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themanip · 4 years ago

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yellow roses

⤳ blurb: lee felix and his seven friends are chosen to go to america and attend a private high school. with only three able to speak english fluently, they get assigned another student to help them navigate american high school. they quickly come to realize that the sweet girl who speaks korean is much more than who she shows during school hours.

⤳ pairing: lee felix + willow arroyo ⤳ genre: romance, coming of age, drama, fluff, eventual smut, very angsty ⤳ warnings: chan being super sweet, cursing, mentions of bullying, not much to worry about this chapter ⤳ word count: a little over 3.1k

"Can you turn that music down, please?"

Ronnie tapped her shoulder softly, which surprised the young girl. Swiveling around and yanking a headphone out of her ear, she crinkled her eyebrows at the balding man. "Sorry?"

"Can you turn it down? It's so loud I can hear it," her manager stared at her with blank eyes, and she nodded gently. Pulling her left hand from the swamp of dishes and dirty water, she dried her hand on her apron, and clicking the volume button to a lower setting. "I get it, Winnie. It's not the greatest job in the world, and you wanna listen to music and your grumpy manager is being an ass," she let out a soft chuckle at his words.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I don't mean to be an ass, I'm just exhausted."

"It's alright, I get it. I worked like you did when I was your age, and I know how much it sucked. It was just better for me because I got paid double what you do," he smiled softly, clapping his hands together.

"Minimum wage is no laughing matter, Ronnie. I eat one-fifth of a lemon bar for lunch everyday," she eyed him fake angrily, and his eyes softened. "Really?"

"No, what the hell," she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. "Usually it's a bagel or something,"

"Okay," he sighed softly, taking his cap off and running his hands through his hair. "If you wanna close up a bit earlier, I can come in at five instead of seven,"

Her hands halted as she scrubbed a plate, and she smiled gently. "No, it's okay," she finished washing the last dish, and set it on the drying rack. "You have Eliot now, and I'm sure Olivia isn't getting much sleep without you home during the night, so go home, and take care of your son,"

She melted at the thought of his newborn son, and how beautiful he is. She wasn't extremely good with children, but babies made her absolutely swoon. She also knew how hard newborns were to deal with, and having Ron not home to help probably made things hell for his wife, Olivia.

"You sure?"

One solid nod and a tired grin sent Ronnie on his way home, knowing he would recieve a full night's sleep. Despite the intense amount of work, she loved the diner. It was always warm, she always had at least one plate of food if she needed it, and Ronnie cut her a lot of slack.

She dried her hands off on her apron once more, and headed to the front of the restaurant near the island of stools. It was past midnight now, and occasionally there were some older customers who came in drunk, or just got off work. It seemed to be a quiet night, so she figured it wouldn't be too bad if she took a quick pee break.

On the other end of the diner were the restrooms, and she scrambled over there. Her footsteps and the dark shadows in the bathrooms often creeped her out, she went in, did her business, and left. Once she opened the door, she spotted two bewildered teenage boys at the front door, looking around with wide eyes.

"Hey, are you guys open? I saw it said twenty-four hours but—"

He had an Australian accent, and it made Willow purr on the inside. "Yes! Yes we are, I'm sorry," she sighed in embarassment, and rushed to the front of the diner. Her boots, which usually help her feet with the consistent standing, are now a nuisance as she stumbles across the floor.

"Oh no worries, we know it's kind of late,"

As Willow stumbled next to the boy, who she now saw another boy standing next to him with red cheeks. His accent was beautiful, she thought. He was also inhumanely good looking. The one who'd spoken to her had darker brown hair, on the wavier side. He had a larger nose, and his lips were quite full. He was beautiful.

The other one stood silent, and Willow smiled and held menus. "Booth or do you wanna sit at the island?"

"Uh, booth please," the brunette spoke up once more, and she silently led them to a booth that was clean and somewhat in the middle of the restaurant. Gentle background music filled the silence, and all that was heard was soft scuffling as the two boys followed the only girl working.

She sat them down, and the other blonde boy smiled sheepishly. "Here are your menus, can I get you something to drink first?"

"Can I get a coke, please?"

That time, it was the boy who'd she never heard speak. His voice was deeper, almost curiously soft. The brunette spoke once more, "Do you have tea?"

"Of course, sir. Unsweetened or sweetened?"

"Oh, sweetened please," he nodded thoughtfully, smiling. "I will be right back with your drinks, take a look over the menu and you can let me know what you want at your earliest convenience," Willow smiled genuinely, and she bowed slightly. She didn't even mean to, she just felt odd alone, at midnight, with two teenage boys in her diner.

"She called you sir, Chan," the blonde boy whispered to the one opposite him, this Chan character. "She's really nice, we have to leave a good tip," Chan responded, and that's all Willow managed to hear before she started making their drinks.

The next hour or so dragged on, with Chan, Willow, and the other figure, whom she'd learn is Felix, and her coming back and forth to collect orders, serve seconds, cook said seconds, and giving refills. Each time, Chan would apologize for inconveniencing her as if it wasn't her job, and she would smile softly. She could tell that he would never be rude to fast food workers or people just intending to do their job.

Usually, there would be a chef, or at least someone who can cook, and at least one other person working. The past few weeks had been Willow mostly by herself, picking up extra shifts, and as long as it wasn't busy, she could manage cooking and waittressing. She got paid double time, and she picked up overtime on days where Ron did not want to come in early. He also didn't want to burden Helena, one of his other over-nighters, who'd just gotten back on her feet after a house fire.

She wasn't a bad cook, and she was quick on her feet. She could hold down her own, and Ronnie knew that. Hence he trusted her with his entire diner, on most nights, and to hold the fort down. She would now easily bring home paychecks over a grand, with taxes taken out every week. As her two very cute customers continued eating their seconds, she scribbled messily on her notepad on the counter.

She stood on the inside of the island counter, and was counting expenses. She had a lot of shit to worry about, bills included. Gas, electric, dog food, groceries. She could take maybe three hundred dollars off her bill fund thanks to her mother, but it still didn't help in the scheme of things.

Frustrated, she scribbled out her list. She had to worry about this later, there was no need to worry before she got her paycheck. Her eyes felt heavy, and she tried to rub the sleepiness from them. She had at least five more hours before she could even think about leaving, and she still had to clean this place from top to bottom.

"Do you think we could get the check, please?"

Chan's timid voice broke her from her daze, and her face reddened in embarassment. She had forgotten they were here. Setting her pen down hastily, she shuffled over to grab the printed out receipt, and held it tightly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to zone off like that," she set the check down, and took notice of their neatly stacked plates with silverware crossed on top. Her cleanup would be very easy, and she absolutely loved when she had customers like this. "Oh, no worries," Chan smiled and eyed the check. "Is it okay if I take these?"

Pointing towards the stack of plates, the other boy, Felix, quickly grabbed them and handed them to her. Underneath the plates, their fingers touched briefly. A sheepish smile followed from both, and she quickly scurried to put the plates in the dishwasher. All she had to do was get them checked out, clean the three plates, clean the milkshake cups, the soda cups, and sweep. Some general maintenance, and if nobody else came in, she was in for a decent night.

"Hey, you didn't charge us for the milkshakes," Chan mentioned softly, slight accusatory tone. "They're on the house," Willow smiled back from the bar island, and Chan cocked his head in confusion, "if that's okay,"

"That's really kind, thank you," once again, a gentle, dimple-filled smile from Chan, and a sheepish, red-cheeked one from Felix. She wished to hear the blonde boy speak again, his voice so rich, so deep. He seemed sweet.

Her first thought was that they were boyfriends. It angered her, but only in a way that two of the cutest guys she'd possibly ever seen were together. It was adorable, to say the least. Little did she know, they were definitely not together.

Willow came to collect the money, and Felix stared up at her. "Are you from around here?"

Her eyes widened, and her mind went blank. That was usually how someone asked if she would be missed had she been kidnapped. "That sounded really creepy, I'm sorry," he clarified, and she loosened her shoulders a bit, "We are new to town, and we don't know where Glarien Avenue is. We just moved in, and can't find our way back. The GPS says the street doesn't exist," he finished quickly, and she nodded gently, deciding on whether or not to tell him.

"Oh, uh," she bit her lip, "the street got a new sign on accident, and the GPS or whatever national database that programs the information never got updated, I guess. If you pull out of here, take a left and go forward like three-ish blocks. There's gonna be a bright yellow house, and once you see that turn right, and then take a sharp right again and if you just keep going down you should see Glarien. If you get lost, just come back,"

It took only five minutes for the two Australian boys to clear out, and for Willow to finally take a breath. As she took care of all of the dishes, she went for the check last. Their total was somewhat cheap, twenty-three dollars, for two full meals, two sodas, a sweet tea, and extra sides of fries.

As she counted out the money, she was thoroughly confused. There were two twenties, and two fives. There was fifty dollars here, and their meal was less than thirty. On the check was a small note.

Really good food, really good service. We hope you have an amazing night, and whatever is left after our tab is paid is yours. Thank you!

An exasperated sigh left her mouth, and she sat in the booth where the two boys sat. Staring at the money in front of her, her chest felt heavy. All of her emotions poured out, and the thought that a strangers kindness' brought her to tears was shameful yet elating. That would be three less hours she would have to work, three more hours of sleep, or soccer practice, or studying. More time to not stress over bills.

She sat there for a few minutes, breathing in and out, as deep as she could. Wiping her face of any tear remnants, she stood up, collecting the money in hand. As she eyed the clock, she sighed inwardly. It was only 2 AM.

A little less than five hours later, she was walking into the doors of LaPrine High School, with at least two hundred other students. For seven in the morning, teenagers were pretty damn annoying. Squeals and loud murmurs was everything that she could hear, and it made her turn her headphones up louder.

For a private school full of snobby inbreds, there were some okay kids there. Most of them were the scholarship kids, who'd had their fares paid for, like Willow. If someone found out that you were a scholar student, you'd immediately be laughed at and taunted. She managed to keep hers a secret, though. She excelled, and she made sure to throw in an occasional snicker when needed to prove she was just one among the bunch.

She wasn't popular by any means, but everyone knew her. She was a suck up, that was for sure. Every teacher liked her, her grades were impeccable, and she was an all-star soccer player. She managed to have better stats than Ian Rewns, the past all star soccer legend, and he wasn't even a midfielder.

She also was known to stay pretty quiet, and to herself socially. She had a few casual friends, some classmates she talked to, but nobody really close. She was okay with that, she was pretty busy anyways. She had school from eight in the morning to three, then soccer practice from four to six-thirty, and if there wasn't a game, she'd go home around seven, and at eleven she would go work the graveyard shift at the diner. On average, she'd get four to five hours of sleep. Friends, or a social life, just take away from that time.

As she stopped at her locker to pull out her textbooks, she felt a tap on her shoulder. "Ms. Arroyo," it was her principal, Mrs. Samson. "Can you come with me, please?"

It was only two weeks into the school year, so there wasn't much she could get in trouble for. Maybe it was to rearrange her classes? No, every class she had was only alotted for that specific hour, there was no way. Her tuition? God, she hoped not.

"How are your classes so far?" as they rounded the office hallway, Mrs. Samson was making casual conversation. The clicking of her heels intimidated Willow a bit, but she'd known her for over a year. She wasn't as scary as everyone made her out to be. "They're good, I just finally settled in,"

"I know this year seems like it may be hard, but by the looks of your GPA next year, I think you'll be satisfied with it." Praise made Willow purr like a kitten, and her entire body tingled at the realization that this probably wasn't bad.

"Me too," she replied softly, and Mrs. Samson held the door to her office open for her, and they stepped in. Her office was tidy, shades of light blue and gray, and was a little too cold for Willow's liking. "Come and take a seat, hun,"

Unsure still, she took a seat. Her back didn't touch the seat, her anxiety from not knowing why she was there overtaking her comfortability. "You're not in trouble, don't worry," the older woman smiled at her as she took her own seat opposite her desk.

"So, I know you are a busy girl," she looked at her with eyes of compassion, and a soft smile decorated her face. "I have a proposition for you," she continued.

"Do you happen to remember when you did student tours for the incoming freshman?" Her first year at LaPrine, she was allowed to do student tours as community service hours for NHS. She was actually so good at it, and the organization of it, that she got to do it again this summer, and handled it all by herself without any staff. It was pulled off effortlessly.

"Of course, this year too," Willow nodded in agreement, and she waited for the woman to continue. "Well, if you agree to help me for a while this year, I will make sure all of your community hours are taken care of, and anything else you need help with will be considered done,"

Willow wanted her to get to the point.

"What is it?"

"Remember on your National Honor Society resume, you said you're bilingual and speak more than just English? You weren't lying, right?"

Willow laughed so hard she nearly bust a lung, and quickly covered her mouth with her hand. "Mrs. Samson, my last name is Arroyo. But of course, I can speak more than just Spanish, though,"

"You listed Korean, correct?" she eyed a piece of paper, which was most likely her aforementioned resume.

"Yeah, I can speak it somewhat fluently, and I can read Hangul well, I sometimes have trouble writing it, though. I don't imagine I'll be writing Korean letters, will I?" Willow's Hangul was absolutely preposterous, any native Korean would agree.

"No, that's silly," The elder crossed her hands together, and leaned forward. "Starting tomorrow, we have eight foreign exchange students coming from Korea, and you are an exemplar student who also happens to speak said language. One is a native English speaker, and two others speak it fluently. The rest can manage only a conversation or two, so you can understand our worry. I'm sure it would be nice for them to have a friend as well,"

"For the rest of the year?"

"Yes, but I'm sure that they'll manage to speak more fluently as the year progresses," and Willow shook her head, "I'm not worried about the language, I just don't know how that would work,"

"How so?"

"Well, are they all girls? Are they boys? Is it a mix? And won't their classes be much different than mine?"

"They're all boys, ranging from sophomore to seniors, and they're super sweet. Very respectful boys, from what I hear. I promise you, I will make it worth it if you help me out, and at least be a friend and reliable student to these boys. And no, they will not all have the same classes as you, but it will probably be courses you have taken, save for the seniors."

"I will also put in a good word for you to Mr. Ramirez, and how that head position on the team should be an exemplar student and player," she mentioned the soccer coach, and Willow cringed inwardly. She hadn't spoke Korean, in full length sentences, in over a year. She could remember it, but she'd be rusty.

"Okay, but you owe me one. No, more like eight; you owe me eight, Mrs. Samson."

"Deal. Come in tomorrow early if you can, and you can give them the tour. I will be here as well, so if you want to meet me in the cafeteria, I will bring you coffee."

"I like my coffees with extra creamer and sugar."

"Done."

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limejuicer1862 · 5 years ago

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Wombwell Rainbow Interviews

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger.

The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

Rachael Ikins

Rachael Ikins has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize & CNY Book Award multiple times and won the 2018 Independent Book Award for Just Two Girls. She featured at the Tyler Gallery 2016, Rivers End Bookstore 2017, ArtRage gallery 2018, Caffe Lena, Saratoga Springs, Aaduna fundraiser 2017 Auburn, NY, Syracuse Poster Project 2015, and Palace Poetry, Syracuse. Her work is included in the 2019 anthologies Gone Dogs and We Will Not Be Silenced the latter Book Authority’s #2 pick for the top 100 Best New Poetry Books for 2019. She has 7 chapbooks, a full length poetry collection and a novel. She is a graduate of Syracuse University and Associate Editor of Clare Songbirds Publishing House. She lives in a small house with her animal family surrounded by nature and is never without a book in hand.

Associate Editor Clare Songbirds Publishing House, Auburn NY

https://www.claresongbirdspub.com/shop/featured-authors/rachael-ikins/

2018 Independent Book Award winner (poetry)

2013, 2018, 2019 CNY Book Award nominee

2016, 2018 Pushcart nominee

Www.writerraebeth.wordpress.com

https://m.facebook.com/RachaelIkinsPoetryandBooks/

@poetreeinmoshun on Instagram

@writerraebeth on Tumblr

@nestl493 on Twitter

Above all, practice kindness

The Interview

1. What inspired you to write poetry?

I started writing poetry in second grade when I was 7. I still know that silly poem by heart that I’d written for Halloween. And it was about cats. Some things never change, although I write about more than cats now. As far as inspiration I suppose it was hearing it—I speak several languages— poetry is its own language. My first grade teacher had us copy poems to learn penmanship from the chalk board. My father used to have me read psalms from the Bible at bed time as I learned to read more. I think I was just born a poet. Only one period of my life was I unable to write and that was caused by serious adverse reaction to medications. It was a bleak time.

2. Who introduced you to poetry?

I have already mentioned my dad and my first grade teacher. The most significant person was my 8th grade English teacher. A poet and author herself, she presented the unit on poetry ( met with groans esp. from the boys) by having us go out into the community to find poems in magazines and periodicals and cut them out. To create a notebook of poems. She had us each get a copy of two seminal poetry books, Poetry USA and Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle and we were assigned poems and practiced. We performed for a small crowd one afternoon in the school library. It made a huge difference to be taught by someone who was passionate about poetry. No English teacher for the rest of my school years ever came close. We are still friends. She is in her 80s now and still writing in multiple genres, attending workshops and publishing.

3. How aware were you of the dominating presence of older poets?

I’m not sure what this question refers to. Older in history poets or older people I knew who liked or wrote poetry. My father was given, as were all soldiers, The Pocket Book of Poetry. Soldiers would carry it under their helmets. My dad still had his copy, and we used to read from that little book. So I was aware of the masters as a kid, but had not known an actual adult poet until I was 14.

4. What is your daily writing routine?

I tend to work in the mornings. I browse markets using social media a lot, too. If I find something interesting I will match up the pieces I want to submit and then revise and polish. As far as new work, again, it tends to be written mornings. I was riding my bike yesterday morning, and a poem started up in my head. This has always been a way I write. Other days something will happen, something that has been subconsciously simmering will say “It’s time!” Whatever else I had planned that day will take back seat to the need to write, and I may write for 5 hours straight.

Walking or riding and letting my mind roam. Once the body is craving relief, all extraneous clutter- thought goes away and clears space for something new to appear. I just listen for it.

5. What motivates you to write?

A feeling of not having achieved some mysterious rubicon yet. I have won a lot of prizes and as well published quite a lot of books with three publishers in multiple genres, and yet I am just driven. I also have to say, I think I can’t help it. Writing is like breathing to me. “Write or die.” I would also like to make a significant amount of money at my craft/passion to make a dent in my monthly budget. Would I like to support myself at it? For sure, but I don’t know if that will ever happen. I have intense focus and ability to pursue something no matter who detracts from it. That has done well for me, too. Because in spite of teacher support, my family never took my writing seriously until the past decade.

6. What is your work ethic?

My work ethic has always been work hard and help one another. We are all in this together. Contests aside, we are not competitors though some act that way. Help someone else. Don’t trample someone with your ambition. Pay it forward. Honesty. Write honestly.

7. How do the writers you read when you were young influence you today?

Oh, that is an easy one. I first tried to read Tolkien to myself as an 8 year old. Was a tad daunting. Instead I read all of Milne’s Winnie the Pooh books. The classics. Read Tolkien again in my 20s and was hooked. Both these authors made a mark on me somehow, scarred my heart and brain because decades later after writing nothing but poetry since age 14, in my 40s I wrote a series of children’s stories and the initial chapters of what became the first book in the Tales from the Edge of the Woods series, Totems. My understanding of fantasy and my choice of magical characters and so on was sparked by those great authors. My children’s stories stayed in a box until about a year ago, through 7 moves. I showed them to a publisher last year and we worked on edits. A Piglet for David will be coming from Clare Songbirds Publishing House later this year, the first in a series of young reader chapter books.

8. Who of today’s writers do you admire and why?

I admire J. K. Rowling though I am not a Harry Potter fan. Like her, I have known horrible poverty. You just do the work, period. And if you become successful, you do good with it. I also have always admired poet Marge Piercy. Since her book The Moon is Always Female in the ‘80s with its erotic poems connected to the natural world and also cat poetry Marge has seemed to appear along the journey just when I needed an example to follow. I have also been at work on straight fiction, a lesbian adventure/ romance for awhile. I have never been fond of reading explicit sexual descriptions. It bores me. Do it, don’t discuss it lol.

I had to write a love scene and had no idea how to do so. One thing about love scenes is it is easy for them to be unimaginative.

I was in a bookstore and found an anthology Best Lesbian Erotica, not sure of the year. Looking through the table of contents I saw Marge Piercy had a short story in it. So I bought it, read her story and the rest of them, then faced off one night, sweating, in front of my computer and wrote the scene. A few years later my story “The Horse Rescuer” was accepted for publication, and I was paid probably the most for one piece I’ve been so far.

In 2014 I noticed Marge on FaceBook so I private-messaged her, one of those “You don’t know me but…” expressions of gratitude for her presence in my literary life. She responded and suggested I submit to her June Poetry Intensive. She chooses 12 students for a week long workshop every year. I finally got to meet my hero.

I like Mary Oliver’s poetry, too, but Marge is the one who has always been there in some sort of magical way. There are really too many authors for me to list.

9. Why do you write as opposed to doing anything else?

I can’t not write. And when a poem in particular or a scene if we’re talking prose, starts coming together in my mind, I have to stop whatever else I’m doing. It’s like going into labor I guess. You can’t tell the baby you’ve changed your mind, stay in there.

10. What would you say to someone who asks “How do you become a writer.”

You write. The best way to become a writer is to read everything you can get your hands on. Then you write. Maybe you start out emulating a style of someone you like to read. Keep writing and eventually your own voice will be heard. Writing is the most labor-intensive, long-term gamble of a profession going. You can theoretically spend, for example, 5 years writing a novel, another several seeking an agent and publisher if you want to go the path of the big 5 publishers, and yet you can spend a whole decade of your life on that one project and it may never be accepted. Or sell. Know that up front. Study. Go to workshops. Find a writing group. Read at open mics. And if/ when you reach a point where you have something to submit, read the specs the publisher lists as to how to submit to their publication. It shows respect. Many a writer has been summarily rejected for not submitting the way the publisher requested. Be tough. Opinions are completely subjective. Being rejected by a publication is meaningless. Editors are human beings. We all have different tastes. Don’t take it to heart. If you are lucky enough to get a note of feedback along with the rejection, learn from that. Read books about writing.

It’s hard. Be aware. Being a writer is not for the faint of heart. If you are serious about it you will pursue it no matter what. We only pass this way one time. So if you really want to do this, do it.

11. Tell me about the writing projects you have on at the moment.

Right now I am in the midst of launching my mixed-genre memoir, Eating the Sun. It is the love story of my husband and me. Organized by seasons of the year, the garden is the vehicle that takes the reader on the journey. Each section starts with narrative and then has poetry related to it, and finally recipes created by us from garden ingredients we grew. I use my artwork often in my books when publishers allow it.

This book has pen and inks, photography and cover art by me. I have a second manuscript submitted to a publisher. It is all poetry titled Confessions of a Poetry Whore. Another poetry manuscript to be sent this fall is titled Riding in Cars with Dogs. It will be the companion book to my previously published For Kate: a Love Story in Four Parts written after the death of my beloved cat, Katie. Since grief is a universal experience and so is love, no matter what shape the beloveds, this book is accessible to anyone who has lost someone. The second fantasy book of the Tales of the Woodland series, Beach Wrack has been written and edited professionally and is in the queue with a mid-level publisher. Book 3, Through the Hedgerow is half written.

All four or five of the young reader chapter books are written as well. A Piglet for David will be Book 1. These also have my artwork as illustrations. My work is contained in 5 upcoming anthologies, and I am eagerly awaiting copies. All releasing this summer and fall. Both writing and artwork.

Last but not least, I am at work on a thriller/horror genre novel. Haven.

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Rachael Ikins Wombwell Rainbow Interviews I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me.

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