them. It's the last day of school, who gives a crap what they think. I'm already the center of the rumor mill around here anyway. I glance up with a frown at the brick wall I just hit and come face to face with the last person I ever want to see again--Colby Wheeler. Whatever.
I slap away the hand he offers then jump to my feet and push past him. He's got about six inches and sixty pounds but slam my shoulder into him with everything I have. He staggers back and I leave the school with a smile on my face. It's replaced with a grimace once I hit the parking lot. Damn, that hurt. But I wasn't going to think about Colby Wheeler. He could drop off the face of the planet and make me the happiest girl alive. Of course he won't. Because he's asshole. But a girl can dream, can't she?
The weather outside is considerably warmer than the temperature controlled classrooms--all of which seem to be set on Arctic Winter. The sun beats down on my black hoodie, sweat popping up around my neck and down my back. I hate being hot. I hate being sweaty and sticky even more. Even more than I hate exposing my arms. Whatever.
I peel off the hoodie, tossing it into my mostly empty back pack. The walk home is about four miles and I'm suddenly regretting not bringing a water bottle today. I stop to dig in my pocket to see how much change I have. I could go grab a bottle at the Gas & Go. Or, you know, take the freaking bus or something. A car pulls up along side me real slow and purposeful. I roll my eyes--way too many creepers in this town. I shoot the driver a glare that should have melted his soul but I'm the one that's surprised. I stand there like a deer caught in headlights.
"Hey, Zoe," Colby says, "you need a ride?"
I just stare at him completely flabbergasted. What the hell is he talking to me for? I don't want to talk to him. I haven't talked to him. Not since... then. We had an agreement--although unvoiced. He stayed away from me, I stayed away from him and we never, ever speak. So why the hell does he have to go and screw it all up now. And on the last day of school. This is supposed to be my day. I rework that glare to little effect. Whatever.
"Not from you," I say as I start walking again. He rolls along with me.
"Come on, don't be like that. It's hotter than hell out. You gonna walk all the way home?"
"That's the plan."
"Let me give you a lift." I'm trying my damnedest to not let him get to me but every word out of his mouth sets off a wave of panic that is quickly bubbling to the surface in the form of rage. "I have air conditioning."
"Get lost."
I pick up the pace. The truth is I'm not actually going home. I rarely go home after school any more. I just can't deal with it--my mother's grief and my father's disappointment. They fuss over me constantly. I guess they're just trying to fill a hole but I'm going crazy. He's still following me and I'm beyond pissed now. I pull out my phone and start dialing.
"Who you calling?" he asks with a jerk of his chin.
I glance over at him so he can get the full effects of my words. "The cops. There's some creep following me and I don't feel safe." On the phone an answering machine picks up: You've reached the Darwin residence. We can't come to the phone right but you know the drill. Beeeep. I glare back at Colby. We're at a stalemate. Will he call my bluff? I'm starting to think that if he does I really will call the cops--he's such a freaking asshole. He's not moving so I have to up the ante. "Uh, yes,"I say quickly, "I'd like to report a strange man following me in a car. I'm sixteen. Yeah. It's a blue Ford Mustang, let me see if I can get the license number."
"Whatever," Colby says suddenly. "I was just trying to be nice. You don't have to be ,such a fucking bitch all the time." He peeled away before I could form a retort. Whatever.
I quickly call back to my house, punch in the code to our answering machine and delete the message. Thank god my parents don't get home for another hour. In my hand I have two dollars and sixty-nine cents in various bills and coins. Enough to take the bus AND buy a water. I smile as I veer off towards the Gas & Go. If I ignore the interruption of Colby Wheeler I can still have a great day. It's all about positive thinking. That's what the therapist said. Not that I was really listening. I never do.
I stick the earbuds of my iPod into my ears and set it to shuffle. Adele's deep, throaty voice drowns out the noise of five hundred high schoolers hitting the streets after the last day of school. It will be a good day. It will. Colby Wheeler be damned.