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mourninggaylibra · 2 years ago

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1 — Marching Band and the London Eye

It is the fall of 2015, and I am in love for the first time.

The high school I attended had a reputation for having one of the best arts programs in the state. With multiple musical ensembles, a well-funded theater program, and talented students to participate in them, my attendance was largely in pursuit of realizing a dream I had since I was young. The story, I’m told, is that one day at age three, I asked my mother to enroll me in piano lessons. After she did, I never stopped playing, with dreams of going to a music conservatory and performing for audiences as a living. Music was my greatest passion, and the high school I attended let me broaden my musicality when I joined the marching band.

In retrospect, I do not look back on marching band fondly. But in order to participate in the concert season—your typical sit-down playing in a concert hall—you had to first finish marching season. The marching season is rigorous: with band camp, weekly rehearsals, frequent weekend rehearsals, and a number of competitions, the entire season is time-consuming. It also affords an opportunity to get well-acquainted with those who march alongside you; and that was how I met 1.

At first, 1 was not much of a musician; part of the perks of joining the school’s marching band was that you could attend the spring break trip, which this year, was a trip to London. These trips are an incentive for lots of students who don’t mind the rehearsals and performances, only to never pick up their instrument again upon graduation. I got the impression that this was why 1 had joined the band when I was marching beside him, but didn’t mind; I was excited to go to London, too.

1 and I stood next to each other in our field formation, a formation that was randomly selected by the marching director. Between musical runs, the students on the field would chat to pass the time, and the conversations I had with the people around me were no different. I asked general, get-to-know-you questions at first, especially when I didn’t know the person standing next to me. “How long have you been playing?” “What kind of music do you listen to?” “What classes are you taking?” When I asked these questions to 1, he told me that he was in advanced math, that he loved ‘80s rock, and that he had started taking lessons for his instrument because he wanted to become a better player.

As the marching season progressed, small talk with 1 turned into laughs, and the laughs blossomed into the most fulfilling friendship I had experienced in my life. My exchanges with 1 on the field were natural, and the rehearsal’s long hours passed quickly. Soon performances and competitions began, where 1 and I shared our excitement over a good score and frustration for scores that weren’t what we’d hoped for. The performances allowed our conversations to go on outside the marching field, and when we finally exchanged numbers, we were able to speak to each other every day for hours on end, talking about everything from our families, to our dreams, to our struggles. Sharing my thoughts with 1 came easier than anything in my life had before; where my piano practice sessions were long and arduous and my schoolwork was boring and time consuming, talking to 1 was as easy as breathing.

Two months later, as marching season came to a close, 1 and I remained close. I’d told him about my life’s passion, the piano, and my plan to study it after high school. When he heard about my dream, he asked me to play for him. I think it was mostly out of curiosity: I told him that I skipped class on multiple occasions to practice on the piano in the choir room to prepare for my college auditions. When he asked to hear me, I think a part of him wanted to know what someone who really loved music sounded like when they played, to really discover what it meant to hear someone who loved the sounds they created unconditionally.

To me, playing for other people is almost a sacred act. With each note played, the weight of all my past mistakes and regrets is released, and for a few short minutes, I am free of the burden of my own perceived shortcomings. Playing for 1 meant that he would see a piece of me that few others do; and to play for him privately only meant the scene would be that much more intimate. It would be a private concert, but I couldn’t refuse.

I played Beethoven for him. When I finished, he applauded, even though he and I were the only people in the room. My face was beet red as I took my hands off the keys and turned to look at him. “You really inspire me,” he said after he finished clapping. “I’ve really started to like classical music since I met you, and I think we should play something together sometime.” He continued to tell me about what he was working on in his music lessons, and proposed we begin rehearsing to play it together.

When I agreed it was because we wouldn’t be working towards a performance or a competition, as we had been so used to in the band program. These private rehearsals were just for us to share our love of music with one another, to spend time together, and privately marvel at the music we could create.

Our rehearsals started soon after I initially played for 1, but to call our meetings ‘rehearsals’ doesn’t describe how we spent the time together. Sure, we played for maybe fifteen minutes, but then we’d pack up our things and leave for a restaurant or café, and just sink into what came so easily: conversation and laughter. Sitting across from each other on those days was as if we had not seen each other in weeks. We always had new things to talk about, a different situation to laugh about, or new music to share with each other, and the conversation never stalled. At the end of these ‘rehearsals,’ one of us would drive the other home, and we’d continue to talk on the phone with as much urgency as we had at the dinner we just left. Everything he said made me smile, and our friendship was second nature to me: We’d enjoy the afternoon together, I’d drive him home, he’d call, and I’d answer with butterflies in my stomach, trying to hide the giddy grin that automatically appeared on my face when I read his name on my phone.

I started developing feelings for 1 during those rehearsals, and the feelings scared me. 1 had easily become the person who knew me best, and it was inevitable that I would develop a crush. We had been spending so much time together, going to dinners and only breaking our conversations to sleep, that I wished I could tell him how much I never wanted our time together to end. But I had no idea what he thought of me. I thought the ease of our conversation might mean that he liked me back, but I couldn’t know for sure. Despite asking each other about so much, our romantic inclinations were never the topic of discussion, and I wondered if he viewed our relationship in the same way I did.

I had two options in terms of dealing with my crush: I could tell 1 how I felt and risk losing him, or I could do nothing, and continue being his best friend. Maybe he felt the same way, and I was wasting time by keeping the secret of how I felt to myself. For the time being, I chose not to tell him, hopeful that perhaps the reason why we never spoke about our crushes was because he was afraid of losing me, too.

As the months passed, we fell into a schedule of waiting for each other outside of class, escorting one another to the next one, and waiting for the next hour to end so we could see each other again. And while the rehearsals eventually ended, the dinners and coffee shop visits did not. We continued to learn more about each other: I told him about my tumultuous family life, he told me about his life before he moved here. It seemed that with every day our relationship deepened, and even when it seemed neither of us had anything left to say, there was always more. We were eager to learn absolutely all there was to know about the other.

With each added detail, my feelings for him grew larger, to the point that they felt bigger than myself. By springtime, I felt I had to tell him my secret. My feelings about him were a weight on my heart, sinking into my stomach, and leaving my head with little else to think about other than, “what if?” What if he liked me back? What if he is waiting for me to tell him? These prospects excited me, but another question was ready to pull the rug from under my feet entirely: what if he doesn’t like me back?

By this time, the London trip was a few weeks away. 1 was excited to see a new place, but my feelings for him dampened my excitement. I fantasized about what would happen when we left: seeing the landmarks, trying new food, walking the cobble-stoned streets together; but if we were to explore London together, would I be able to continue to keep the secret? I didn’t think I could. I had to tell him how I felt about him.

1 stood in the courtyard after school had ended for the day, and the band was prepped to leave for London in a week. I had skipped my last class to play piano in the choir room, and when the bell rang for the day, I felt that today was the day to tell him my secret. I couldn’t carry the feelings with me anymore, and if it ended badly, I would have time to readjust my London expectations; namely, seeing the city without him telling jokes at my side.

When I walked up to him that day, it was like any of the other hundreds of times we had approached each other before. It was routine: a smile, a “hey,” and a jump into whatever funny story we had to tell that day. “Hey,” he said to me, excited and gleeful. He looked at me, expecting me to tell him where I’d been for the last hour and about whatever excuse I gave an administrator who walked in on my practice session. But I couldn’t say anything at all.

“Everything alright?” he asked. I looked at him, in the eyes I had come to love, and hugged him before he could see that mine were watering.

I told him, with my head on his shoulder and his arms wrapped around me, “I think I like you. I really like you. And I don’t know what to do about it anymore, but you’re my best friend. And I just feel like I have to tell you. I am so scared to tell you, please don’t be angry with me.” I let go of him, looked at him again, and walked away before he could say anything back. I was embarrassed and I felt vulnerable. I had never confessed my feelings to anyone before; but then again, I had never felt this way about anyone before.

A million thoughts were racing through my head as I walked away from 1 and rushed to my car, chief among them that I shouldn’t have left him there. I dropped an emotional ton of bricks on him and left him alone. No matter what he thinks about what I said, he surely doesn’t like that I didn’t give him a chance to answer. To this day I wonder what he would’ve said to me had I never ran away after I told him.

In my car I expected him to call. Even though it was our routine to talk after school, I didn’t dare call him. I had told him what was weighing on me, and it was his turn to respond to it. On that day, my phone never lit up with his name. Instead, I bawled as I drove home, convinced that I lost the closest friend that I’ve ever had and that I would see London without him.

The days leading up to London were largely the same as that drive home. I skipped more classes than usual to practice and cry in the choir room, waiting for 1 to ask where I was, to ask me to dinner to talk, to tell me he doesn’t even remember what I said to him. But he didn’t even look at me, let alone talk to me, after that day in the courtyard. I was afraid of what it would be like seeing him on the trip to London. Would he act like he didn’t know me?

As I packed for London, I resolved to let 1 keep his space, and to enjoy the trip as best as I could. On the busses, the flights, and group outings to London, I kept close to my other friends; and he did the same. Though part of the same band, we never crossed paths. London was beautiful, and it was a challenge to not let my mistake ruin the trip. But I ended up loving every moment, spent close to the friends I loved and who loved me back; without romance complicating any of it.

We explored the museums and the centuries’ old architecture, in awe of the idea that we were standing in buildings that were older than the country we were visiting from. The final night in London was spent watching a show in West End, followed by a trip around the London Eye: a huge Ferris wheel overlooking the city. We decided to watch The Phantom of the Opera, and once it was over, we walked to stand in line for the Eye, eager to view London from its peak. By the time we arrived at the front of the line, the usher put us in a partially filled car whose other inhabitants I should have seen coming: 1 was in it with a few of his friends. The usher motioned for us to get in the car, and we couldn’t refuse. I looked at 1 as I entered and didn’t know what I wanted to happen once the car started moving. Did I want him to talk to me and repair our relationship, creating a scene that could only come from a movie: a reconciliation while looking at the most famous view of London? Or did I want to enjoy this moment without risk of spoiling it with my tumultuous feelings about 1?

As I entered the car and 1 turned to look at me, he smiled wordlessly. I smiled back and eagerly moved to the window of the car, watching the sidewalk below get smaller and smaller as the wheel lifted us ever higher. Among the group’s gushes at the city’s beauty, we shamelessly asked others to take photos of us. My friends and I stood, our backs to London’s skyline, and smiled as other members of the band took our picture, then we’d do the same for them. It was as beautiful as any other moment I’d experienced that far in my life. As we ascended, all of us were transfixed by the scene: Big Ben in one corner, the Thames in another, and the city’s bright lights illuminating the car. I thought of how much I would have loved to share this moment with 1. In knowing that he was only a few feet away from me, I felt a wispy melancholy, the kind that is fleeting but nevertheless felt; like a sudden and light rain on a long walk home.

I was pointing out the London landmarks we had visited the day before to a friend when 1 came up to us. He looked at me with kind and sympathetic eyes, and asked if my friend would take a picture of he and I. My friend smiled as she took the camera 1 offered, and arm-in-arm, 1 and I smiled as the camera shuttered, and the car rounded the top of the Eye. He retrieved his camera, said “thanks,” and returned to the view.

When I look at the photo of 1 and I now, I’m reminded of everything that isn’t in the frame: the near-instant friendship, the months of rehearsals and dinners and phone calls, the history we confided in each other, the happiness I felt when I saw him at the end of a long day, the music we shared. Of the many things that 1 became: my first crush, my first confession, and eventually, my first heartbreak, the picture of us with London’s lights behind us reminds me that most importantly, he was the closest friend I had ever had as a confused and lonely gay teenager. His company was a comfort in that confusing time, and to this day, few others have wanted to learn about me in the same way that 1 did; and perhaps because of him, I am more hesitant to share my inner-most thoughts with anyone else.

When the car reached the bottom of the Eye, we departed and 1 pulled me aside as the others continued on. I had an overwhelming urge to apologize to him for ruining our friendship, and as I took a breath to speak, he stopped me with his own words. He said to me, “I was so mad at you. I am so mad at you. I wrote a million things to say to you and never said any of them because of how mad I felt when you left. But I care about you so much. You are my musical inspiration and my best friend, and I don’t like when you aren’t in my life. I don’t want to be strangers to each other, but I don’t feel the same way about guys that you do.”

When he finished, I was heartbroken and happy at the same time: happy that he was finally talking to me, heartbroken that he would never feel about me the way I did about him. “It’s okay,” I replied. “I’m so sorry.” He hugged me before we joined the others, and as the band returned to the hotel, I wondered what would happen when we returned home.

Everything was different after that night outside the London Eye. At our now-infrequent visits, 1 told me about girls he liked, and about the dates he went on with them. He no longer looked at me with the same eyes that he did prior to learning my secret, and when he would cancel plans to see his dates, we would fight. It was a difficult thing to fashion a friendship when the sting of his rejection still lingered in my chest. While I was eager to hear about his dates, they brought me no joy. I grew jealous of the girls he dated, and was upset with 1 for even telling me about them; livid when he would cancel our rare plans to see them instead of me.

The last fight we had was when he cancelled our plans for an afternoon at the café together to go to the birthday party for the brother of a girl he had been seeing. It was immature for me to be upset, in retrospect, but I was having difficulty balancing what I wanted, with what he wanted. I quickly realized that I was no longer the best friend that had happened upon him one day on the marching field. I was a murky figure in the background, where his interest had shifted to spending time girls. I confronted him about the birthday party, “You don’t even know her brother,” I said to him when he cancelled. “What’s the point of going?”

When he tried to reason with me, I grew angrier. “I really like this girl, and it really doesn’t have to do with her brother at all,” he said. “I just want to spend time with her.”

“But we had plans, and I never see you anymore. You can’t just cancel out of nowhere for someone you barely know.” I felt dejected, replaceable, and forgotten. I guess that in the time we didn’t speak, he was able to pursue other things—including girls—to fill the hole that I had left when I confessed my feelings to him. His world was bigger without me in it.

The argument was getting worse. We started using the things we knew about each other against the other, making me regret ever telling him about my past. He eventually used my own confession against me, affirming my deepest fears that I was his burden, and that I was only in his life out of pity. “It’s not my fault you’re in love with me. You need so much validation from me, and it is so tiring,” he said.

When he said that to me, I thought of what he told me when I played Beethoven for him for the first time, all those months ago. Between then and now, 1 was affectionate towards me, eagerly waited for me outside of my classes, and confessed that I had inspired to make him a better musician. While I was grateful for his friendship after the night on the London Eye, I didn’t want our history be the only thing we still had in common, and I couldn’t be his burden anymore. “Have fun at the party then. I hope I didn’t ruin it.” With that, I resolved to never ask him for anything else, and to refuse if he were to ask to grab dinner or coffee again. I couldn’t continue to see him now that I knew how he truly saw me: a problem to tend to, a burden to carry, and an admirer to pity.

My phone lit up again, and I expected a hateful reply to ensure he had the last word. To my surprise, 1 answered in what was the last kind thing he said to me. “I’m not even going to the party anymore. I wouldn’t be fighting with you about this if I didn’t care about you.” I read this and cried about him for the last time. His words indicated that the relationship had become something complicated, where true nostalgia was mixed with regret. That’s how I viewed our friendship then, back in the spring of 2016, and indeed, it is how I view it now: an automatic friendship that grew too fast, and a series of firsts that I didn’t know would let me fall without a net to catch me. 1 was the first time I played piano for a crush, the first time I went out to dinner with a boy, and the first time I hoped that our times together would never end.

I will never forget those initial words he said to me when he heard me play Beethoven; “You inspire me, and I’ve really gotten into classical music since I’ve met you.” I reflect on those words especially now, when I see that he continued to study music into adulthood. I like to think that those rehearsals together had a positive impact, and I hope 1 looks on them as fondly as I do. I also know that with those rehearsals came too much attachment.

That was how I thought relationships were when I first confessed to 1: a bond shared with someone you couldn’t stand to be apart from, and who you could keep conversation with for hours on end. Part of me still hopes that maybe one day another person will again light up when I play piano for them or make me feel comfortable enough in sharing my inner-most thoughts in the same way that 1 did. To date, he’s the only one who has.

In the summer after our fight, 1 and I reconciled. We apologized, and even had the chance to perform together again, albeit under more professional circumstances. I wonder what today would look like had I never approached him in the courtyard all those years ago and confessed how I truly felt. While I have the hindsight to know that I was young and naïve, I still feel the same tinge of regret in my heart that I did when I saw him on the Eye, for losing someone so important to me.

#prose #short story #evelyn hugo #seven husbands of evelyn hugo #taylor jenkins reid #literature #my writing #gay love #gay art

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marlowe1-blog · 2 years ago

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"The Music Teacher" (The Stories of John Cheever)

Demeter, Are you teaching piano?

I finally agree with the critics who see witchcraft in the stories of John Cheever. I am not certain that it's obvious that Ms. Deming the music teacher is Demeter who is leading the people to Hades (or the mother of Our Lady of the Underworld) but there's certainly something going on with her.

And Seton, the main character (not the same one as in The Golden Age), is in a downward spiral with his wife and whatever he could have done to make it better is well past. Shoot. I just read about this the other day, but it's the point where things become obviously FUBAR after years of losing trust and losing respect without any noticeable change ot the bottom line (currently the example is Netflix raising its prices every year and thinking that everything is fine because no one is canceling, not realizing that they are telling every single subscriber that they can't trust them NOT to keep pulling this shit. But there's also Justin Roiland abusing women, abusing co-workers and underlings while grooming teenage girls. He had many years of being able to get away with it, but then the floodgates opened.)

Seton is in a bad place. But he doesn't realize it because his entire life revolves around working and expecting to come home to a wife who has done everything like a happy 1950s housewife. Only none of them were happy (not naturally. There were a lot of tranquilizers prescribed in the 1950s). Last Shabbos, I tried talking to friends who decided to ignore me and have their own conversation about great food in New York and Italy and France yada yada. Now I was bored and feeling my poverty but then a note of urgency ended up in the conversations as they both noted that they got free food at the office because they worked until 2 in the morning and then their wives agreed that they hadn't really gone out for years because work and kids took all the time. So vacation in Italy was it.

Then I was sad for these people. And happy I ncever went into law or finance since as much as I'd like to afford their apartments and their vacations and their families, i just don't see those marriages lasting. Oh what the hell do I know. I'm single and going on dating apps and getting hung up on friends because of mutual childhood trauama.

So that's Seton's marriage. He comes home. The place is a mess. The kids are wild. The dinner is burnt. He tries to make things better but he's completely inept. He tries to order her to go to the restaurant where they used to go when they were actually in love. She brings the kids. The dinners remain burnt.

And then the story gets weird. He's told to take music lessons and his first thought is that it's an affair. Only John Cheever is not a Mad Men writer (as much as people find the similarities) and Ms. Deming (Demeter?) is an old music teacher.

She has him doing the basic scales. He goes home. He plays them. His wife doesn't like it. He goes to lessons. He goes home. He continues to practice the same scales. Everything is standard. His wife asks him to ask for another lesson. Seriously, you can't be playing scales week after week. But that's all he does.

That's the only thing that the men in the neighborhood do. He walks past houses. They are playing the same scales. His wife starts cooking well. He's working a kind of magic with the repeatitive music.

Then one day he goes and sees Ms. Deming happy. She's with bikers who seem like rough company but she's letting her mask slip. Only Seton sees her and she returns to the stern teacher. And she still won't let him change the lesson to the same scales.

And that's it. He stops playing. His wife is now better behaved. The marriage isn't exactly healthy but he doesn't have to deal with it. And then Ms. Deming is dead. She was murdered. We don't know who did it. We assume it was the bikers. It could have been any of her students or it could have been Seton. For all we know it could have been a wife sick of hearing the same tune repeatedly and sick of being hypnotized.

This is a story of mysteries. Who is the music teacher? Why does the music hypnotize the wives? Who killed the music teacher? Why does she only make her students play the same thing?

But these mysteries are at the heart of other mysteries that are more mundane, like when did love die? Why did the marriage fail? Are we just trapped in our lives? Does music save us or kill us? How do we get love back once it seems to have died? Once your marriage dies, when do you admit it?

This is a brilliant story that goes to the heart of a society that was unsustainable.

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softieteez · 3 years ago

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backstory

warning: death, cancer, drinking, mental abuse, some physical abuse, cussing, crying, anxiety attacks, suicidal thoughts, child neglect

genre: angst

summary: before ivy even got to her teen years, things were more difficult than most adults lives. from losing her dad, to experiencing neglect.

a/n: ivy’s story is pretty deep. feel free to skip this post if you are triggered by anything listed. also i’ll be using her birth name a lot throughout this story.

languages: normal = english. italic = korean

olivia min was born june 4, 2001 in michigan. she is the youngest of three siblings. miya, the oldest, was born february 20, 1997. and austin, the middle child, was born august 4, 1999.

growing up, olivia had an amazing relationship with her family members. her parents were always really supportive of anything she wanted to do. and her siblings, were annoying, but they all love each other so much. the family was pretty middle class, maybe more upper middle class. they had enough money to buy nice things and go on trips, which was nice and it gave the kids experiences they’d always remember.

when she was a baby, the families friend jax, had given her the nickname ‘ivy.’ the name stuck with him and eventually spread to friends at school. but her family members always called her olivia or jisoo, her korean name.

in school she was a social butterfly, running around recess practically collecting friends like they were collectors items. and because of her loving nature, no one could say no. she’s also very smart, she’s always had straight a’s and was usually willing to participate in class. teacher would say she was a sweet and smart little girl, and of course she could make the class burst into giggles at any second.

olivia started dancing at the young age of 4 when her parents enrolled her into dance classes. there, she met new friends and became one of the best youth dancers in their town.

her grandparents lived in ohio, which meant a lot of the times they would travel there for the holidays. olivia had a friend named aggy that lived there.

aggy lived next door to ivy’s grandparents. she was diagnosed with leukemia only five months before meeting the family, this was when ivy was maybe 7 years old.

through the years, ivy excelled in everything from piano lessons that she started when she was 5, to even cooking. she was a cheerful and happy little girl. until she reached age 9 when her dad was diagnosed with lung cancer.

this was a huge reality hit. she didn’t really understand it though, her dad was healthy. until he wasn’t. she remembers that day so clearly

“where’s mom and dad?” olivia asked walking into the kitchen and seeing her sister sitting next to their sleeping brother on the couch

“hospital, grandma and grandpa will be here in a few hours. for now our neighbors are gonna look after us”

“hospital? but why?” the little girl tilted her head

“i don’t know olivia. go back to sleep it’s early” miya did know, she saw her dad getting worse and worse as the months went on. but the last thing anyone wanted to do was worry anymore people. especially austin and olivia.

“okay…” she responded and went back toward her bedroom.

a few hours later she woke up to her grandma shaking her awake “wake up olivia. grandpa and i brought lunch.” the elderly woman spoke

olivia smiled at her grandmother as she sat up and stretched. the girl walked to the kitchen.

she still remembers all the yummy food her grandparents made, now knowing it was out of grief. later that night was when her parents revealed the truth to the kids.

and suddenly her whole world collapsed.

she would miss dance class and sometimes even school because her father would be in the hospital. because her mom and dad were always gone, she and her other siblings were expected to help around the house. occasionally with their grandparent by their side.

when she turned 10, she didn’t have much of a birthday blow out. and her present was some nail polish because that was all her family could afford at the time. when she turned 11, they spent her birthday in the hospital. her dads condition became so much worse that he wasn’t able to leave the hospital.

“i’m sorry you have to spend your birthday like this livvy” her dad held her had. his skin was paler than usual. colder too.

“it’s okay dad, i’m just happy we’re all here” she smiled as she held back tears. but her dad knew she wanted to cry.

“me and your mom got you something” he smiled and looked at his wife. the woman smiled sadly and reach in her purse to pull out a small purple box.

olivia grabbed the box from her mothers hand and opened it slowly. a beautiful butterfly necklace was revealed.

“it took a little while for us to find the perfect one” her moms sniffled. “we wanted you to love it”

thinking back on that moment. ivy now understood they wanted it to be special because it would be the last gift she would ever receive from her father.

“thank you mommy. thank you daddy” she whispered and pecked her dads forehead.

sadly, on june 29, her father passed away in the middle of the night. for some reason, her brain blocks this moment out. it’s all a blur.

her and her sister were sleeping on the little couch the nurses had set up and her brother was laying on the sleeping bag he had brought on the floor. it happened so suddenly. she woke up to her mom hysterically crying and weeping.

her brother and sister were frantic as nurses guided them three of them out of the room. but she does remember the last look she had at her dad.

he didn’t look real, more like a painting. or a sculpture maybe. his skin was practically white and his body was lifeless.

her whole family was in a depression, especially her mom. after losing her husband, she started drinking to numb the pain.

her grandparents left ohio and went back to korea completely unannounced. it was up to miya and austin to take care of themselves, each other, and of course olivia.

after a month of her fathers passing. the family had got a call from aggy’s mom informing them that aggy passed away july 25. so now she lost her dad and her best friend. along with that her mom isn’t stable enough to take care of her and her siblings, and her grandparents were m.i.a.

when she turned 12, that’s when her moms drinking got worse. she was living off of beer and tv dinners. she was also now mentally abusive toward her children.

austin became the child that started work. he would work late at night and then go to school all day. he was responsible for the families income at age 14.

miya was rarely ever home as well, but she was gone to escape their mom. she would rebel, hang out with her boyfriend, who ivy later found out was physically abusive.

then ivy was the kid that did the chores. she would also clean the neighbors houses to help pay her dance fees. the neighbors would always feel bad so they’d usually give her $30 for each chore she did. that was barely enough though.

and somehow, none of their friends ever noticed anything. except for austin’s, he’s always shut down plans to work and was overly tired all the time. but the friends did start noticing behavior changes

ivy became really depressed and spent most of her days just waiting for them to end.

the family got some income from the bank after the fathers passing. the kids were all in his will, earning $114k each. but they wouldn’t receive that until age 18.

around this time, ivy got into contact with her grandparent. begging day after day to move their and live out her dream of being an idol. her siblings would even call and beg the grandparents to let her, not wanting her to experience this life anymore.

after months of begging, her grandparents finally agreed to move her out to korea. she had already submitted audition videos to big companies like sm, jyp, yg, bighit etc.

she was 13 when she was officially moved into korea. she lived with her grandma and grandpa for a month before moving into the jyp dorms. she trained there for a year before being sent off to audition for produce 101.

during this time, she experienced great stress. her anxiety and depression led to suicidal thoughts and almost had to leave the show because of it. many fans who were supporting her throughout the show noticed her getting skinnier and skinnier by the episode.

somi, who became her best friend instantly, was also worried for her. ivy felt bad that she was worrying people. but she couldn’t help it, her mind controlled her. her thoughts were always telling her to do something. she would practice all the time and forget to eat.

somi would often watch after her to make sure she would at least eat a bagel and drink water everyday.

it wasn’t long before ivy would share her story, only parts of it publicly. her story reached american headlines, meaning her family and friends had seen it.

she was struggling for years. and it was only recently when she found inner happiness. she worked hard during produce, and didn’t win. and of course, she left jyp and moved to kq where she met her life long friends.

her boys have helped her so much, they were there to listen to her story, to hug her when she cried.

those are her boys, her family. her home.

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caswellprmanager · 3 years ago

Text

drawbridge

read it on ao3

Ship: Ricky Bowen/EJ Caswell

Summary: Snippets of EJ Caswell's life leading up to the mystery that is Ricky Bowen.

Notes: Hello. I decided to bite the bullet and post something here! This technically is in my Trans!EJ and Genderqueer!Ricky AU but I haven't properly written anything for it yet so consider this one to be the first official fic within that universe. Feel free to send some asks or other headcanons in my inbox about the AU! I'd love to hear what people think (but don't be unnecessarily mean. I will delete that very quickly.)

Disclaimer: I'm not an expert in all things transgender or genderqueer. I am writing from my own experience within the spectrum however so it's truthful to what I have been through, but will not represent everyone else's experiences. I also have friends within the spectrum who have given me great advice on how to go about these things but once again, it won't be accurate to everyone's experiences.

Warnings: Mentions of gender dysphoria, transphobia, and neglectful parents

People always told EJ that he had the picture perfect family.

His mom and dad were successful corporate lawyers, they lived in the wealthiest suburb in all of Salt Lake City, and he was the kind of child other parents would compare their own children to saying, "why can't you be more like EJ?"

But EJ knows that's farthest from the truth.

He doesn't have the picture perfect life or the paragon of White American families that people think they do. His parents are affectionate and supportive only when there are people around to comment on it. Most of the time, they're not even at home, leaving all of the child raising to their maids and other house servants. EJ spends more time at Ashlyn's house than he does at home because at least his aunt and uncle actually treat him like a son.

Because there are days his parents would forget they have a son. Sometimes they'd slip and call him their daughter, which makes EJ want to disappear from this world altogether. He supposes he should be grateful that they even bothered to pay for all the things he asked for — binders, testosterone shots, and regular visits to the doctor to check up on him throughout his transition. And he is grateful. He knows so many kids like him that can't even afford a decent sized binder without going bankrupt. He used to be that kid until he gathered up all his courage to come out to his parents.

But what they told him?

"Well, if you're gonna be our son, you will have to work twice as hard to make us proud now."

Yeah. It's a lot to process when you're 12 years old and scared shitless that you'd be disowned for "disrupting the natural order." But he figures things could be worse. So he sucks it up and vows to become the kind of son that his parents could truly brag about.

When EJ was a kid, he loved mysteries. His parents were the greatest mystery of them all. He's spent so much of his time trying to figure out what makes them happy, or angry, or sad. He's put the clues together and has a cork board of pictures and red string at the forefront of his mind whenever he so much as tries to interact with them. Soon, he sort of figured out what makes his parents smile at him — when EJ is excellent.

So, he became excellent at all kinds of sports, took up piano lessons, studied until his eyeballs burned with the lowlight of his desk lamp — all so that he could maybe get a pat on the back from his dad and a small smile from his mom. Their versions of "good job" or "keep it up." He drank that all in, craved it even, and worked his whole life until now to get even an iota of his parents' affection.

So, when he meets Ricky Bowen, the lanky and extremely clumsy skater who seems to live in the detention room, he was met with a brand new mystery to solve.

"Who's that?" EJ whispers into Nini's ear, who just seems to be irritated by the new person's presence.

"That's Ricky," she says with the barest hint of affection but with a whole lot of irritation. "My ex."

"Huh," He says, intrigued by the way Ricky's movements stutter like a half-finished stop motion film and how their wide doe eyes scan the room like — unironically — a deer in headlights. They looked nervous, confused, and all around terrified and EJ wants to reach out to them and tell them that this was a safe space. That they could be whoever they wanted to be in the theater.

He glances at Nini when Ricky starts singing a song that she seems to recognize. The immediate tensing of her shoulders and the way she subconsciously reaches out for EJ's hand for support tells him that this song... means something. Or meant something. EJ's not quite sure but he squeezes Nini's hand in silent reassurance, bringing himself to half-glare at the guitar playing skater just a few feet before him.

He met Nini during theater camp. A firecracker of talent with a voice that could melt the heart of even the coldest man on earth. She was beautiful in the spotlight and even more ethereal beneath the stars. She was kind, gentle, and a mystery that EJ solved quickly enough. She wore her heart on her sleeve despite it being broken because she believes that broken hearts can be mended with time and patience.

Nini was patient with him. She was patient with him when he took her up the little hill next to the campsite just to watch the stars on an old picnic blanket he stole from the camp counselors. She was patient with him when he couldn't keep up with the dance steps. Her hand was warm in his own and the flush of her palm by his neck was a grounding force that kept his head from going in the clouds.

She was especially patient with him when he took her to an empty tent and told her about his life. Nini was kind. Nini was patient. Nini was safe. And if she were to walk away and tell him that she wanted nothing to do with him after what he told her, he would have understood and learned to not associate kind brown eyes and ukulele calloused fingers to what could be barely described as home.

But she held his hand in her tinier ones, a smile on her face that radiated warmth that seeped into the depths of his soul, and told him that she was proud of him.

It was the first time that someone was proud of him... for just being him.

He cried into her arms that night, knowing he's got a lifelong friend within the kind brown eyes and ukulele calloused fingers of one Nini Salazar-Roberts.

"She thinks I'm a Chad?" He asks, less incredulously and more with a burning curiosity.

Nini rubs his arm comfortingly but he keeps staring at the cast list like it was going to burst into flames any second. "You're still a Troy understudy! You could still go on as him in one of the shows."

"Shows only run for three nights, Nini." He says with barely concealed frustration. Great. If he can't even get the role he was technically destined to play, how the hell is he going to explain himself to his parents?

You're not the lead? Oh, then we won't watch. If you're not onstage the whole time, why be there?

EJ grits his teeth and slowly brings his gaze to the person who has just taken away one more way for him to prove himself to his parents. Ricky Fucking Bowen, who stands there once again with their enormous brown eyes, gaping like a fish. EJ wants to deck them in the face. But Nini's hold on his arm grounds him back to reality and he lets out a long breath through his nose.

This is gonna be a long next few months.

"Look, I'm just trying to make the best out of a bad situation."

"Don't try," He ends up saying, still wiping at the blood caused by the basketball Ricky hit him with only moments ago. "It's painful to watch you do something you clearly don't want to do."

"What makes you think I don't want to do this?" Ricky asks with furrowed brows and EJ throws the wadded up tissue paper stained with his blood into the trash.

"You hated musicals before you auditioned. You landed the part of Troy without even fucking trying. And now you think you can get through rehearsals without fucking trying? It's tiring to work with someone who couldn't give two shits about this musical in the first place!" He says, every sentence rising in volume as he steps closer and closer to Ricky. "You also need to stay the fuck away from Nini."

Ricky scoffs then. "Why? Cause you're her boyfriend?"

"What? And you are?" He retaliates, which effectively makes Ricky click their mouth shut. EJ smirks. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

"Nini can choose whoever she wants to talk to." Ricky ends up saying with tense shoulders and a glare that could murder if EJ weren't already a person who doesn't fear death. "You can't tell me what to do."

"Well someone has to!" EJ throws his hands up in frustration, grabbing his jacket and zipping it up angrily. "Because you don't listen to Nini though, do you? Have you ever listened to her? Do you listen to anybody?"

"EJ I—"

"You better listen to me right now Ricky Bowen," he laces every syllable of Ricky's name with venom. "Stop trying to make things right. Stop trying to become a person you're not. If you actually cared about Nini or – god forbid – the musical, you'd stop trying and just get your shit together."

EJ doesn't even bother to look back at Ricky as he exits the bathroom, unaware of the look in Ricky's eyes when he walked away.

It isn't until Ricky approaches him one day after rehearsals that EJ was finally starting to unravel the mystery that was Ricky Bowen.

"Hey... EJ?" Ricky asks, looking at anywhere but at him and EJ would have been annoyed if it weren't for the way Ricky was holding themselves in front of him. They were tense, eyes glassy and unfocused whenever EJ caught a glance, and their fingers were gripping their bag straps so tightly that he was afraid Ricky was going to rip it apart if they weren't careful.

"Hey Ricky," He says with a softer voice than he's ever used with Ricky. "Is there something you need?"

Ricky's eyes dart around the still full rehearsal room, at the dangerously close proximity Miss Jenn was, at the stage managers that were just behind EJ who were reviewing the blocking notes, and finally at Nini who was engaged in a conversation with Carlos and Seb. Ricky's eyes lingered on Nini for a bit before they reluctantly settled on EJ's pristine white sneakers. "I would have normally asked Nini for this but – and you can say no by the way I'd completely understand – it's just..."

Ricky looks around again before leaning closer to EJ and shakily whispering, "Do you have any tampons?"

And just like that, the walls that were built around a certain Ricky Bowen were starting to crack. And EJ was allowed to see the smallest snippet of the kind of vulnerability that Ricky was capable of.

And it was the kind of vulnerability that he could relate to completely.

"My emergency stash is in my locker," He says, hastily packing up the rest of his things while Ricky continues to stand there dumbfounded. When EJ turns back to him with his own bag over his shoulder, he could see that there are a few unshed tears shining in Ricky's eyes. EJ softens for a second, knowing how difficult it must have been for Ricky to come to him for something so private.

"Come on. I'll even guard the bathroom for you." Ricky eventually follows him after a few seconds of just staring at his back and they fall in step around the corner. Ricky stays silent, fingers all fidgety and eyes still darting around like they'll be caught any second. EJ, instinctually, wraps a comforting arm around Ricky's shoulders. Ricky doesn't relax immediately but they do lean a little closer, somehow finding the weight of EJ's arm around them safe.

They eventually reach EJ's locker and Ricky smiles a bit because it's directly across from Sharpay's famous pink lockers. "Did you choose this spot specifically for Sharpay's lockers?"

EJ glances behind him and chuckles, rummaging through his stuff. "Oh yeah. If you say Ashley Tisdale three times in a row while touching her locker, you're guaranteed good fortune for at least a week."

Ricky looks at him with a smirk. "Have you tried that before?"

"Every year during finals week. I'm telling you, that shit works."

"Or maybe you're just really smart."

"Maybe," EJ says, finally locating his emergency stash of period essentials. "Or maybe it's just Ashley Tisdale bopping me to the top."

That's when Ricky lets out a laugh — an honest to god booming belly laugh that makes EJ pause just to stare at him. They look... nice like this. Without the worry lines and longing gazes at a girl who won't give them the time of day. They look just like a little kid, carefree and alive despite the world crumbling all around them, and EJ feels a weird surge of pride at being the person who made Ricky laugh like that.

He wants Ricky to laugh like that more. He wants to be the person who makes Ricky laugh like that more.

And so the walls around Ricky crack a little further, and the drawbridge is opened for one weary traveler to come in.

EJ doesn't notice the cracks on his own walls, nor the knowing little princess who watches from the east tower, smiling.

"Hey, what are your pronouns?"

Ricky doesn't look up from their practice skateboard, concentrating hard on their balance. "I don't have any. I'm just Ricky." They look up though, giving EJ a warm smile. "But go ahead and use any pronouns with me. I don't mind if it's you."

"So would you mind if I call you your majesty?"

EJ doesn't miss the flush on Ricky's cheeks at that and definitely doesn't miss the way they say "I'd like that very much." with the barest hint of embarrassment.

"Okay," EJ says with his chin propped up in his hands. "Your majesty."

Ricky falls off of their practice skateboard then, soon glaring up at a cackling EJ still with a blushing face.

EJ forgot his binder today.

And his body loved reminding him every time he took a step.

Thankfully, there wasn't going to be water polo practice today and he could get away with wearing multiple layers to school. But even with the sports bra, the t-shirt, the sweatshirt, and the letterman jacket doing a good job at making his chest look flat, he still felt his skin crawl looking at the mirror. His jeans hugged him a little too tightly, forcing him to notice the still feminine curve of his hips. His sports bra was a tad smaller than the last time he wore it, so the pinch at his chest doubled in size.

EJ resolved that he was not going to have a good day today.

But today was tech rehearsals and he couldn't ditch that. He was starting to really enjoy rehearsals now that he and Ricky are on good terms. Even the stage managers ask him to hang out with them time to time outside of rehearsals. EJ actually felt like... he really belonged somewhere now. And he wasn't going to let this ruin it for him. Not today.

"Hey EJ," He heard Nini say to him as he got out of his car. "What's with all the layers? It's pretty hot today."

"It's one of those days, Neens." He says with a heavy sigh and Nini just grabs his hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Ricky rolls up to them two seconds later, their head suspiciously missing a helmet.

"How many times do I have to tell you to wear a helmet when you're skateboarding, Ricky?" EJ tries to scold the junior despite this weirdly overwhelming fondness growing inside of him every time he even looks at Ricky now.

"Haven't gotten into an accident yet," Ricky shrugs, smiling politely at Nini and changing it into a cocky little smirk the second they look at EJ.

"Yet being the operative word here," EJ rolls his eyes and opens his trunk for Ricky to stash his board in for later. "I won't drive you to the hospital if you end up getting a concussion for not wearing a helmet."

"Yes you will." Ricky says, knocking their shoulders together. "You love me!"

EJ freezes for a bit but before he could even respond, Ricky is already catching up to Big Red and Gina, waving back at EJ and Nini with a wide grin. EJ stares at him for a few seconds, not quite sure how to process the last few moments, until Nini waves a hand in front of his face.

"Hello? Earth to EJ?"

"Huh?"

"Care to share with the class what's going on?" The little smirk on her lips says it all and EJ was not going to fall for that.

"Nope. There's nothing to share."

"Mhm," She says, looping her arm around EJ as soon as he closed his trunk. "Of course there isn't, EJ." Nini pretends not to see EJ staring at Ricky as they walk into school. EJ pretends to not notice that she's pretending to not see EJ pretending to not overtly stare at Ricky.

Besides, EJ has gotten pretty good at pretending.

Aaaannndd that's it for now. I hope you guys liked that! I really enjoyed exploring trans!ej and genderqueer!ricky through this au and it means a lot to me. Maybe next time I'll write something in ricky's pov but for now thanks for reading !!

#ej caswell #ricky bowen #nini salazar roberts #rj #hsmtmts #trans!ej #genderqueer!ricky #tw: gender dysphoria #tw: transphobia #tw: neglectful parents #cloud's writing now #hsmtmts fanfiction #they're not really together yet here but #ej is Definitely pining at the end tho #and nini is the best i will not tolerate nini slander in my blog #caswen #ricky x ej #ej x ricky

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highpope · 3 years ago

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Silver Keys - Chapter Five

JJ Maybank x OC x Topper Thorton Soulmate AU

warnings: none, let me know if there ever are :)

notes: first, I know this took agesssss I'm sorry but I've been sitting on a couple chapters so you guys should be getting some updates for a while. Second, I lost my tag lists. so lmk if you want added to this one or my general tag list. I've been writing a lot more to cope with my anxiety so... things are coming bahaha. Love you guys, thanks for your support recently - J

Silver Keys Masterlist

June probably wouldn’t admit it to anyone besides her sister and Kie, but going out with Topper was fun. When he had asked her out to have dinner at the country club, she was worried she wouldn’t fit in at all. June was convinced she’d make it about 15 minutes before she bailed and met everyone back at the Chateau. She had on shoes she could barely walk in and a dress she found at goodwill, no doubt someone’s from a homecoming dance in years past and she was fighting the urge to pull her hair up all night. But then she realized they had talked straight through appetizers, dinner, and the waiter had come by twice for the check. The two of them had fallen into a comfortable understanding with each other that had continued into the following weeks.

He picked her up from work on most days, driving around in search of the perfect chocolate chip cookie. June argues that the small bakery run out of one of the local’s houses has the best cookies, but Topper is determined to try every option before making a decision. It had started as kind of a joke, but now it was just an excuse for them to hang out.

Currently, they were at the island’s movie night, chairs propped up near the back and various snacks shared between the two of them. Topper’s arm rested on her shoulders, something she had become accustomed to the past few weeks. June found herself more relaxed with him, it was easy being with Topper. She didn’t have to think or worry, June could just be.

They were playing The Sandlot, arguably the best movie of all time and June had to hold back from saying the iconic lines with the characters. She had grown up watching this movie with her sister and had practically begged Topper to go see it.

“Really?” He had asked the day before, “The movie nights aren’t really our thing.”

“Yeah, that’s because you guys always cause trouble and then get kicked out.”

He shook his head.

“Yes, you do. Besides, you’re gonna be with me and I am a model citizen.”

He laughed then and again in the chair beside her now.

She found herself leaning into him naturally, even with the arms of both their chairs in between them. It was something she had never had previously. June didn’t do relationships. In high school, she mostly stuck with the pogues and focused on school and not getting in trouble with the cops. Sure, she had the occasional crush or hookup with a touron, but nothing was ever serious. Not that this was, but it was closer to that than anything else June had experienced.

The next morning June had her last piano rehearsal with Mrs. Hana before the recital. The Saturday coming up was the big dress rehearsal. The one with the kids from all over the island and hundreds of different schools and programs. And the weekend following that was the recital. Her whole family was going. Her dad had even surprised her by getting a hotel room for all of them and making a whole trip about it. He had to work night shifts for two weeks, but he assured her it was worth it. Not that that added any pressure.

At rehearsal, June played nearly perfectly. She had only messed up a couple of notes near the end. She’d be lucky if Saturday went as smoothly as this. Mrs. Hana corrected her posture and made her go from the top. They went on like this the whole lesson: June playing and her correcting one thing at a time before making her start over. Normally, June would argue, but she knew it was because Mrs. Hana understood how important this was. This could set her future up, get her off the island if she wanted. She could do something she loved every day.

The night before the recital, June was laying on a hammock in John B’s backyard.

“Nervous?” Kie questions.

June shrugged, “Kinda, yeah.”

“I’m sure you’re going to do fine,” Pope said with confidence. It was only the three of them. John B and JJ had ventured out to get snacks and beer but hadn’t been back for an hour. June’s guess was they found a party and couldn’t bother to text an update. That or they got arrested. Which probably would’ve earned a phone call quicker than the first option. She chuckled thinking about this.

“It’s just a rehearsal and Liv is driving down with me so I don’t really have anything to worry about.”

“You seem to have this all figured out,” he said with a laugh.

Kie said, “And I cannot wait to celebrate when you get back! It’s gonna be so fun.”

June could only imagine what her best friend was thinking when she said this. She was sure it would end like most nights did, tipsy and watching movies on John B’s couch. Her favorite way to end a day. The three of them drift into a comfortable silence, lost in their thoughts. June starts to hear a familiar melody, but can’t quite put her finger on it. She was sure it wasn’t anything she had chosen to listen to, but couldn’t figure out where she had heard it before.

She was brought back to reality when John B and JJ come strutting into the yard, cases of beer on their shoulders and grocery bags in their hands. Kie and June both started cheering.

They set down the stuff on the closest table.

“What took so long?” Pope asked, getting up and rummaging through the bags. He pulls out a bag of chips before turning around.

“You’re not even going to believe it.” John B starts, taking a seat.

“Hey,” JJ yelled at June, “Gummies?” He asks and holds up a bag of gummy worms.

She nods her head and he tosses them over before grabbing his own snack and beer and joining her on the hammock. They all listen to JB’s story, JJ adding in his own variations and making everyone laugh.

“And who ended up being in front of us at the grocery store?” He paused for dramatic effect, “Sarah Cameron.”

June realized a beat late that she was supposed to be reacting, “Sarah Cameron!” she repeated.

JJ turned his head to keep from laughing.

“Am I supposed to be excited?” Kie asked, an annoyed expression on her face. She and Sarah used to be friends before they drifted into different friend groups.

“Yes, Kie. It was like fate.”

JJ spoke up, “I would hardly call it fate.”

John B just rolled his eyes at his friends and took another drink.

“What happened to Molly Fields?” Pope questioned. That was the girl we had gone to elementary school with, the latest victim of John B’s soulmate search.

“Nah,'' he dismissed, “This one’s different.”

“Well, I hope it is, JB,” June spoke up. He looked over and smiled at her.

The next morning June and Olivia jump in the car and start towards the concert hall where her dress rehearsal was being held. She had been up for hours, too excited and nervous to sleep. June had gotten ready, done her makeup, changed three times, and called Topper twice all before Olivia had even woken up. Downstairs, their mom had made some breakfast and June couldn’t bear to tell her she was too nervous to eat anything. So, she grabbed a pancake and thanked her parents.

They listened to music the whole way down, Liv was always determined to get June to listen to the most mainstream pop music she could. She always argued that she wouldn’t understand anyone’s references and it would be an embarrassing mess. June made sure to point out that she had made it 18 years without that ever happening, but nonetheless she persisted.

When they arrived, they parked the car and decided to window shop. They were still about an hour early from call time and Liv was restless enough as it was. June was trying to push her nerves down. She didn’t want to come across that way to the instructors. June had a vision that she would walk across the stage, take a deep breath, and be transported by the music. She didn’t want to have the weight of the competition on her shoulders or the constant confusion about her soulmate circling in her head. That was a new development. June found herself lying awake at night going over everything Topper had said or done and trying to place it into this mysterious soulmate cut out she had in her head. She was trying to do a puzzle with the wrong number of pieces. And she wasn’t even sure if it was the right picture on the box.

….

“Okay, turning the key a bunch of times isn’t going to do any good if the battery is dead,” Olivia said, snapping her head to look at June from the passenger side.

After the dress rehearsal, June had called Liv and the two of them had eaten in the cafeteria with a few other performers. June was practically glowing after being there for a few hours, she couldn’t imagine how she would feel at the actual recital. Everything was going perfectly.

Until they got back to the car and realized the battery was dead.

“Well,” June sighed, “I don’t know what else to do.” Her voice pinched.

“Can’t we call a mechanic?”

“Liv, you know we can’t afford that. Especially in this area. We just need a jump.”

She surveyed the empty parking lot and tried to think of what to do without panicking. They were too far from home to have someone just pick them up and there were no cars in sight. Even if there were, they didn’t have any jumper cables. Maybe they could take the bus home and get help tomorrow. June probably had enough cash in her purse for two bus tickets.

“Isn’t there like a trick with distilled water? That could get us somewhere.”

“You think I have distilled water in my car? Besides, I have no idea how to do that.”

“I’m just trying to give you ideas here,” Olivia said, unbuckling her seatbelt and getting out of the car.

June leaned her head back and closed her eyes, thinking and thinking.

She was interrupted when Olivia opened the driver’s side door and handed her the phone, “here.”

Confused, June lifted the phone to her ear, “hello?”

“June? What’s going on?” JJ’s voice was on the other end.

“J, we’re fine. Just a little car trouble.” She rolled her eyes at her sister.

“We’re stranded!” Olivia yelled so that he could hear.

“We’re fine,” she said, shooting her sister a look.

JJ speaks up, “Doesn’t sound fine. June, I’ll just come out and help. No problem.”

“No, no. We just need a jump-”

“I’m already in the car, just send me your location.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yeah, but I’m going to.”

Defeated, June agrees and sends him the address of the music hall.

About 45 minutes later, JJ pulls into the parking spot opposite of them, “Hey,” he says as he turns the key and gets out of the car.

“Oh thank god! JJ, do you have AC? I’m melting.” Olivia yells. She’s already getting in his truck and rotating the fans to blow her hair back before he can process what she’s just said.

“I’m sorry,” June starts, but he interrupts her.

“Eh, no big deal”

“I can give you gas money for coming all the way out here.”

He shakes his head, “Nah. Here catch.” JJ throws one end of the jumper cables to her, “You know how to put them on?”

June scoffs, “This isn’t my first jump, Maybank.”

Once everything is sorted out with June’s car, the three of them drive to the nearest ice cream shop. Mostly because Olivia was being dramatic and promised to pay for herself, but also to thank JJ for driving the whole way out here just to get them home.

“I don’t know, it’s like what if my soulmate doesn’t like ice cream? Ew, or worse, orders mint chocolate chip.” Olivia said as they headed to a table outside. The spot they had picked was really nice, there were picnic tables with umbrellas lined up on a patio in front of the window they had ordered from.

June just laughed, a conversation the two of them had had more than once.

“What’s wrong with mint chocolate chip?” JJ asked.

Olivia made a face, “only everything.”

“Isn’t the whole point of a soulmate that you overlook those flaws and-”

“Please. Don’t lecture me.” She begs.

“She’s kinda right though,” JJ replies, looking at June for a second and scrunching his nose. She smiles back, looking down at her ice cream.

“Have you heard it?” She asks him.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, “the other night at John B’s.” He meets June’s eyes. “I fell asleep on the pullout and the storm woke me up. So I was just laying awake and that’s when I heard it. It was really faint. Mad weird though,” He finished and took a bite of his ice cream, making June shudder.

She remembered the night he was talking about. It had stormed for about two days last week. She thought about what she was probably doing at the time, practicing for the recital, maybe reading until

she drifted off.

“Do you think you know who it is?” Olivia inquired.

He shook his head, “No, haven’t thought about it.”

“You don’t wanna know?”

“I mean, sure. But if I’m gonna find out anyway by force of,” he struggled for the right word before landing on, “the universe, then why stress right now?”

That answer seemed to have satisfied her enough because she nodded her head and stopped asking questions.

When she finally pulled into her driveway, June had a phone call.

The three of them had left shortly after ice cream, JJ following them most of the way back before he went off towards John B’s and June continued straight, with a quick wave behind her.

Olivia had practically jumped out of the car before she had even parked so now, June answered her phone, unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Hey,”

“Hey!” Topper said on the other end, “I wanted to see how everything went. I stopped by your house just a little bit ago, but your car wasn’t in front.”

June groaned, “That’s because we just now pulled in. The practice was great! Everyone was so talented and I got to meet a couple of instructors. It was really cool.”

“That’s amazing, bub.”

“Yeah, it really was.”

“What took you so long getting home?”

“Oh, uh. I just had some car trouble, no biggie.”

“Oh, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just needed a quick jump and then we were on our way.” June chuckled, nervously. She hadn’t even thought to call Topper when her car wouldn’t start. Truthfully she hadn’t thought to call anyone, but she still felt nervous to tell him what happened.

“So someone had cables? That’s pretty lucky.” He pressed.

“Uhm. No, actually. We had to call JJ for some help and then we were good to go. It drove perfectly on the way home.”

There was a pause before he spoke again, “You could’ve called or texted me.”

“I didn’t want to bother you. I wasn’t even the one who called JJ, it was Liv.”

“Well, I could’ve helped.”

“It’s fine, really.”

“I would’ve called a mechanic for you, had someone come out and get you.”

“And I would have really appreciated it,” June laughed nervously, “Next time I promise I will call you.”

He stayed silent for a long time before speaking, “It’s just your first thought wasn’t to call your boyfriend. Forgive me if I’m a little upset.”

She pondered over his words for a moment, skipping over the mention of ‘boyfriend,’ “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come off that way.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “yeah, you’re right. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

June nodded even though he couldn’t see her and hung up the phone. She huffed, threw her phone in her bag, and marched up the sidewalk inside.

#highpopefics #silverkeys #silverkeys masterlist #jj maybank #topper thornton #outer banks #obx #jj maybank x oc #obx fic #outer banks fic #obx series #obx x reader

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geekgirles · 3 years ago

Text

Your Heart

Chapter 8 -- Aftershocks

Word Count: 13482

READ ON AO3

Margaret’s quarters had to be one of the most glamourous in the entire manor. Designed to be a duplex, it consisted of two different spacesーthree, if you count the bathroomーthe lower floor held the living room, and the higher one was where the Council member’s actual bedroom was.

The living room resembled that of a wealthy family’s. A deep red velvet hue gave a touch of colour to the walls, which were decorated by several portraits revealing pieces of contemporary art. Now, Sam loved going to museums and culture in general, but she couldn’t identify what the artists had tried to portray to save her life. When asking about the meaning of one of the paintings, Margaret once told her it was an allegory to the passage of time. How could a smear of red, a blue smudge, and a black, straight line mean any of that she had no idea.

Questionable taste in decor aside, Margaret’s quarters also consisted of a parquet flooring that always seemed to have been recently varnished, so shiny and clean one could eat from it. Just from a small glimpse at her room, one could guess the older witch had a weakness for rococo furniture; a set of golden couches and chairs with cream upholstery was scattered around the place. A backless seat was in front of the piano at the far corner of the room, a loveseat could be seen located under a particularly large painting, Sam and Margaret were both seated, one in front of the other, on two chairs…

Ironically for someone as elegant and graceful as Margaret, all her plants were made of plastic. Grandma Ida had once told her in confidence the clan’s best spellcaster was also the worst gardener she’d ever seen. According to her grandma, when Margaret was still just a witch in training her teachers ended up forbidding her from getting near to their supplies of mandrake; she always killed them all and the plant was very difficult to find.

At the far corner of the room, to the side of the piano, a white staircase with a golden banister led to the Council member’s room. What secrets her bedroom held, however, Sam didn’t know. Margaret was very particular about who she let in on her personal life, and bedrooms were extremely personal.

Which was enough of a hint to understand she hadn’t been called just to chat and have some tea with her. “Your Majesty,” Margaret broke her out of her musings and from inspecting her personal chambers, “I understand you already know why I have summoned you here, correct?”

Even when she was about to scold her, the older witch always looked like the epitome of grace and dignity. They were currently seated on two of her rococo chairs, which Sam had to admit, were pretty but not necessarily comfortable; a coffee table with a porcelain tea set alongside different types of biscuits, scones (a favourite of Margaret since she spent some time abroad in London in her youth), and sandwiches were in full display in between the two.

Knowing how seriously Margaret took table manners, Sam put her teacup on its respective plate before delicately placing both down on the coffee table. “I have an inkling as to why that might be.”

The African-American woman’s perfect posture never faltered. “In that case, I will get straight to the point: sending Miss Baker and Miss Zhou back home while you were left alone with the Ghost King was unbelievably unwise.”

Sam couldn’t help but wince when Margaret’s forest green eyes laid on her, an icy quality to them. “I understand your concern, Margaret, believe me, I do, but…”

“‘But?’” Margaret cut her off, raising an eyebrow as her cup of tea was halfway to her mouth. “Your Majesty, in case you forgot, you are our queen. Amity Park clan’s leader. Dozens of women depend on you for guidance. Your sole presence keeps us from going to war over the throne!”

Unable to hear the same things over and over, the young queen turned her head to the side, as if pained by her words. “I know, I know.” She raised a hand to silence her. “Margaret, you needn’t remind me the very reason why I even stepped up to become queen. Keeping the clan from succumbing to chaos and honouring my grandmother are my main motivations for everything I do.”

“You and me both know that, my Queen.” Margaret conceded, stirring her second cup of tea. “But that does not change the fact that what you did was foolish. However, I also know that you never do anything without reason, so I am willing to hear it.”

With a gesture of her hand, she motioned for Sam to explain herself. Sighing, the violet-eyed girl did just that. “I know my life is precious, but the circumstances were dire and even now I can’t shake the feeling that it’s a miracle I’m even alive.”

“Forgive me, your Majesty. But I fail to see how that is helping your case.” The green-eyed woman pointed out. Deep down she knew Sam probably had a good reason for doing what she did, but as second-in-command, it was her duty to ensure their queen never made a mistake like that ever again.

“I’m getting there, I promise.” Sam hastily said.

With a nod, Margaret gestured for her to continue. “I don’t feel comfortable putting my safety before others’ just because of my position.” She finished, and even Margaret’s stoic mask cracked a little at the revelation. “Stephanie and Susan were with me, Margaret. They were in as much danger as I was, I couldn’t risk their lives like that.”

“Miss Zhou and Miss Baker both volunteered to escort you to your visits to the Ghost Zone, your Majesty.” Her fellow Council member reminded her in between sips. “Had anything happened to them, they were just doing their job.”

“And I wouldn’t be able to live with myself knowing their loyalty would force them to pay such a high price.”

Margaret was about to take another sip of her tea when Sam’s solemn words made her eyes widen. Looking over at her, she noticed her tense posture, her stiff shoulders, her slim fingers clutching tightly at the fabric of her black and purple plaid skirt...And the resolution in her eyes. The older witch could’ve sworn she saw the same fire that was so characteristic of her grandmother in Sam’s violet gaze.

Unaware of the reaction she’d caused to the woman in front of her, Sam went on. “I’m the queen, Margaret. It’s my duty to make sure our people are safe. How do you expect me to just leave them behind, not knowing if they’ll even make it alive!? Even if the black hole had been taken care of without my assistance and they would’ve been safe from it, how do we know the ghosts wouldn’t have taken advantage of the chaos to attack them?!

“Even if I have a feeling King Phantom would’ve tried to protect them, it was still too risky. I would never have been able to live with myself if anything had happened to them because, somehow, my life’s more important than theirs!”

Setting her now cold teacup down, the African-American witch clasped her hands together on her lap. She regarded the young queen with a face that betrayed no emotion. “Your Majesty, you do realise every single one of your points can also be applied to your own situation, right? Just like Miss Baker and Miss Zhou could have been in danger at the hands of the ghosts, so could have you. Except an attempt against your life would be grounds for going to war.”

Knowing she was right, Sam averted her gaze to the side. Suddenly that one painting with the impossible-to-understand analogy on the passage of time seemed much more interesting than ten minutes ago.

Margaret sighed as she stood up. Her high heels clicking against the parquet, she hovered over Sam, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Samantha, I know choosing what is best for our people is hard, especially if it comes into conflict with our personal beliefs and desires, but duty must come first.”

The young sorceress started at the sound of her full name. She really hated being called ‘Samantha’, but knew that was the most personal Margaret would ever get with her, so it'd only be rude of her to complain. “I know,” she sighed dejectedly. “I know, it’s just...I can’t just do that to them! Susan is still just a teenager; no matter how good of a potion-maker and warrior she is, she’s still too young. She has so much to live, I can’t afford to make her miss out on all that for my sake…”

“But what about Miss Baker? I believe you two are the same age; you both still have so much to live, as well.”

“You mean Stephanie still has so much to live for. I gave up on that a long time ago…” Sam couldn’t resist the urge to scoff.

Even if all witches had to make compromises to balance their lives inside and outside of the coven, Sam’s entire life had revolved around giving up on one passion after the other. Growing up she couldn’t make friends because other girls weren’t allowed to go near the queen’s granddaughter. Her world was reduced to the manor and her house, to her family and her teachers, to her lessons and the very scarce moments where she could pretend she was a kid like any other. After her grandma died, under the threat of her coven falling into anarchy until they found a new leader, she sacrificed her one chance at a relatively normal life in exchange of being elected the future queen. For four years her extensive studying and isolation were self-imposed; the only times she allowed herself to take a break where her birthday ーso her dad wouldn’t get suspicious as to what was so important she couldn’t celebrate her own birthdayーand the anniversary of her grandma’s death; because there was no way she’d ever have the energy to work on the most painful day of the year. And now that she was queen, every waking moment was dedicated to looking after her people.

Stephanie was just a shy girl who loved books. Between the two of them, she was the only one who really had a chance at experiencing life outside of the manor’s walls. And Sam refused to be the reason why she lost that chance.

Understanding dawning on her, Margaret’s face softened. “Your motives were noble, my Queen, and I am sure the Baker and Zhou families are extremely grateful for having their children returned to them. Just try to keep in mind that with great power comes great responsibility, and more often than not, that means making sacrifices for the greater good.”

As the spellcaster went back to her chair, Sam could only stare after her like she’d just nonchalantly revealed the meaning of life to her. “...did you just quote Spider-Man?”

Picking her teacup back up, she just chuckled in amusement. “I am a woman of culture, your Majesty. Now, pour yourself another cup of tea or help yourself to some snacks, before it gets cold.”

Reaching over for the kettle to pour some more tea on her cup at the same time as she started munching on a vegetarian sandwich, a comfortable silence settled between them. The only sounds disturbing the quiet atmosphere were the occasional sound of sipping and of plates clattering. In the midst of the silence, Sam’s mind couldn’t help but race back to the moment right after Phantom stopped the blackhole.

She wasn’t lying when she told Margaret she believed he wouldn’t have let anything happen to Susan and Stephanie, for her own protection seemed to be one of his top priorities. That and their last interaction before she returned to Earth had been replaying inside her head over the last several hours.

As she and Phantom stared at each other, unbeknownst to them, both thinking that they could indeed make things work as long as they worked together, Sam’s mind unexpectedly wandered to uncharted territory. Now that she was looking at him up close, a part of her had to agree with all the fangirls who’d squeal every time Phantom appeared on TV; he was quite handsome.

It was undeniable that the Ghost King’s defined physique was anything but hard on the eyes. She didn’t know what it was, but something about himーmaybe the inches he had on her, or maybe the way he’d pressed her close to his chest earlier when he was trying to put her to safety, or maybe the intensity of his neon green eyesーmade her feel safe.

Now that they weren’t separated by a large table and a few feets of distance, Sam could appreciate his chiseled jaw and how his Adam’s apple moved up and down when he gulped, sending a heatwave straight to her very core. His intoxicating eyes no longer looked at her with suspicion and disdain, but with gratefulness and with a candour whose origins she couldn’t quite identify, and at that very moment she was sure nothing would’ve been able to get her to tear her own violet gaze away from them. His shock-white hair alongside his characteristically ghostly glowーthat glow she used to interpret as a warning sign; a reminder of his true natureーall of a sudden made him look ethereal, otherworldly. Like a guardian from beyond sent to protect everyone from evil. Like...Like…

Like an angel.

And his lips...Oh, God. They were so inviting. The mere thought of kissing those lips was incredibly exhilarating. From where she stood, Sam could already imagine his lips on hers, coming together in a slow, passionate dance; their touch so rough and yet so gentle; both breathing her to life and leaving her breathless; and the way he was moving them at that very moment only helped in further cementing her beliefsーwait a minute. They were moving?

“Lady Arcana, are you okay?” Phantom asked, even though he looked a little out of sorts himself. “Your face is a little red. Should we have someone check it out?”

“No!” Sam exclaimed a little too quickly and a little too loudly, shaking her hands before her and already feeling the scorching heat on her cheeks. She barely resisted the urge to facepalm herself. What was she thinking?! Drooling over Phantom? Fantasising with kissing him?! Did she lose her mind?! Maybe he wasn’t as bad as she originally believedーshe was still debating on itーbut he was still a ghost. And ghosts and witches didn’t mix, especially like that. Hell, not even when they were still allies did a ghost and a witch ever end up together!

Noticing the Ghost King staring at her quizzically, the witch cleared her throat in an attempt to appear nonchalant. “I mean, no; I’m fine, really. Probably just a little affected from all the excitement.” Averting her gaze, she jerked her thumb behind her. “I, uh, I should probably go back to my people. They’re probably recruiting an army to come and save me as we speak.” She laughed it off weakly.

Phantom’s eyes shot open at that. “Oh, right! Yeah, it’ll probably be for the best. Wouldn’t want to start a war over a misunderstanding…” He rubbed the back of his neck as he, too, looked away. “I...I’ll let you be.”

“Yeah, well, thanks for saving me.” Sam told him, missing the way his eyes softened at her words. She put a little distance between the two, ready to cast the spell that would send her home, when Phantom’s voice stopped her in her tracks. Turning around, she raised an eyebrow at him, “What?”

“Are there going to be any more meetings after this?” He asked. “I mean, after this whole fiasco, I wouldn’t blame you if you decided to call it quits…”

In spite of herself, the young witch couldn’t help but give him a small smile. “We still need to solve the portal problem, don’t we?” Then, she smirked. “You won’t get rid of me that easily, Phantom!”

The relieved expression he sent her way sent her heart aflutter. Feeling the blush coming back, she hastily turned around once more, ready to leave. “Well, until next time!” Again, she was getting ready to leave when Phantom’s voice stopped her.

“Wait, Lady Arcana!”

“Yes?”

“I...u-uh,...well…” He stuttered before taking a deep breath. “Thank you for saving me, too.”

Against her better judgement, Sam’s expression softened. “You’re welcome, Phantom.” Finally, she focused on her anima, willing a purple light to engulf her as she chanted, “Omnes viae Romam ducunt.”

She could almost feel how every individual cell in her body separated before being rearranged again. The tingling sensation was similar to when she’d phased through Phantom’s lair, except it was warm rather than chilly. Spellcasting felt like being cocooned in a thousand blankets inside your home during a particularly cold winter night, while the sensation brought by ghost powers was akin to sticking your head into the freezer when it was 104 º outside.

Both experiences were incredibly pleasant, albeit drastically different from one another.

When Sam opened her eyes, everything was mayhem.

She’d arrived in the middle of the Grand Hall inside 917 Maplestreet, and every single witch present was looking straight at her. Judging from their positionsーsome had risen from their seats, their hands slamming the tables; others had their arms raised as if making suggestions or waiting for their turns to speak up; a few were arguing amongst themselves…ー, she’d just interrupted a council meeting. Most likely to discuss her current situation.

Oh, great.

“Your Majesty!” A voice cried out, and Sam almost fell back upon impact, for someone had slammed into her chest with great force, almost knocking the wind out of her.

Looking down, she realised the iron grip she suddenly found herself in belonged to none other than Susan. The poor thing was sobbing and hiccuping uncontrollably against her chest. Automatically, Sam put her own arms around her in an attempt to sooth her. With how fierce and disciplined she usually was, it was easy to forget she was, technically, still a kid. She had much to learn before she became completely desensitised to the world’s horrors.

“It’s fine, Susan.” The queen soothed, caressing her hair. “I’m fine.”

Right at that moment, the room erupted in a row of applause and cheering, alongside many questions directed her way. Before Sam could so much as tell them to speak one at a time, she felt something being discreetly slipped under her dress. Turning her head to the side in surprise, she found herself face to face with Stephanie. “Welcome home, your Majesty. I am so glad you have returned.”

When the strawberry blonde winked at her, Sam understood everything. Steph had taken advantage of the current chaos, and of her tied up skirt, to return Arcana’s Grimoire to her. Sam couldn’t help but smile; she was worth much more than people often gave her credit for.

Paulina and Star almost tripped over themselves trying to reach her. Rushing to her side, both simultaneously looking panicked and relieved beyond belief, the moment they reached her side they started fussing about her personal care, promising to prepare a warm bubble bath immediately.

“Your Majesty!” Paulina exclaimed in between pants, “You have no idea how glad we are that you’re back!”

“Totally,” Star agreed beside her friend, nodding but equally winded. “One minute Pauli was trash-talking Ms. Gorilla, and the next news reached us that you hadn’t returned from the Ghost Zone!”

“I’m sorry,” a sultry voice from behind startled them, while Sam shook her head in pity, anticipating what was to come, “you were doing what?” Delilah asked the two ladies-in-waiting sharply, her unforgiving eyes narrowed on them.

The Witch Queen could only roll her eyes knowingly at the way Paulina and Star flinched upon noticing the shapeshifter heard them. ‘Ms. Gorilla’, as Star helpfully supplied when they were assigned to her upon becoming the clan leader, was a moniker Paulina had come up with at the height of her jealousy towards the stunning Council member. Sam, despite her love for animals and nature, hadn’t noticed until they pointed it out, but Delilah shared her name with the famous Purple Back Gorilla that was discovered to be female by a high school student working on extra credit back when she was fourteen.

The thing is, as good-natured and laid-back as Delilah could be, she did not appreciate being compared to such a majestic creature. “I’m waiting, Miss Anderson. What did you say you were doing before you heard the news?”

From where she stood, still being held by Susan’s iron grip, Sam could see how Star was beginning to sweat. The blonde usually didn’t have trouble saying what she thought of others, even if it was mean-spirited or uncalled for, but even she knew it was foolish to anger another witch, especially when her position was much higher than hers.

Squirming under the shapeshifter’s harsh glare, the handmaiden couldn’t do anything but stutter. “Uh...um...w-well...we...we were…and the...the gorilla...b-but then...” She trailed off, luckily for her, Paulina chose that very moment to jump in on the conversation.

“We were just talking about the new gorilla-inspired fashion collection!” The Latina lied and, if you listened closely, you could hear the way her already pronounced accent thickened. Paulina was a good liar, but even she sometimes had trouble working under pressure. “It’s absolutely fabulous! Almost as much as your blouse,” she complimented as she reached out to touch the fabric, “Is it new?”

Unamused, Delilah decided against pushing the issue...for now. Gently swatting the Latina’s hand away from her clothes, she directed a much kinder expression towards Sam. “It’s good to have you back, my Queen. We were worried sick for your safety.”

The violet-eyed queen smiled in return. “It’s good to be back.”

Suddenly, an imposing voice made itself heard from the other side of the room. Heads snapping to the origin of the sound, everyone’s eyes landed on Margaret standing with her hands behind her back by the entrance. She looked as poised and collected as usual.

Somehow, Sam knew she was in for a world of trouble.

“Your Majesty,” Margaret began, and her voice commanded such respect a pin drop could be heard in the middle of the previously loud room, “you have no idea how grateful we are for your safe return. If what Miss Zhou and Miss Baker told us is true,” both witches at her side sent their queen an apologetic look, “then you must be exhausted. Please, after you’re well-rested, come tomorrow to my personal chambers.” She ordered, because she didn’t even ask for an answer, before turning away. Just as she was about to leave the room, she called out over her shoulder, “We have much to discuss.”

Oh, yeah. She was indubitably, thoroughly screwed.

Her instincts were proven correct the moment she was given the third degree by the woman in front of her. As she pondered Margaret’s previous words, however, a question materialised itself inside Sam’s mind.

Furrowing her brow, she called out to her fellow Council member. “Margaret?”

“Yes, your Majesty?”

“You said we more often than not have to make sacrifices in the name of the greater good, even if it goes against our personal beliefs and desires…” she started carefully, looking down at her cup. “Have you ever had to sacrifice something you cared deeply about or wanted desperately for the sake of the coven?”

For a moment, the silence had returned, only it now hung heavily over them, when just a few minutes it’d been comfortable. After a few minutes had passed and she still received no answer, Sam was about to ask again when Margaret finally answered. “Yes, I have.”

Her head shooting at her uncharacteristically lifeless voice, Sam almost gasped. Before her, Margaret wore the saddest expression she’d ever seen of her face. Her deep, green eyes, usually so vibrant and full of colour, were now bleak and devastated, reminiscent of a forest after a wildfire. The otherwise calm and collected Council member now looked heartbroken and desolate, like a piece of her was missing. Margaret certainly wasn’t crying, but she seemed so miserable Sam could feel tears of her own stinging her eyes.

“I...I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind.”

“Uh...right! O-of course. Don’t worry.” The lavender-eyed witch hastily said, too shell shocked to be more eloquent. Margaret never used contractions when talking to her.

Margaret acknowledged her with a respectful nod of her head. “Thank you, your Majesty.” Then she went back to drinking her tea.

Deciding it’d be best to imitate her and pretend nothing had happened, Sam couldn't help but wonder what might’ve happened to Margaret to make her so miserable. But above all else, she could only hope she’d never have to sacrifice the same thing. Somehow, she had a feeling death would be less painful.

...........

The forest in the outskirts of Amity Park could be described as anything but a walk in the park. The tree trunks knotted and twisted, forming shapes made out of the stuff of nightmares. The wind rustling the leaves sounded like a ghostly wail, not unlike Danny’s, albeit much quieter. That only made it more sinister. And the sound of twigs, dead leaves, and fallen tree branches crunching beneath had him frantically looking around for the slightest sign of danger. Since it was mid-October, nearing Halloween, the weather was beginning to change as well. For instance, temperatures were starting to drop from the cool yet warm ones that reigned during late September, and the first fall rainstorm hit the town just the night before.

And since it’d just rained the night before, that meant Tucker was now stepping on mud. He was stepping on mud with his new boots on. He was stepping on mud and getting his new boots that cost him a fortune, mind you, dirty. Already irritated and spooked beyond belief, he called out to the person walking in front of him, “Care to remind me why the fuck I didn’t turn you down on your invitation to, and I quote, ‘a fun fieldtrip?’”

Stopping momentarily to look over her shoulder, Jazz scolded him, “Language.” With that out of the way, she turned her head back around and kept on walking through the forest. “And to answer your question, you agreed to come with me because you want to help Danny as much as I do.”

Tucker rolled his eyes, taking advantage of her back, turned to him, and followed her close behind. “Yeah, that I know. What I mean to say is, how is hiking aimlessly around the woods going to do anything to help Danny?!”

They’d been trekking around that damned forest for three hours, with absolutely nothing to guide them but an old, probably outdated, map some ranger had given to Jazz back at the information booth. Three hours wandering around a forest that was creepier than Mr. Lancer’s ‘sculptured summer physique’ back in summer camp, and the most resting they’d done was when Jazz would suddenly halt to check the map or crouch down to get some samples.

Just like she was doing at that very moment. “Look at this, Tucker. Ocimum basilicum!” She reached her hand out to show it to him before putting it inside a little glass jar. She brought the jar close to her face. “Did you know in Christianity this plant is said to have sprouted when Jesus’ blood fell to the ground?”

“No, I didn’t know that.” The technopath said, unimpressed. “What I do know is that Ocimum basilicum and basil are the exact same thing! Care to tell me why you’re so transfixed on a mere spice? As much as I love myself a good pizza, even I have to admit this is just ridiculous.”

Sliding her backpack across her shoulder, the redhead put away the basil. With that taken care of, she sent her friend a bored look, standing up from the floor and coming to stand beside him. “It’s important because it’sー.”

“‘It’s going to help Danny.’” Tucker finished for her, doing a poor impression of her voice. “You said that over a million times already! Can you at least tell me how it’s going to help Danny?”

Jazz looked away, sulking. “Because...because it just is, okay?! Trust me, Tucker, I know what I’m doing.”

But the African American young man wasn’t buying it. That answer was far too childish, especially coming from someone like Jazz, who’d been acting like someone twice her age for almost as long as he could remember. Something was definitely off.

“But what could it be?” He asked himself as they resumed their march. She said she knew what she was doing, and that was all great and dandy, except he had no idea what they were doing! He was the technician of the team, his specialty were computers, viruses, and thwarting technology-dependent ghosts’ plans! He was not made to hike, looking for God knows what, in the middle of a forest!

And Jazz?! He barely held back a scoff. No matter how much more physically adept than him she was, the eldest Fenton was no field agent, either. For years, her way of assisting Danny in ghost-hunting had been through research, bringing back-up,helping work out the tricky details in their plans, now she was obsessed with finding out more about the witches…

Wait a minute.

Tucker stopped dead in his tracks, fists curled at his sides and a very angry glare directed at the back of the head of his best friend’s older sister appeared on his face. “You dragged me here to help you research witches and avoid Danny’s wrath.”

It wasn’t a question and she knew it. Wincing at the, accurate, accusation, the redhead turned around slowly. “I...I have no idea what you’re talking about…” She tried playing dumb.

In an instant, Tucker got in her face, wagging a chastising finger at her. “Oh, don’t you dare play innocent, little missy! You might have been able to fool your parents all these years, but that’s only because they’re surprisingly gullible. You can’t fool me; we’re here to research witches aren’t we?”

Looking down on the floor, Jazz ultimately gave in, sighing. “Yes, we are.”

“And I’m guessing Danny knows nothing about this which is why; first, you went out of your way to organise this on my free day, which, for the record, also happens to be the day Danny’s schedule is packed; second, you wouldn’t tell me why we’re here; and third, you’re just picking random things up, because not even you know what you’re looking for.”

She bit her lip, knowing she’d been caught. She always forgot how observant Tucker could be. “Maybe?”

“Jazz!”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?!” She snapped. “I know I shouldn’t have lied to you or Danny, but I just can’t sit idly by and watch as he enters the lion’s den, completely unprepared!” She stepped closer to Tucker, looking him dead in the eye. “You know Danny, Tucker. He shoulders everything and refuses to let us help. Please, you have to understand; I have to help my little brother.”

Looking down at her pleading eyes, the techno geek’s own teal orbs softened. He did understand. He really wished Danny would let them help more often. It was just painful watching him come back looking like death, knowing he’d been sticking his neck out for a town that didn’t always appreciate him, and not being able to do much because even then he was protecting them.

It was maddening, really.

Sighing, he grabbed Jazz by her shoulders, trying to show her just how much he understood her plight. “Listen, I know how you feel. You know I know how you feel. But we gotta make sure us going behind Danny’s back will really be for his own good. We can’t just wander aimlessly with no real plan in mind! Never mind how good our intentions are.” Seeing as she only stared at him, unblinkingly, he sighed and let her go. “Face it, Jazz. We’re about as lost as Danny when it comes to witches.”

He was sure what he said would be discouraging, hence why he didn’t understand the way her eyes lit up. “That’s where you’re wrong!” She exclaimed just as she started rummaging through her backpack. After a few seconds, she pulled a book out. “This is a book on plants, arthropods, and other ingredients traditionally used by witches in folklore. If we find a place where many of said ingredients grow or inhabit, we might know where to find them!”

“Right…” he drawled, he should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy to keep Jazz from her goal. “Because there’s no way a group of women from the 21st century have learned to grow or breed those things from the comfort of their homes.” He deadpanned in response. “Is that why we’re here? To look for a bunch of plants and insects?”

Her right hand still clutching the book close to her chest, the other hand fisted on her hip, Jazz sent him an irritated look. “As a matter of fact, I was thinking the witches’ lair could actually be around here.”

Tucker’s brows shot up at that. “What makes you think that?”

“Because it’s tradition!” She exclaimed, before pulling her phone out of her pocket and shoving it in his face. “Did you know Baba Yaga was said to inhabit the Russian forests?”

Glaring at her, he carefully got her phone out of his face. “Yeah...She was also said to be an old hag, with a blue nose, and a bone leg. Pretty sure the Witch Queen Danny meets up with is supposed to be quite the looker. So, try something else.”

Jazz pouted, before trying to come up with a theory that would please him. “Well, what if there are Russian witches in Amity Park? Maybe they stayed true to tradition, taking advantage of the locals’ ignorance to remain inconspicuous.”

“Nice theory,” he clapped sarcastically, “only one tiny, itsy, bitsy detail, though. I doubt the Cold War made it easy for Russian witches to move to the USA. Instead of putting them up to trial for being witches, they’d have been accused of being spies.”

She was beginning to get frustrated with Tucker’s lack of cooperation. Groaning, she snapped. “What do you suggest we do, then?!”

“How about get back to civilisation and forget all about this silly quest, huh?!” He snapped back, dramatically flailing his arms in the air in exasperation. Seriously, were all Fentons supposed to be stubborn to the point of idiocy? Didn’t they understand some things weren’t worth falling-outs and even their lives? He loved that family to death, but if he was going to die for them, he at least would like it to be because of something useful.

Jazz just kept staring back at him, frowning in annoyance, before turning away from him in a huff. Tucker was about to call her out on her behaviour when she beat him to it. “I know I’m being difficult. I know I’m looking for things that aren’t there, but I just need to help Danny!” She whirled back around to look him in the eye, desperation clearly laced in her voice. “Please, Tucker. You have to understand.”

“Uh, no. Not that! Anything but that!” He cried, frantically covering his eyes with his hands. She was pleading, giving him the trademark Fenton, sad, puppy-dog look. The damned thing was so effective he was genuinely surprised it didn’t count as a persuasion technique. Peeking through his fingers, he chanced to look, only to close his eyes shut not long after. Nope, she was still doing that look.

With a dismayed moan, he gave in after a while. “Fiiiiiine!” He groaned, only to subsequently send a glare at Jazz’s direction when he saw her fist-bumping from the corner of his eye. He quickly squared his posture, jabbing his finger against her chest. “But if Danny busts us, you’re explaining things to him!”

He so hated the way she was beaming at him, completely ignoring his threat. “No problem!” She then slapped his hand away, causing him to let out a sound of complaint. The grin had been replaced by an irritated frown. “If you ever touch my chest again, though, I’m going to blast you with the Fenton Ghost Peeler until your skin falls off and only your non-existent muscles remain.”

“Hey!” He began to protest against her comment, only to back-pedal when she sent him a withering glare in warning. “No touching your chest ever again. Got it.” He smiled sheepishly at her. When that seemed to please her, she turned her focus on her book, prompting Tucker to ask. “So, what now?”

“Now we look for evidence that proves the witches of Amity Park visit this place.” She replied, not looking up from her book.

“No, I got that. I mean how are we going to do that?”

“Well, if witches really do need certain ingredients for their spells and potions, then I’d suggest we look for things that could possibly grow around here.” Jazz kept reading the paragraphs detailed in her book, turning pages at the speed of lightning. Stopping at a certain page, she tapped her chin with one finger as she pondered their options before showing the book to Tucker. “Do you think we could find some newts around here? They’re said to have been highly demanded as an ingredient for their eyes.”

Taking a look at the slimy creature pictured in the book, the techno geek recoiled in disgust. He couldn’t hold back a shudder before regaining his composure. “First of all,” he lifted his index finger in the air, “the closest lake in the area is Lake Eerie, a good three hours away from here. So I highly doubt we’ll be finding any newts any time soon.” He fiddled with his PDA before showing it to her, a map appearing on the screen. “And second, even if there were any lakes around here, there’s no way I’m gonna touch an amphibian. I’m a techno geek, not a biology geek. If you want help collecting those little guys, you’re going to have to ask Sam for help.”

That perked the redhead’s interest. “You mean the Manson heiress?” She asked, not missing a beat. Even if the topic of conversation had changed greatly, her focus was still on her book. If newts weren’t an option, something else had to be. She just had to find it. “Is it me, or is there something going on between her and Danny?”

Not one to resist some good gossip, especially when it was related to Danny’s love life, Tucker leaned in closer to Jazz, as if he were about to share a conspiratorial theory with her. “Oh, something is definitely going on. I haven’t seen Danny act so comfortably yet bashful around a girl since Valerie. As for Sam, let’s just say I don’t usually see her with other guys. Period. As a matter of fact…” Eyes snapping open, he trailed off. What Jazz had said about Sam finally catching up to him.

The psychology understudy looked over at him in concern. Unlike her friend, she wasn’t one to gossip, but her little brother’s mental health and social life was something she cared deeply about. Moreso because the two aspects tended to go hand in hand. “Uh, Tucker? Is everything okay?”

“What did you just say?” He practically mumbled in a voice so low Jazz had to strain her ears to hear him.

“Um,” she stammered, “I said, ‘is everything okay?’”

“No, no.” The African American man shook his head and hands, indicating that wasn’t what he meant. “Before that.”

“I literally said ‘uh, Tucker.’” She repeated, looking at him like he’d grown a second head or something. Did a branch fall on his head while they were hiking and she hadn’t noticed?

Oh, for the love of God...This was getting ridiculous! Did he have to spell it out for her? Scrubbing his face with one hand, growing frustrated, he tried one last time. “No, Jazz.” He gritted out as gently as possible. “I’m asking what you called Sam earlier.”

“You mean when I said ‘the Manson heiress?’” She raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“Yes, that!” He exclaimed, before returning Jazz’s confused expression with one of his own. “What do you mean by that?”

“You really don’t know?” She asked in disbelief. Considering that, no, he really had no idea what she was even talking about, the technophile could only shake his head and wait for answers. “Oh! Wow...So turns out Danny isn’t the only person in Amity Park who doesn’t know!” She meant to mutter that part to herself, but her disbelief was so great she forgot to lower her voice, causing Tucker to hear her just fine.

He didn’t know why, but the moment the Fenton girl’s aqua eyes landed on him, Tucker couldn’t help but feel he was being regarded with pity. The fact that she nervously rubbed her arm holding the book up and down while avoiding his gaze didn’t help matters any. “Um, you see...You know Sam’s name, right?”

That made him furrow his brow, not quite following. “Obviously,” he scoffed. “Her name’s Sam Manson. But how come her ID makes her an heiress?!”

“Because she’s not just a Manson,” Jazz corrected him gently, “she’s the only child of the Mansons.”

“Are you saying she’s related to that psycho serial killer?” He squeaked, rightfully freaked out. Deep down, however, he knew that couldn’t be right. Sure, Sam had a spooky taste in...everything, really. But she would never hurtーno, wait a minute. She could definitely inflict pain on others through elaborate and well-thought schemes. But she just couldn’t be related to a serial killer!

...or could she?

“What?!” The redhead gasped. “No, of course not! I’m saying she’s related to the Manson family,” when he was about to comment further, she stopped him with a raised hand, “as in, the descendants of Izzy Manson,” she stressed, annoyed; “the creator of the cellophane-wrapping machine used for chopsticks.”

Growing frustrated at Tucker’s blank face, she made an indecipherable sound at the back of her throat before snapping. “Darn it, Tucker! Rich, I’m saying she’s filthy, stinking rich!” She rolled her eyes when the techno geek’s jaw almost touched the floor. “Gosh! I swear, you’re even more hopeless than Danny!”

“Wait a minute, Sam is rich?!” He all but screeched. “How come she never told me?!”

Feeling sorry for him, she could only shrug in response, her previous aggravation gone. Honestly, she’d only met the girl once, and not even a prodigy like her would’ve been able to determine her thought process with just one session. “I don’t know. If I’m being honest, I’m a bit more surprised you never figured it out.”

That gave him pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...” she crossed her arms. How could she put this gently? “I mean, you’ve known her for a while, haven’t you?” Slowly, he nodded. “And you’re way more into the wealthy and powerful than Danny, and, come on, Sam’s an ultra-recyclo-vegetarian Goth.” She sent him a pointed look. “Goth clothing and vegetarian food aren’t cheap, you know.”

Tucker could only grimace, knowing she had a point. “I know who the Mansons are, but I’ve never seen Sam in any of the pictures taken of her family’s sophisticated parties. And, really, would you seriously take a look at her parents and go, ‘Yep, no doubt. These preppy, cheerful folks are definitely related to cynical, brooding Sam Manson.’” He defended himself, and judging by Jazz’s expression, he knew she concurred. Then, he added, almost as an afterthought, “And honestly, I legit thought she basically ate grass and mud, so…”

Sympathising with him, Jazz put a soothing hand on his shoulder, smiling kindly at him. At first he returned the gesture, before furrowing his brow in concentration. Something wasn’t right... “Wait, how do you know any of this? How do you even know Sam?”

“Ah, Danny and I ran into her and her dad last Saturday at that new Vegetarian Mexican restaurant.”

The bespectacled young man couldn’t do much but blink in astonishment. Then, suddenly, he let himself fall to his knees, crouching down before crossing his arms over his chest, pouting. “How can I possibly be that out of the loop?!”

Jazz flashed him a meek smile in response as she lowered herself to his level; literally. The tug in his lips turned into a full blown smirk as a devious thought came to him. “Was there UST between the two?”

The older girl let out a loud cackle at his question. “Oh, you have no idea!”

With a ‘hm’, he settled for a content smile that Jazz knew was only half-hearted. “That’s enough for me...for now.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at Jazz, trying to joke, but the way she was looking at him made it clear she didn’t buy his attempts to lighten up the mood.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself, huh?” She offered softly. “You speak so fondly of her, and she seemed to know you well enough when we talked about you the other day. I’m sure she’ll come clean to you if you let her know you feel hurt over not knowing who she is.”

Normally he hated when Jazz psychoanalysed the situation, more so if it involved him. But now he couldn’t help but feel grateful for having the eldest Fenton’s advice and support. “Yeah, I...I think I’ll do that.” He smiled at her. “Thanks.”

She smiled back, “You’re welcome.” The quiet atmosphere soon dissipated when she got back up on her feet as she dusted herself off. “Well, we’d better find something that’ll hint us on the witches’ hideout!”

Getting up from the ground as well, Tucker watched as Jazz pulled out the map from her backpack at the same time as she leafed through her book using just her thumb, that girl’s ability to multitask was both impressive and unnerving. She was clearly searching for a clue to get them started on their quest. Rolling his eyes fondly at her, he started fidgeting with his PDA, looking for clues of his own through the best way he knew; technology.

Printed books and maps were fine and all, but it didn’t take long for them to become outdated. With the Internet and his trusty PDA, Tucker always had the latest information in the palm of his hand. Literally. As his eyes scanned over dozens of articles from the day before to several decades prior, his eyes landed on one story in particular.

Gasping, he called out to Jazz. The girl looked up from her own research to see Tucker motioning for her to come closer with his hand. Curious, she did just that. The moment she was within touching distance, he handed the PDA to her. “Look!”

She squinted her eyes on the screen. What appeared was an old newspaper article, around thirty years old. When she read it over, however, her eyes widened. “Is this what I think it is?” She whispered in disbelief, as she turned to Tucker, who was smirking.

“You’d better believe it!” Snatching the device from her hands, he began scrolling down and zooming in on certain fragments of the article. “It’s a news segment dedicated to two rangers’ retelling!” He exclaimed, his eyes not once looking away from the screen. “According to them, a few days before the interview with the newspaper, they were patrolling around the woods when they came upon what appeared to be a garden entirely made up of mandrake! Which took them aback because, first, that was a restricted area to the public; and second, mandrake usually grows in Mediterranean weather!

“Since it was getting late, they decided to investigate the following day first thing in the morning. But when they tried getting to the garden, they found they couldn’t. Somehow, whenever they thought they were getting closer, they kept getting lost and further away, something that was odd because they’d both been working as rangers, walking through the woods, for more than twenty years!” He finished, looking far more excited at the prospect of their research than he’d been before. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Her hands clasped in front of her beaming face, Jazz could only nod eagerly. “Mandrake is one of the plants that are most popularly associated with witches and magic, and the rangers kept getting lost because they’d found a patch of mandrake and the witches wanted to keep them away in order to protect their secret!”

“And you said Internet searches were only going to lead us to Satanist sites.” He flashed her a shit-eating grin, feeling proud of himself.

“Ugh, knock it off!” She playfully shoved him away, before growing serious again. Her joy being replaced by uncertainty. “Just a question, though?”

“What?”

“How are we going to find this mandrake patch? It’s been over thirty years! And if the witches were able to make two seasoned rangers wander aimlessly through the forest, what chances do we have of finding it ourselves?”

Tucker opened his mouth, only to close it again, realising he didn’t have an answer to her question. Yep, that could definitely be a problem. “Well, the rangers didn’t know they were facing off against a group of spellcasting women; we do.” He tried steering the conversation in the right direction. “What do we know about witches?” She was about to speak when he cut her off, “ Aside from the obvious.”

Bringing a fist to her chin, Jazz began to revise everything she’d learned on them ever since Danny shared his latest plan with them. “Hm, Danny said witches used to be able to summon ghosts from the Ghost Zone and make them cross over to Earth. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Hm, it might.” Tucker replied, the gears already turning in his head. “You know how every ghost has its own ecto-signature?”

“Yeah?”

“What if the witches have something like that?” He suggested, his mind already focused on the possibilities.

Jazz gasped, her eyes widening at the possibility. “Then maybe we could create our own version of the ghost radar, except that instead of ghosts, it’d latched onto a witch’s own signature!” She added, practically bouncing up and down.

“That way, we could lead the radar to someplace with a particularly strong magical signature, and therefore guide us to the mandrake patch without getting lost!” Tucker continued, equally excited.

“Which would then allow us to track any witch that comes to the garden.” Jazz said.

“And eventually lead us to their hideout!” Tucker finished. The two of them high-fived the other, reeling from the revelation. They were so hyped they almost forgot to address the most important part of the plan.

“So,” Tucker started, slipping his PDA back in his pocket. “What about Danny? Do we tell him about this?”

Against her better judgement, Jazz shook her head. “No. I believe it’d be best if we don’t.”

“Are you sure?” Tucker raised an eyebrow. “Arguably, this affects him much more than it does us.”

“I know, but we need to give him an edge over the witches. An ace up his sleeve! Something to use as leverage if the queen ultimately turns against him.” She explained. “Telling him of our plan before we even have a clue would only make things more difficult for him.” Noticing Tucker’s unsure expression, she rushed to reassure him. “I promise, the moment we know where they gather, we’ll tell him. Okay?”

Tucker didn’t look convinced. Excluding Danny in something this important just felt wrong! But, on second thought, Jazz was his older sister; she’d been taking care of and protecting him long before she learned about the accident. Jazz was always looking out for her baby brother’s best interests. Sighing, he gave in. “Okay.”

“Thank you, Tucker.” She grinned in appreciation before she looked down at her phone and noticed the time. “Now, come on! We still have to get back before Danny finishes his classes and notices we’re nowhere to be found. We don’t want him to get suspicious, do we?”

As he followed her back through the way they’d come from, Tucker could only hope their decision wouldn't bite them in the ass.

..........

“Remind me again why we’re here?”

“Because we needed to meet up and the You Mocha Me Crazy was closed today.” Tucker smirked smugly at her from the seat across from her; a mixture of grease and sauce dripping from his fingertips. “My, what a tragedy!” He lamented in mock sadness.

Her body leaned forward and her elbow propped up on the wobbly table, Sam sent him a nasty look. “Knock it off! You like the café and you know it.”

The techno geek shrugged, unconcerned. “I’ll admit, they make good sandwiches. But nothing can beat my love for the Nasty Burger. It was about time I dragged you here for a change.”

Danny was sure the Goth girl was about to deliver a very colourful string of words their friend’s way hadn’t he intervened. “Remember, Sam,” he warned, putting a hand on her shoulder, making her look at him instead, “this is a kid-friendly space.” He took her huffing and crossing her arms over her chest as she slumped on her seat as a victory. “Look on the bright side,” he pointed at the trail of food in front of her, “at least they serve vegetarian menus.”

“It was a pleasant surprise.” She admitted, looking down at the tofu-soy melt she’d been served. “I honestly thought their only options would be a bunch of so-called salads with more meat than lettuce.” Picking the sandwich up, her face wrinkled in disgust when she brought it to her face. Averting her eyes, she promptly set it back down, before sliding the trail away from her. “That being said, that thing’s soggier than a quarterback’s socks after a football game.”

“Then it should be just like you like it!” The techno geek quipped, causing Sam to fling some of his own fries at him in retaliation. Tucker could’ve tried shielding his face from the assault, but that would've meant dropping his burger, leaving him no choice but to become an easy target. “You’re gonna pay for those fries.” He deadpanned, his scowl only deepened when the Goth girl blew him a raspberry in response.

“I believe it’d be more accurate to say football players’ socks are stiff after a game, giving the poor hygiene of the guys at our high school,” Danny pointed out matter-of-factly, trying to keep the peace between the two, before noticing the possible innuendo thanks to the help of Tucker and Sam’s meaningful looks. “But I get what you mean.” He finished lamely.

Changing her position so she was looking directly at him, her face leaning on the hand resting on the table, Sam raised an amused eyebrow in his direction. “No offence, Danny, but teenage boys aren’t exactly known for their impeccable hygiene.” With a noncommittal shrug she leaned back against her seat. “There isn’t much of a difference between you guys and pigs; you’re both more voracious than a pack of hyenas and your body odor is arguably stronger than a pig-pen’s stench.” She pinched her nose with her fingers for emphasis, the smirk never leaving her face.

Both guys seated with her shot her matching glares. “I resent that.” They said in unison, making her laugh.

“FYI, Sam,” Tucker said between bites of his Mega Meaty Nasty Burger, “Danny and I had to learn the wonders of personal hygiene much sooner than any other guy at our school.” Setting the remainder of his burger down on its trail, his arm resting close to it, he leaned closer to Sam, as if he were about to share a secret. “For all the cruel things the girls said about us behind our backsー”

“Or to our faces.” Danny reminded him with a pained mumble.

“Or to our faces.” Tucker agreed. “Despite everything, they never, not even once, complained about the way we smelled.” He leaned back against his seat with a triumphant grin, the burger already in his hands. “That’s way more than the jocks ever got.”

“Now that you mention it, Tuck,” the blue-eyed boy started, “I think the closest we ever got to a compliment from the A-list girls was when Paulina, grossed out by Dash trying to flirt with her all sweaty after P.E., screeched, ‘Get away from me! Not even those losers of Foley and Fenton smell nearly as bad as you!’” He mimicked in a very whiny, high-pitched voice.

While Danny’s imitation got him and Tucker in stitches, it got Sam thinking. Did he say Paulina? She didn’t want to just assume the Paulina she knew was the only one in town, but she couldn’t help but think of her. “Uh, guys?” She waited until they gave her their full attention. “Um, sorry if this is weird, but I just realised I never got around to asking you; which high school did you go to?”

“Casper High.” They replied at the same time. “Why?”

Okay...so they were talking about the Paulina she knew. The Latina wasn’t kidding when she said she used to be the queen bee at Casper High when she and Star studied there, if Danny and Tucker’s retelling, as the lowest end of the food chain, was anything to go by. “Um...no reason, really. I was just curious, that’s all.” Not feeling up to compromising her, for once, plausible answer, she quickly tried changing the subject. “If what you’re telling me is true, though, how come you were such prodigies in the art of not smelling like garbage that’s spent way too much time under the sun?”

“Ghosts.” Tucker replied simply. Panicking, Danny discreetly kicked him in the shins, the only reason his best friend didn’t yelp in pain was the warning glare the raven-haired boy was sending him. He was about to ask him what he wanted when Sam supplied the answer.

“Ghosts?” She echoed, tilting her head to the side.

Flinching at the realisation of what he’d just said, he immediately tried to cover his slip-up. “Y-yeah! Ghosts!” He vaguely registered Danny rubbing his temple with two fingers from the corner of his eye. “You...you remember Danny’s a Fenton, right?”

“Yeah?” She raised a quizzical eyebrow, while Danny’s head shot up at that, wondering what his best friend was up to.

“You see,” Tucker said with the same tone of voice a teacher would use when enlightening his students on his subject, “since Danny’s folks are ghost hunters, ever since the spooks started haunting Amity Park, Mr. and Mrs. F. have been a little...say, trigger-happy. So every time they thought a ghost was near, we’d accidentally end up covered in whatever goop they were developing. Hence, why we were always taking showers.”

Catching onto what he’s best friend was up to, Danny was quick to add. “In fact, my sister used to have long, flowing hair, but ended up cutting it to a pixie cut after one too many accidents.”

“That’s...weird as fuck.” Sam said, and for a moment the two men feared she’d seen through them. Until she bobbed one shoulder up and down as she readied herself for round two against her tofu-soy melt. “But I guess it makes sense.”

“It does?” Danny asked, before Tucker’s foot painfully stomping on top of his brought him back to his senses. “I-I mean! Of course it makes sense...well, it shouldn’t, but that’s my family for you!” He made a helpless gesture as he shot her a sheepish grin her way.

Their antics made her frown in suspicion, “Are you guys okay? You’re acting weird, and that’s saying something.”

“We’re perfectly fine!” Tucker rushed in to say, at the same time as Danny tried with, “Just tired!” They shared furtive glances at each other when the dissonance registered in their brains. Then they tried again, only for Tucker to squeak, “Just tired!” at the same time as Danny assured, “We’re perfectly fine!”

A little creeped out by what was taking place right in front of her, the girl munched on her sandwich painfully slowly. “Uh huh…” She drawled, not buying it. She swallowed her food before addressing them again, her hazel-eyes strained on the two nervous-looking boys. “So, which one is it? Are you perfectly fine, or are you tired?”

Gulping loudly, Danny chose to speak for the two of them, seeing as their usual ‘bronnection’ was failing them. “Come on, Sam. We obviously mean we’re a little tired, with all our assignments and whatnot, but overall, we’re perfectly fine!” The halfa tried alleviating the tension with a motion of his hand. “That’s just your usual college student life. What’re you gonna do? Right, Tuck?” He elbowed his bespectacled friend, urging for support.

The African American young man started, “Oh! Um...sure” He stammered at first. “Totally. Nothing going on but your typical college life problems.” He let out an awkward laugh.

Sam just kept staring at them just as intently as before, her intertwined hands resting on the table. With her eyes narrowed on them like a gangster deciding whether to kill or torture a snitch that’d ratted them out to the cops. The pair of best friends could barely contain the urge to squirm under her scrutiny. Finally she shook her head and, for a moment, they were sure she’d made her choice; they were dead. “We definitely can’t come back here. The food’s so bad it’s rotting your brains!” She shook her head in mock concern. “And it’s not like you had many to begin with…”

“Wait a minute!” Tucker protested while Danny let out a relieved sigh, “You leave the Nasty Burger out of this!”

“I just say it as I see it.” Sam countered in a sing-song voice. It was so easy to get a rise out of him, she just couldn’t resist.

As his two friends started bickering, Danny limited himself to watching them, amused and content to have them in his life. A part of him still couldn’t believe how easily Sam had filled the space he didn’t even know was empty. His whole life he thought Tucker’s companionship was all he neededーexcept for his early high school days when he dreamed of being part of the A-listers, but he’d since wisened up. With ghost-hunting overcomplicating his life, he’d long given up on expanding his social circle outside of his sister and best friend, and serious girlfriends were an all-time no-no, but in just a few meetings, the Goth changed that.

Her individualism and strong moral compass were the perfect addition to his dry sense of humour and awkwardness, and Tucker’s optimism and desire to do something big. It was like they balanced each other out. Sam’s own sense of justice aligned itself nicely with Danny’s own need to do the right thing and protect others, while she shared the need to stand outーalbeit in different waysーwith Tucker, as opposed to his efforts of blending in. Even their differences were a great addition to their friendship, for they forced them to open their eyes to new possibilities they might have overlooked.

Danny wished Clockwork would just stop time right at that very moment. There, in the middle of the crowded and not always sanitary Nasty Burger, surrounded by teens complaining about the struggles of high school and underpaid workers, everything was perfect. Being there with Tucker and Sam, watching them bicker and mediating when things threatened to get out of hand, felt like things were as they should have always been.

They weren’t even there to talk about witches! Somewhere along the way hanging out with Sam just became normal; the right thing to do. And to think not that long ago he didn’t even know she existed…

Watching her bring a hand to the shaved half her face, as if she were about to push away some hair blocking her view only to stop in mid-air and sheepishly put her hand back down on the table when she remembered there was nothing to push awayーmaybe she still wasn’t used to missing half of her raven locksーwarmed his heart. For a moment, she redirected her focus on him, probably sensing his eyes on her, and she flushed prettily, causing heat to creep up on Danny’s own cheeks as a result.

They immediately averted their eyes and focused on something else; Sam looked back at Tuckerーwho was trying very hard to keep his impish grin off his faceーand Danny found himself looking at the ceiling. He’d never noticed there were pieces of gum up there...

For someone who’d sworn off romance after sophomore year of high school, he was doing a very poor job at steering clear of it. Just like the route his treacherous mind had taken the other day as he locked eyes with Lady Arcana…

The halfa could feel his heart squeezing in his chest just by looking into those heliotrope orbs of hers. From the moment he first laid eyes on her, he knew not even his glowing gaze could compare to them in uniqueness. Regrettably, the usual frostiness he found in them hindered their beauty. But now that she was staring at him with great esteem and, dare he hope, a hint of admiration, it was as if spring had finally arrived and had defrosted her gaze; revealing the field of lilacs hidden underneath.

The content smile tugging at her lips illuminated her entire visage, accentuating that tantalising beauty he chose to overlook due to the rocky nature of their relationship. In all his years coming back and forth between the Ghost Zone and Amity Park, he was sure he’d never met anyone who represented the beauty of both worlds quite like she did; and he was a halfa!

Her amethyst eyes and her paranormal nature made her stand out even in a dimension populated by powerful entities, each possessor of a unique gift. The way the eery light coming from the ectoplasmic swirls around them reflected on her slick, black hair gave her an appropriately otherworldly glowーso beautiful it eclipsed anything he’d ever seen before. It was almost like she belonged in the Ghost Zone.

But her personality wasn’t like any he’d ever encountered before, let alone in a spirit. He hadn’t realised it until now, or rather, he hadn't allowed himself to see it, but there was no denying the glimpses of something incredibly humane within her. As unusual a sight it might be, her love for her carnivorous plant wasn’t any different from that of a little girl playing with her puppy. The care she felt for it was evident in the curve of her smile whenever she glanced down at her little, potted friend. Her love and loyalty for her people were admirable as well. He’d been lying if he said he hadn’t been taken aback by her insistence of staying behind in order to protect her two subjects. As vain as it sounded, he’d only seen that kind of dedication and sacrifice in himselfーright when he took off to take on Pariah Dark. She’d even saved him, a ghost! Her alleged worst enemy! And all because she saw him in need and couldn’t sit idly by and do nothing.

He could see it now. Lady Arcana represented the best of both worlds. It was like she belonged with him…

Eyes widening in shock, he quickly tried to shake off the strange feelings taking residence in his core. Maybe he’d been too quick to judge Lady Arcana, but she was still a witch! It’d be incredibly foolish of him to ignore centuries of beef between their people just for a pretty face. Besides, even if ghosts and witches weren’t enemies, he still could never date her. It’d be too dangerous.

He had to snap out of those delusions, pronto. “Lady Arcana.” He called out to her. A few seconds passed and she said nothing, causing him to worry. Now that he looked closely at her, she seemed a little flushed; what if something was wrong with her?

“Lady Arcana, are you okay?” Phantom asked, even though, unbeknownst to him, he looked a little out of sorts himself. “Your face is a little red. Should we have someone check it out?”

“No!” She exclaimed a little too quickly and a little too loudly, which only made him worry more for her sake. She was frantically shaking her hands before her and her cheeks only took on a deeper shade of red.

Looking at him like she’d been caught doing something bad, the witch cleared her throat, although it looked a little forced. “I mean, no; I’m fine, really. Probably just a little affected from all the excitement.” Averting her gaze, she jerked her thumb behind her. “I, uh, I should probably go back to my people. They’re probably recruiting an army to come and save me as we speak.” She laughed it off weakly.

The halfa’s eyes shot open at that. Duh! What was he thinking!? Of course not seeing their queen return from the Ghost Zone would cause an uproar among her clan! “Oh, right! Yeah, it’ll probably be for the best. Wouldn’t want to start a war over a misunderstanding…” He rubbed the back of his neck as he, too, looked away. “I...I’ll let you be.”

“Yeah, well, thanks for saving me.” Lady Arcana said softly, and Danny could feel his heart swelling at her words. Unbidden, his expression fell a little when she put a little distance between the two. She was about to cast the spell that would send her home when his voice acted before his brain had time to catch up to it. “Wait!”

Turning around, she raised an eyebrow at him, “What?”

“Are there going to be any more meetings after this?” He asked. “I mean, after this whole fiasco, I wouldn’t blame you if you decided to call it quits…”

In spite of himself, he couldn’t keep the seed of hope from being planted when she gave him a small smile. “We still need to solve the portal problem, don’t we?” Then, she smirked. “You won’t get rid of me that easily, Phantom!”

Danny was pretty sure he’d just smiled appreciatively at her, which was why he didn’t understand when she hastily turned around once more, ready to leave. “Well, until next time!”

“Wait, Lady Arcana!” He called out to her once more, hating how desperate he sounded.

“Yes?”

“I...u-uh,...well…” He stuttered before taking a deep breath. “Thank you for saving me, too.”

The way her expression softened was enough to bring forth emotions he long believed dead and buried. “You’re welcome, Phantom.” Finally, she focused on her anima, willing a purple light to engulf her as she chanted, “Omnes viae Romam ducunt.”

And with that, she was gone.

The snow-white haired ghost kept staring off into the distance even after she was long gone, his mind still trying to process the day’s events. But there was something that, hard as he might, he just couldn’t make sense of. She’d been able to grab him while he was intangible, but how? At first he thought it was a specific spell or something, but that theory was soon proven mistaken when not even Lady Arcana seemed to know how she’d been able to touch him.

Only one thing was for sure; he needed answers. And he had a pretty good idea where he’d be able to get them.

Danny’s musings were abruptly interrupted by the sight of his best friend pointing a fry accusingly at Sam, “When were you going to tell me you’re rich?”

A heavy silence suddenly filled their booth. It was like someone had forced a horrible screech out of a vinyl disc by scratching on its surface. Looking over at Sam, the halfa was sure she was about to drop her food, too stunned to even move. The way her eyes had popped open would’ve been comical, hadn’t it been for the tense atmosphere.

Shaking her head lightly, the Goth girl finally regained her senses, her shocked face morphing itself into a scowl. “Say it a little louder, Tucker.” She grumbled. “I don’t think they’ve heard you all the way to Siberia.”

Now it was Tucker’s turn to scowl. “Uh, no. You don’t get to be mad at me for saying it aloud.” He slumped back on his seat, turning his head away from her. “Not when you never even told me yourself; I had to find out through Jazz.”

“Jazz?” Danny repeated, confused. “When did you talk about this with Jazz?”

“Uh...we were texting each other and it came up.” He shrugged his concerns off. “But that’s not important right now. What matters,” he said hotly as he shot the brunette a pointed look, “is that we’ve been friends for over a year and you never told me! How come Danny and Jazz get to know you’re part of the Mansons but I don’t?!”

The youngest Fenton was about to try and explain things to the techno geek when Sam beat him to it, “Tucker, it’s not like I planned this! I was just having dinner with my dad when Danny and his sister appeared at the restaurant.” She explained, exasperated. “And honestly? The only reason Danny knows is because Jazz already did. It’s not like I saw them come in and waved at them like, ‘Hey, guys! I’m here with my Hella wealthy father! You wanna come with to our yacht in the Mediterranean?’” She droned in an overly cheery, sugary-sweet voice, her lashes fluttering excessively.

“You have a yacht in the Mediterranean?” Both boys asked, incredulous.

Her scowl deepened. “That’s irrelevant.”

“Yeah, well..,” His shoulders slouched, Tucker could only sulk, hurt. “Could’ve still told me. I thought we were friends, Sam.”

His words were like a knife piercing through her heart. They were friends, weren’t they? Despite their differences and some of his most obnoxious flaws, Tucker was still the first person to ever approach her without ulterior motives in mind. Even after they’d made it clear they could never work as a couple, he stayed with her. Annoying he may be, he was still the first friend she’d ever made on her own, and she loved him for it. He was right; he didn’t deserve to be hurt due to her secretive nature.

With a sigh, she scrubbed her face with one hand, feeling remorseful. “Tuck, I’m...I’m really sorry.” She confessed, earning the techno geek’s full attention. “You’re right, even if the secret was mine to tell, I should’ve let you know sooner.” She sighed once more, unable to meet his eyes. Sam hated allowing herself to be vulnerable in front of others; growing up, she’d learned to depend on no one but herself, therefore, showing her helpless, weaker, side to others was incredibly hard to do. “Listen, you’re the first friend I’ve made in a very long time. I was afraid of losing you.”

Although his posture was still guarded, Tucker couldn’t deny her words piqued his interest. “What do you mean, Sam? How is me knowing who you are going to lead to you losing me?”

“I sort of agree with Tucker.” Danny commented. “If anything, it’d bring you two closer.”

“Right?”

Chuckling mirthlessly, the Goth shook her head. Both boys flinched when they saw the pain reflected in her hazel eyes. “Look, being me isn’t easy, okay? I’m not saying life in general ain’t shitty, because that’d be lying, but my life is especially complicated.

“I grew up trying to live up to insanely high expectations, a childhood no kid should ever be forced to go through. I was constantly reminded of the near impossibility that was me making real friends, and I guess, once I reached puberty, it just made me cynical.” Sam admitted quietly, not looking up from her trail of food. “By the time I could try making friends of my own, I was already convinced the moment they learned of my family’s wealth, they’d start seeing me as their personal credit card, instead of my own person who deserves to be loved and accepted just for being who I am.”

Although she desperately tried to hide it, Danny and Tucker immediately exchanged concerned glances the instant she sniffled. Their hearts broke in two for the girl sitting with them. Sure, they’d been Casper High’s laughing stock from the beginning to end of their high school experience, but they always had each other. Sam...Sam spent the majority of her life alone. It was impossible not to feel for her.

“In...in the end,” God, how she hated the way her voice shook! “I decided hiding that part of me was easier. I wanted friends who liked me for me, and having a Black MasterCard was surely going to make things difficult.”

“You have a Black MasterCard?” Tucker accidentally let out. When Danny’s neon green glare started burning a hole in his skull, he backtracked. “I’m sorry, Sam. I mean...I guess I mean I’m sorry.”

“You are? But I’m the one who’s kept you in the dark this long!”

“Yeah, and it hurts.” He admitted. “But it’s obvious you had your reasons and after hearing them, man, I can’t blame you. I would also hide all that cash if I were you. Even though the temptation of flaunting my own private jet in front of all the asholes who used to shove me into lockers would be too great.”

Despite herself, his joke made her laugh. “Thanks Tuck. Friends?” She rubbed her eyes to wipe the imaginary tears away. She was relieved to know she didn’t cry; crying was something Sam Manson just didn’t do. It would’ve been mortifying.

He leaned over to rest a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We’re still friends. But you’re paying for our next meal.” That earned him a playful punch on the arm from the Goth, but the smile on her face betrayed her true emotions.

Shaking her head good-naturedly, she scoffed. “Deal.”

After that, the three kept talking amongst themselves. About everything and nothing. Nearing the end of their meal, Danny and Tucker were too engrossed reminiscing about their high school days per her request. Admittedly, just hearing the traumatising experiences they’d been through made her feel suddenly grateful for never attending the dreaded place herself. Still, after the tenth story retelling how some jackass had forced Danny to eat his jockstrap after losing a betーew!ー her mind wandered elsewhere.

Her last encounter with Phantom sent her reeling. The way they both complemented each other when they worked as a team was astounding. It reminded her of Grandma Ida’s tales of how things used to be before the ghosts forced them into hiding, when the two species were practically symbiotic of each other.

For the first time since she received his letter, she found herself trusting him. Most importantly, a part of herself came to wish she could indeed trust him. Perhaps all the centuries apart and resentment had clouded their people’s minds. Maybe they were really better off together than separated. She had to admit her knowledge on ghosts was very limited aside from what she’d been taught her entire life, and if there was something Sam was, that was inquisitive. She never took anything by face value, so why did she do just that with ghosts?

She needed to learn more about them. She needed to act like an individual, rather than a bee awaiting orders from the queen, and do a little research of her own.

She needed answers and, crazy as it might be, she knew where to find them.

“Hey, Danny?” Her voice stopped short Tucker’s retelling of his hellish experience dating the second most popular girl in school. When Danny’s baby blue eyes met hers, she almost lost her nerve. Almost. “Um, would you mind taking me to FentonWorks?”

#Danny Phantom #dp #dp fic #my fic #your heart #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #jazz fenton #Paulina Sanchez #star dp #Amethyst Ocean #ghost king! danny #ghost king au #witch queen au #witch queen! sam #enemies to friends to lovers

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kleineschatz · 3 years ago

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Goodness, PRINCESS AMELIA has arrived in London. SHE is 25, of the BRITISH ROYAL FAMILY. Though they are NEW to the Season, we can only describe them as GOOD-HEARTED and ALTRUISTIC, dear reader. Accompanied by HER MOTHER, HRH QUEEN CHARLOTTE & HER POMERANIAN, LOTTIE, they have settled in and are accepting social calls. But be warned: they are known for their NAIVETE. (Clara, 26, she/her, EST)

BIO

“Our littlest sister is without exception one of the prettiest children I have ever seen.”

Shadow borders light, and so it was with the birth of Amelia Augusta. The youngest of fifteen children, Amelia’s arrival brought a smile to the face of a family heavy with grief; the Queen and King had suffered the untimely passing of their son Octavius earlier the same year, preceded by Alfred’s death the year prior. From her first breath, she was a comfort to her siblings and parents, which would prove to be a burden heavier than any of the crown jewels.

“A very clever, well-informed woman, but who never lived in the world.”

Amelia’s upbringing mirrored that of her siblings: rigorous, thorough and exacting. She learned to speak French, Italian, Latin and German, reciting new vocabulary on brisk daily walks. There were lessons in those pursuits fitting of a lady, including needlework, dancing and deportment. Naturally musical, Amelia preferred singing over the piano forte or harp (though she was competent in both). It should have been gratifying that she was afforded an education equitable to that of her brother’s, as she received instruction in geography, grammar, and art, but it slowly became clear that the princes and princesses were raised to different ends. While the princes were at liberty to grow selfish, frivolous and abrasively political, Amelia was nurtured and pruned so that she could blossom prettily, only to be tied tighter to the stake.

“I cannot deny that I have never wished to see any of them marry: I am happy in their company, and do not in the least want a separation.”

Some lessons cannot be taught by instruction, they can only be learned through experience.

There is a certain heaviness to her father’s sigh when his mood turns. Amelia first learned this when she was eleven and a gusty breath was followed by an hour long monologue about everything and nothing. There is a difference been his disappointed frustration when he is lucid, and the blind rage that takes over when he is lost to the recesses of his mind. Deportment taught Amelia that the King is Your Highness first and Sir afterwards, but his meltdown when she was twelve was instructive in learning that papa soothes him best. Fluency in five languages is irrelevant when a simple melody of an English country song helps ease her father’s inconsolable crying.

To watch the man you love become someone else begets its own sort of madness. Queen Charlotte, already a fickle creature, expels her energy outward, casting judgement and seeking amusement wherever she goes. When Amelia’s sweetness isn’t being used to console the King, she can be found at the Queen’s side, wielding her amiability to soften the sharpness of a weary wife.

Amelia is the youngest, the favorite, a jewel in a cache of fifteen family gems, a comfort to her father and a companion to her mother. She is so preoccupied with being what is needed, she rarely has the opportunity to consider what she wants.

“So deadly dull... I wished myself a kangaroo.”

Marriage is a forbidden word at Buckingham House (or the nunnery, as Augusta often calls it). The princesses move in the narrow space between worlds, on display and admired by the ton but out of reach and untouchable. Their mother’s recent ball may have filled the lawn with peacocks, but gentlemen are the more exotic creature, primping and preening for ladies who flirtatiously flutter fans in return.

When her back aches from sitting ramrod straight to avoid upsetting her mother’s frayed nerves, or she sets off to find her father, who was wandered off again, Amelia wishes she could be anyone, anything but who God has divined her to be. A kangaroo, beholden to no one but nature, a Miss instead of Her Royal Highness, a wife who has a spouse who puts her first.

PERSONALITY & TRAITS

Amelia serves as the family mediator. While this role has taught her to always look for the best in others, it has also made her compromising and biddable to a fault.

Well-educated but poorly socialized and insulated from bad actors due to Royal life, Amelia possesses a dangerous naïveté.

Amelia has a habit of internalizing her repressed frustrations. She might long for a moment of solitude after a long day of pleasing others, only to feel guilty for being idle once she’s alone. Lashing out due to stress is often followed by regret and profuse apologies for being taciturn. At her core, she knows she is loved and blessed, there is no excuse for griping.

As a member of the Royal family, Amelia has a natural obligation to be a model Christian. That duty is made easier by sincere, devout belief. Born to a volatile home, the predictable routine of church ritual is almost as comforting as the idea of a perfect, Heavenly Father.

#*about

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pocket-luv101 · 4 years ago

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First Impressions // Chapter 1

Fandom: Servamp Ship: LawLicht (main), KuroMahi (side), Tetsono (side), Jekuni (side) Characters: Hyde, Licht, Kuro, Mahiru

Summary: After Licht meets the wealthy bachelor, Hyde, she was certain that she could never be friends with him. Their paths continues to cross and she slowly comes to know him. Licht wonders if she judged him too quickly. (LawLicht, Pride and Prejudice AU, Fem Licht)

(Ch.1) //

Licht was immersed in playing her piano. She loved music and she wanted to become a pianist. She understood that it would be difficult for her to be a professional musician due to her gender. Women were taught music and art but there was an expectation that they would perform as a hobby rather than a career. Despite the limitations, Licht was determined to pursue her dreams.

She hoped to provide for her sisters with her passion as well. While her family were respected among high society, they were far from wealthy. Both of her parents were rather frivolous with money. She had four sisters whom she adored and she wanted to give them an easy life. The hardship the sisters faced brought them closer.

“Father, I must speak with you immediately!” Mikuni yelled as she stormed into the drawing room. Licht was confused by her sister’s tone of voice. She rarely heard her be genuinely angry as she was now. While Mikuni would often feign a dramatic personality around strangers, she was truly a composed and intelligent person. “What is this that I’ve found in the study?”

She slammed a piece of paper onto the table in front of their father. Licht was curious what could’ve made her sister so upset and she stopped playing to listen to their conversation. Mikuni stabbed her finger against the words on the paper and Licht thought the table would break beneath her anger.

“Your will states that our house and land will be inherited by the male heir of our family after your death. Must I remind you that you have five daughters and no sons, Father? If you die without a son, the house will be given to our cousin, Haruto, and he will surely evict us. You will be forcing us to be homeless or to rely on the charity of others.” Mikuni took a pen and pressed it into her father’s hand. “I will not leave this spot until you amend this will so the house will be split equally among the five of us.”

“Mikuni, you are being unreasonable. This is a fairly standard will. Women are not permitted to inherit property so I couldn’t include you in my will. You are very intelligent so you should be able to understand the law.” He said and his answer only made her frown deepen. “Your Uncle Toru is very kind. Perhaps he can take you girls in.”

“We grew up in this house and Mikuni should be the one to inherit it.” Licht argued in support of her sister. “She took over the estate’s finances and she’s the only reason we weren’t forced to sell off the house to settle your gambling debt. Mikuni can run the business better than Haruto. He has never stepped foot on our land and doesn’t know it as well as Mikuni.”

The Eves owned a modest animal farm and their main income came from training horses for nobles. When Mikuni was only seventeen, she had decided to help with the family’s business. She had gained the respect of the workers over the past ten years and they saw her as their manager over her father. Despite her efforts to save her family’s home from debtors, she would still lose it.

“You father and I have already discussed the issue, my sweet children.” Their mother said. “There is no need to worry about our financial security after you find husbands. In fact, a wealthy family will be moving into the estate next to ours. The Servamp family has several eligible bachelors and one will be taken with our beautiful Sakura. Perhaps, several will ask for her hand!”

“The town hall will be throwing a public ball to welcome them to the countryside. I shall introduce you to them.” Her father added.

“A ball? We must go into the village and buy me a new dress for the occasion. All the men will fawn over me.” Sakura cheered in excitement and jumped to her feet. She was the youngest sister at nineteen and she was rather spoiled. Licht hoped that her younger sister would mature out of her vain personality with age. “Mikuni, can I borrow money? I already spent my allowance on my new bonnet.”

“Sakura, we cannot afford to buy you a new dress every time you step out of the house. I’m certain that you will find a suitable gown in your closet.” Mikuni told Sakura sternly. She turned to her parents and her backs straightened. “I don’t agree with your plan to marry us off, as though that will solve the issue. I will find a way for the house to stay in our family.”

“You have always been a headstrong woman.” He sighed. “JeJe, make tea for us. It should help calm Mikuni.”

“JeJe, escort me to the stables. I want to oversee Misono’s riding lesson and whether Tetsu is caring for her properly.” Mikuni purposely spoke over her father. JeJe stopped next to her and she placed her hand on the crook of his arm. She began to leave the room with him. She only looked back to her parents to say: “For the sake of my sisters, I wish you a long and healthy life. I want you to know that I’m disappointed by both of you.”

Licht watched Mikuni leave and she debated if she should go after her. She knew her well enough to understand that her sister would prefer to be alone to think. As she closed the lid on her pianoforte, she decided she should find her fifth sister, Mahiru. She didn’t want her to return home to the tense atmosphere and be confused. She could explain the situation to her so she would be prepared at least.

She wrapped a shawl around her and she left the house. Licht thought of the different places her sister could be on the estate and she immediately walked to the stream. They loved to play in the shallow water when they were children and Mahiru still loved the spot. She could trust to find her next to the stream with a sketchbook on her lap.

Licht passed the horse stable and crossed the field to reach the creek that bordered their property. She stared at the grand manor that rested on the other side of the creek. Her mother said the Servamp family would move into the estate in a week. She didn’t agree with her plan to arrange marriages for them. She was a little curious about the family though. Even lost in thought, her feet were familiar with the path and she could walk to the creek easily.

In the distance, she could see her sister. Mahiru sat on a wooden swing that hung from the tree overlooking the lake. She didn’t call out to her immediately because she wanted to play a childish prank on her. She crept behind her sister so she wouldn’t notice her immediately. The moment Mahiru stopped drawing, Licht jumped forward and lightly grabbed her shoulders. “Surprise, Mahiru!”

“Licht?” She gasped and almost fell off the swing. Mahiru placed her feet on the ground and rocked her body back so she was looking up at Licht. “Is it time for lunch already? I was certain that the bell only rang ten times. I’ll start cooking. Is there anything particular you want to eat?”

The sisters would do the chores around the house to help save money. They had to depend on each other while they were growing up. Their father was often gambling and their mother only doted on Sakura. Mikuni’s efforts to save their family home inspired the others to do the same. Licht wanted to become a pianist, Misono helped Mikuni and Mahiru worked with the house’s staff.

“I came to warn you that Mikuni had another fight with father about the family estate. I didn’t want you to be blindsided when you return home.” The swing seat was wide enough for two people so Licht sat next to her sister. She lightly pushed the swing into motion with her feet and Mahiru mirrored her movements. She told her about their father’s will as they swinged slowly.

Mahiru stared at the sketchbook on her lap where she had drawn their house. They had countless memories connected to their home and she couldn’t think of leaving everything behind. “Father is still in good health so we still have time for the will to be changed. Perhaps, the title can be given to Uncle Toru. I trust him not to throw us out. I would prefer if Mikuni was given the house but it’s nearly impossible.”

“By the law of arrogant men, property cannot be owned by property. We are so much more than what they see us as. Women should be provided the same rights as men.” Licht spat. Her anger became a cunning grin and she said: “In the event that the house does fall into Haruto’s hands, we must welcome him with a feast.”

“Extending an olive branch could help us keep the house.” Mahiru nodded. “We can explain to him that it’ll be best for everyone to have Mikuni run the estate.”

“I had planned to poison his wine. We shall keep his death a secret and tell the lawyers that he is simply on a business trip. We can live in our home indefinitely. Though, we will need to find a safe way to dispose of his body.” Licht suggested. Mahiru knew that she was partially joking with her outlandish suggestion and she laughed. She wanted to ease the tense atmosphere with the joke.

“Licht, you must stop reading those gothic novels. They’re quite macabre. Maybe we can get away with your plan because the constable will not suspect women of being so ruthless.” Mahiru stopped the swing and she stared at the garden across the lake. “Do you remember how we would cross the creek to pick the flowers on Hanafield? It’ll be dangerous to sneak into the garden now that it’s being rented.”

“Well, the Servamps won’t be here until next week. We should pick flowers while we still can. No one will notice if a few goes missing.” Licht jumped off the swing and took her sister’s hands. She lightly tugged her off the swing and then pulled her towards the creek. A fallen tree reached over the water and they used it as a bridge.

“We shouldn’t trespass on someone’s property, Licht. We were young when we went to pick flowers from Hanafield’s garden and we didn’t know that they belonged to someone else.” Mahiru followed her sister even though she felt a little concerned. She had always admired how free-spirited Licht was. “We should only pick the wildflowers next to the creek.”

“Alright. But we should collect enough to make flower crowns for Mikuni and Misono and all of the horses in the stables!” Licht decided and Mahiru nodded in agreement.

They reached the end of the fallen tree and Licht held onto her sister’s hand to keep her balance as she stepped down. The wood was slippery but she wasn’t afraid of falling into the creek. Her slippers were flat and allowed her to walk easier than heels. The two sisters didn’t notice the horses grazing on the grass downstream from the log.

“You shouldn’t be trespassing on this land, Ladies. May we escort you back to the village?” A voice behind her caused Licht to turn her head slightly to see who it was. She took her eyes off the ground and she placed her feet on a loose tree branch. She felt herself fall backwards and her stomach dropped. Licht didn’t want to drag her sister into the water as well so she let go of her hand.

Mahiru called her name but her voice was quickly muffled by water. Between the cold water and the impact of the water, Licht was disorientated. She managed to turn herself in the water to see sister reach out to her but someone held her back. The layers of Licht’s dress made it difficult to swim to the surface. Her lungs burned but she knew she couldn’t breathe in as her body screamed for her to.

Suddenly, a warmth surrounded her hand.

Licht was pulled out of the creek and she could finally breathe again. She clung to the creek’s bank and took a moment to collect herself. A hand patted her back and she found it easier to breathe with the light touch. She wasn’t able to thank the person who saved her before Mahiru took her attention. Her sister knelt in front of her and immediately placed a shawl around her wet shoulders.

“Did you hit your head, Licht? Do you feel dizzy? We must take you to the doctor to see if you have a concussion or hurt.” Mahiru insisted. Even though she was the middle sister, she would mother her sisters. “Thank the gods that this gentleman was here to save you. Let me help you out of the water, Licht. Keep the shawl around you.”

Mahiru’s words made Licht realize that her clothes were soaked through. She was grateful that she wore a dark blue dress and it didn’t reveal anything. Licht tied the shawl around her shoulders before she took the hand Mahiru held out to her. She climbed out of the water and looked back into the creek. The man who saved her had his back turned to her and she assumed it was out of politeness.

“Thank you,” Licht said to him. The blond man turned to face her and she thought that he had a handsome face. He had jumped into the water to save her without hesitation so he was likely a kind man.

“We would love to speak with you gentlemen longer but I must take my sister to the doctor. She also needs dry clothes.” Mahiru interrupted them and Licht knew that she was right. They exchanged a polite goodbye as they left. Licht heard water splash behind them and she assumed the man had climbed out of the water. She wondered if she’ll get the chance to thank him for saving her and learn his name.

She grew up in the countryside so she knew most of the residents. Licht didn’t recognize him though. She looked over her shoulder to the blond man. He walked to another man and she recognized that he was the one to stop Mahiru from jumping after her. Their appearances didn’t resemble each other but the way they regarded each other reminded her of siblings.

Then, she overheard their conversation.

“Who do you think they were, Kuro? Their clothes are refined but their manner doesn’t reflect that. Her sister tried to jump into the water. I know she intended to help her sister but she wouldn’t have been able to do much. At least you were there to stop her. Which family do you think they belong to?”

“Hyde, you shouldn’t call her sister— Hyde?” Kuro yelled in shock when a slipper flew past him to strike his brother. His voice was drowned out by Licht’s rage.

“How dare you speak lowly of my sister, Shit Rat? Apologize or face me in a duel!” Licht yelled. She loved her family and she wouldn’t allow someone to disrespect them. She took off her other slipper to throw at him but her sister stopped her. Mahiru knew her words were far from a threat and she tried to pull her back. “Never step onto my creek again!”

Hyde couldn’t pull himself out of his shock to respond to her. He didn’t intend to insult her family and upset her. He wasn’t able to apologize before she was gone. Beside him, Kuro sighed: “That was a terrible way to introduce ourselves to the neighbours.”

#servamp #lawlicht #greed pair #servamp hyde #licht jekylland todoroki #fanfiction #fem licht

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sunflowerseedsandscience · 4 years ago

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Something different.

Most of you know I’ve been devoting all my free time over the past three years to writing original novels. Here’s the opening chapter of one of them.

Sundays at the local skating rink are my secret pleasure. Most of the week, the ice is devoted to hockey practices and private lessons, but on Sunday afternoons, the rink is available for a three-hour public skating session, and it's always crowded. I like to buy myself a latte from the cafe across the street, climb into the stands, and camouflage myself amongst the crowd of parents dividing their attention between their children, making slow, laborious laps around the rink, and their phones. I don't doubt most of them are hoping their kids will tire themselves out, thus making the last few hours of the weekend quieter. The faces change from week to week, but the categories the skaters fall into are the same. The youngest glide along between the feet of a parent (who looks with envy at the adults relaxing in the stands), while their older counterparts grip the boards, moving forward inches at a time. There are rambunctious teenagers, chasing each other on unskilled feet, occasionally crashing into unsuspecting skaters. Couples hold hands as they totter along, gazing at one another, like they can't imagine anything more romantic than spending a few hours in uncomfortable rented skates, on a badly-groomed sheet of ice, surrounded by screaming kids slamming into their legs every few minutes. There's always, of course, the requisite show-off, the young figure skater in their first year of lessons, dreams of Olympic glory filling their heads, earning the slack-jawed admiration of every child present with scratch spins and sloppy jumps. Most of them will quit within a year or so, driven off by the increasing difficulty, by the endless (and painful) falls that come before mastering each new skill. One or two will persevere, at least until high school, when they'll be faced with the choice between adhering to the demanding practice schedule, or getting to have a social life. But they're not who I come to the rink to see. The precise skater I'm here for isn't immediately obvious. She typically begins her session on the ice clinging to the boards, like the other first-timers, but she won't stay there long. Before she's gotten halfway around the rink, she'll discover she doesn't need as much help balancing as she'd thought, and she'll tentatively release her hold on the boards. Instead of choppy, uncertain steps, she'll start to glide, managing to hold her balance on one foot long enough to push off with the other... and then for a bit longer... and longer... until she's moving faster and more smoothly than most of the skaters around her. Her face will light up with one realization- Hey, this is easy!- followed quickly by another- Hey, this is fun! Emboldened, she'll see how long she can balance on one foot, or she'll try skating backwards, or she'll possibly even manage a shaky two-footed spin and emerge from it as excited as if she's landed a triple axel. This skater will be disappointed to the point of tears when her time on the ice is over, in sharp contrast to the rest of the children, most of whom abandon the ice in exhaustion long before the session is up. She'll rush up to her parents, not stopping to remove her skates, and she'll beg them to please, please, please let her take lessons, because this is so much more fun than ballet or piano or softball or whatever other activities currently take up her afternoons. Within a year, she'll have graduated to being one of the Sunday afternoon show-offs, and not long after that, she'll most likely have quit... but that doesn't matter, because where the skater goes from here isn't what interests me. What I come here to see is that all-important moment, that instant when the little girl or boy falls in love with skating. I come here to see the beginning of an obsession, the realization dawning on a child's face that they could do this all day, every day, and never get bored. I think, sometimes, if I witness it often enough, I might start to remember the time when I felt that way myself.

But inevitably, the public skating session ends, the rink empties, and I'm left to climb down from the stands, toss my empty coffee cup in the trash, trudge out to my car, and drive home, feeling more lost than I had when I'd arrived. Even though my father's farm is less than three miles outside of Kasson, Minnesota, I drive into town twice a week, at most- on Sundays, to visit the rink, and on Mondays for my weekly grocery run, which I make in the middle of the day when most people are in school or at work. These past three years, ever since the Sochi Olympics, I prefer to avoid conversation as much as possible... a difficult feat in a small town where everyone seems to know who Emma Lautner is, and how irredeemably I've humiliated myself. There's no sign of life at the farm. Dad's probably at his office in Rochester, trying to squeeze as much productivity out of the weekend as he can, juggling a caseload that would break most people. And even if he is home, he's probably out walking the fences, checking whether any are in need of repair. It's not like we can afford to pay someone to do that for us these days. We might not keep livestock anymore-- the last horse was sold when I was sixteen-- but Dad's a creature of habit through and through, and he likes to keep things in the best shape he can. I drive past the garage and the imposing seven-bedroom house-- noting that a few more shingles seem to be missing after the most recent storm-- and pull up alongside the one-bedroom guest cottage I call home. I park, cut the engine, and make my way along the path I shoveled for myself earlier this morning, when a February snowstorm finally blew itself out after three days. The cottage isn't locked; there's no need for security out here. I'm more likely to lock the door for privacy when I'm home than I am for safety when I'm out. Once the door is shut behind me, I sag against it, taking a deep breath, enjoying the warmth and solitude of my little home. Well... for about thirty seconds, that is, which is how long it takes for my cell phone to start ringing. I yank the phone out of my coat pocket, glance at the name, and groan. I silence the phone and stuff it back into my pocket, shrug off my coat, and hang it on the wall by the door. I slouch into the living room, where I flop down on the threadbare couch, closing my eyes. Five minutes later, someone pounds on the door, which, I remember with another groan, I haven't locked. It's thrown unceremoniously open, and my coach, Barbara Parker, a reed-thin former ballroom dancing champion, strides in on a gust of frigid February air. She slams the door behind her, and her brisk, determined footsteps announce her approach. "I need you out at the rink," she says, skipping right over her unanswered phone calls. "There's a surprise waiting for you." I roll onto my back and glare up at her. Barbara's "surprises" tend to be things like new, ridiculously hard exercises she's devised solely to torture me, and I'm not up for it today. "Barbara, I literally just walked in the door." "I know, I saw you from the house. That's why I called." I throw my arm over my eyes. "Look, if you didn't want me to know whether or not you're home whenever I need to talk to you, you shouldn't have invited me to move here." "I didn't invite you to move here," I point out, sitting up. "That was my father's idea." "And what an excellent idea it was." Barbara is infuriatingly unflappable as always. "Speaking of which, he asked me to tell you he had to drive up to Minneapolis for a couple days. He'll be back Wednesday." She nudges me with her knee. "Let's go, Emma. Time's wasting." Barbara isn't likely to leave me alone until she's revealed whatever the surprise is... so with a heavy sigh, I relent. I climb off the couch, shrug back into my coat, and follow her outside. About fifty yards from my cottage is a mammoth structure that once housed stables for the horses my father's family bred for generations... at least until, at the relentless urging of my mother, the entire operation was shut down, the horses were sold, and the stables were remodeled into a regulation-sized ice rink. The change did not endear Carolyn Lautner (already dubbed "that California bimbo" by my extended family, though they tried not to say it around me) to the Lautner clan. Even though my mom's been back in Los Angeles for three years, and even though I've been without a skating partner for most of that time, Dad's made no move to return the skating rink to its original use. And when it comes down to it, I'm just as much a creature of habit as my father, and I still come out here to train five days a week, partner or no. Inside, the rink has a slight air of neglect, though it remains serviceable. There's an ancient ice resurfacer, which I operate and which my dad's friend repairs when needed, parked at one end. Near the center of the rink's sidelines, where the judging panel would sit during a competition, is a raised plywood platform, where Barbara likes to perch and bark out instructions. I've got no idea what sort of "surprise" Barbara has planned, so I don't know what to expect as I follow her into the building and up to the edge of the ice... but whatever I'd expected, it hadn't involved a young man, whose face I can't make out at this distance, skating around on the ice I groomed myself this morning. I squint at him, trying to see if I recognize him from town, but he's at the far end of the rink and all I can tell is that he's tall, lean, and has dark hair. I turn to Barbara. "This is my surprise? Barbara, you shouldn't have." Across the ice, the skater catches sight of us and glides down the rink in our direction. He's graceful, at home on the ice, and watching the way he moves, I start to understand. "I thought you said you'd given up trying to find me a partner this close to the Olympics." "I did." "You said any senior male ice dancer would either already be paired up, or would have decided to wait until Beijing in 2022." "I thought I'd try branching out." Frowning, trying to puzzle out what Barbara means by that, I turn back to the ice. The young man skates to a graceful stop in front of us... and all the breath leaves my body. He's handsome, with large, green eyes in a narrow face, and his smile is cheerful, open, friendly. It's a smile, however, that I have no interest in ever seeing again in my life, no matter how gorgeous the face housing it might've grown to be. My chest grows tight, constricted, and I'm terrified I'm about to have my first panic attack in almost six months, right here, in front of both of them. "Emma," says Barbara, feigning total indifference to my sudden distress, "I'd like you to meet your new partner, Adam Murrow." For a moment, I can't bring myself to say anything. All I can do is stand here, hoping desperately this isn't happening, that he's not here, not standing in my ice rink as though he belongs here, as though he hadn't- "What the hell are you doing here?" I demand, my breath returning in one furious rush. I want to punch Adam Murrow right on his narrow chin, to wipe the infuriating cheerfulness out of his bright green eyes. But I've got a good idea of how Barbara would react to that, so I content myself with clenching my fists, confining the punch I'd like to throw to my imagination. "He's here at my invitation." Barbara's tone is a warning. "I contacted him after New Year's and asked if he'd be interested in coming out for a trial period." "And you didn't bother to mention this to me?" Barbara shrugs. "I didn't see the need to tell you until I knew for sure he was coming. I told him to take a few weeks to think it over, and here he is." I open my mouth, intending to demand she explain how, knowing the history between me and Adam, she could possibly have thought it would be a good idea to bring my former partner out here. Barbara's face, though, tells me exactly how that would play out, so I whirl on Adam, instead. "You're a freestyle skater now. And not even a pairs skater. What, you found out getting onto the Olympic team as a solo skater wasn't as easy as you thought, so you decided maybe you'd come running back to ice dancing?" "Um... not exactly," says Adam. "I mean... yes, I have decided to try ice dancing again, but it's not because I didn't think I could get named to the men's team on my own." He looks down, shuffling his feet. "What, then? Did you lose a bet?" I ask scathingly. "Or maybe you couldn't hack it in the big leagues? Couldn't manage the quads?" Barbara shoots me a warning look. "Adam has made the decision to give up solo freestyle skating and come back to ice dance because of some minor knee issues." She gestures for him to exit the ice. He steps out onto the rubber flooring and stands before me, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in a way that, years ago, would have told me he was nervous. "Nothing serious, not yet, but his doctor has told him if he wants to be able to get around without a wheelchair by the time he's forty, he needs to cut back on physical stress." "By which he meant, no more jumps. No more triples, and definitely no more quads," says Adam. "And since I'm not likely to qualify for anything at all, much less the Olympic team, with a program full of waltz jumps and single loops...." He shrugs. "There wasn't much point." "So, what, you thought you'd make the switch back?" "No, actually, I called him," says Barbara. I stare at her, aghast. "You contacted him and invited him to skate with me?" "I did," says Barbara, still completely calm, which infuriates me further. "And it never occurred to you to... I don't know, ask me what I thought about your brilliant idea first?" "It occurred to me, sure. But I knew you wouldn't go for it, so I decided to just do it. Adam very graciously flew all the way out here from New York on short notice, so I think you should at least give him a shot, don't you?" "Here's something else that probably should've occurred to you by the time he got here, since I've had enough time to think of it and I've only been clued into this insane idea for five minutes," I retort. "If his knees are too shot for jumping, what makes you think he'll be strong enough to do any lifts? Or are you going to suggest I be the one to lift him, instead?" "It's a completely different kind of stress on the body and you know it," says Barbara. "Lifting a one-hundred-thirty pound woman isn't exactly the same as putting six hundred pounds of pressure onto one knee for a quad jump." "And my knees aren't shot," interjects Adam. "They will be, sure, if I'm not careful, but she's right. Lifts aren't gonna be a problem, unless you've put on a hell of a lot of weight since I last saw you." He looks me up and down. "Which it doesn't look like you have." I glare at him as ferociously as I can. "You left this sport," I remind him. I want to remind him he left me, as well, but I bite that bit back. With difficulty. "I know I did." "And don't think I haven't seen the interviews you've given since then. For instance, the one where you said ice dancing is just freestyle skating with all the hard parts taken out?" "Jesus, Em." I bristle at his familiarity, the way he talks to me as though it hasn't been seven years since we've last spoken, as though he hadn't disappeared from my life and left a mess behind him. He doesn't notice. "I said that at least five years ago! I was being flip, going for an easy laugh!" "But you do think it's less difficult, don't you?" Adam rolls his eyes. "Of course not, Em." "Don't call me that." "Fine, Miss Lautner, then," he says. I keep glaring at him. "Your royal highness?" I actually take a threatening step towards him before Barbara puts a warning hand on my shoulder. "Emma. I don't think it's less difficult. I promise. It's not like I forgot everything about ice dancing the moment I switched to freestyle." You certainly forgot about me, I think, but I content myself with crossing my arms tightly and looking away. I can't stand looking at his stupidly handsome face for another second. "Adam, you can feel free to stay on the ice if you want," Barbara says. "Or if you'd rather go finish unpacking, that's fine, too. I'll have dinner on the table around six o'clock." Adam's eyebrows shoot up. "You're the coach and the cook?" "Yes, I'm the cook," says Barbara agreeably. "At least for tonight. Our budget doesn't exactly allow for a professional chef." She doesn't, thankfully, mention the other reason we take turns cooking and always eat dinner together: when she first got here, my relationship with food had been tempestuous, to say the least. "Tomorrow night, it's Emma's turn. And on Tuesday, it'll be your turn." Adam's cheerful expression falters. "I'm, uh... I'm not much of a cook." Remembering his difficulties with the simplest of recipes when we'd been younger, I can't help taking pleasure in his nervousness. "It doesn't have to be anything fancy," Barbara assures him. "It can be spaghetti with sauce from a jar, if that's all you know how to make. So once you've decided what you'll be cooking, check in the kitchen and see if we've got what you need, and if not, write it on the shopping list on the fridge." She takes my arm. "We'll see you at dinner. For now, I need to speak with Emma in private." And without waiting for a response from Adam, Barbara pulls me firmly away from the ice by the elbow. I glance over my shoulder before we leave the building. Adam's back out on the ice, gliding gracefully in slow circles, his arms held out, encircling an imaginary partner... and briefly, lost in memory, I can almost feel his hands on me, holding me firmly, but tenderly. Exactly the way his hands always had. Before. Back inside my cottage, I fall onto my couch without taking my coat off, leaning my head back, staring at the ceiling. "Why didn't you ask me what I thought before you contacted him?" I don't look at Barbara. "Because I had a pretty good idea of what your response would be." She lowers herself into my beat-up armchair. "So why go ahead with it, then? If you knew I'd be against it?" "Because, Emma, there are no viable options left at this point. There aren't many male ice dancers looking for partners only a year from the next Olympics, and any who are, well...." Her voice trails off, and the silence following her words is awkward. At the unspoken reproach in my coach's voice, a sudden stab of resentment makes me borderline nauseous. "What happened with Grant wasn't completely my fault." I lift my head, glaring at her. "Most of it wasn't your fault, kid. And as for how it ended...." She sighs. "The person who storms off the ice is always going to look like the one at fault to everyone watching. And if I'd been your coach when all of that got going, well...." She shrugs. "Let's just say, after a few days of coaching Grant, I would've known enough to advise against letting it begin in the first place." "I don't see how that's any different from blaming me for all of it, since what happened in Sochi never would've had the chance to happen if Grant and I hadn't--" "It's always a risk you take, getting involved with your partner. Even if the ending isn't as... volatile... as yours and Grant's, there's still the chance it will end. And an amicable breakup doesn't guarantee you'll still be able to skate together. If I'd been your coach, I would've told you that as soon as I suspected things were heading in that direction." "Instead of encouraging it, like Edgar did," I mumble, pulling my legs up to my chest and pressing my face into my knees. Barbara sets her mouth in a thin line, probably biting back the things she'd like to say about Edgar Fellig, her predecessor... but, as always, she holds her tongue. "No point living in the past" is one of Barbara's favorite personal affirmations. Except now, thanks to Barbara, my past will be living with me. "How do you know he won't bail the second something goes wrong?" I demand. "Last time, I'd been injured barely a week, and that was long enough for him to start auditioning new partners. Jesus, Barbara, he was skating with someone else the day after I left the hospital!" "You might want to remember you weren't completely innocent in what happened," Barbara cautions, and I bristle. "I can't think of anything I could have said that would justify abandoning your partner of eight years just because she got hurt." I'd like to say something much more cutting, but I can't risk driving Barbara away. Plus... it's not like she's completely wrong. "In any case," Barbara sighs, "you've got two choices. You can give Adam a chance, and have a shot at being ready in time for Nationals and getting selected for the Olympic team... or you can wait five more years for the Beijing games, and hope the gossip dies down enough by then for you to find someone else to skate with." "Wait for the gossip to die down? In this community?" I shake my head. "Fifteen years wouldn't be enough time for that, let alone five." "Then I guess you can either give my idea a try... or give up." I glare at her. "I am not giving up. If I never skate again, then Grant wins. Edgar wins. My mother wins." I shake my head. "Giving up isn't an option." I drop my feet heavily to the floor, leaning my elbows on my knees. Barbara's right: as much as I would've preferred never to set eyes on my former partner again, giving Adam a second chance is my only viable option. But being around him, day after day, spending hours on end together, in near-constant physical contact.... I promised myself, years ago, that if I ever got the chance to confront Adam over the way he'd walked away from me, I wouldn't do it. It would be an acknowledgement of how much his desertion had hurt me. Hurt me? Hell, it had destroyed me. But letting Grant win? That would destroy me even further. I look up at Barbara, resigned. "Fine. But I don't want him given any slack, okay? I'm sure he's got it in his head this is gonna be easy, and I have no interest in holding his hand and comforting him when he finds out how wrong he is." Barbara nods, satisfied. "Good." She stands. "I'll see you at the house for dinner, all right?" I wince. The idea of sitting across from- or worse, next to- Adam is the least appetizing thing I can think of. What the hell are we supposed to talk about? "I think I'll skip eating with everyone else tonight," I say, even though I know exactly how well that's going to go over. "Not an option and you know it." "I've got food in my fridge." "And you can eat it later, if you need a snack. But dinner is at the house at six, every night. That was one of my conditions when I agreed to be your coach, and I'm not letting up on it because you're in a bad mood." Sullenly, I nod, and Barbara, zipping her coat back up, lets herself out. I lean back and close my eyes. Somehow, even though I haven't done much today, I'm exhausted. The thought of going to my room, collapsing into bed, and napping until dinner is tempting, but if I do that, I'll probably end up lying awake for hours later tonight when it's actually time for bed. There's nothing to be gained by putting off the inevitable. I trudge outside and return to the rink. Adam's still on the ice, skating slowly, only now, instead of practicing partner holds on his own, he's frowning down at his feet as he moves. When he glances up, catching sight of me, he looks nervous, but he skates over all the same. "You don't look too sure of yourself out there," I tell him bluntly. "Moving pretty slowly. I thought you said your knees weren't that bad?" "They're not. I'm getting used to the different blades again, that's all." I follow his gaze down to the smaller toe pick and shorter blades of his ice dancing boots. "I've already fallen over backwards once. I keep expecting there to be more blade back there to catch me." "That's not encouraging." For the first time, Adam looks irritated. His mouth turns down and his eyes narrow. It's an expression I remember well from our teenage years, though he rarely aimed it at me. "Look, I know you don't have any reason to be excited I'm here," he says. "I get it. I'm obviously not your first choice of partner, and I don't blame you, but I do think you have to get over yourself at some point. Especially if we're gonna be skating together." I'm so furious, I can't speak. I close my eyes, breathing deeply, trying to master my temper, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he's gotten to me. "I have to get over myself?" "I'd say you do, yeah." "No, Adam, I don't think I do. What I need is a partner who actually wants to be here, not someone who sees this as a last resort if they can't get to the Olympics any other way. I need a partner who knows how much hard work is in front of him and isn't afraid to put in the time." "And what makes you think I see this as a last resort? What makes you think I'm not ready to work as hard as I need to? You think I spent all my time as a freestyle skater slacking off and joking around for TV reporters? I worked my ass off trying to get onto the men's team." "Why haven't you yet, then?" I'm verging on being truly unkind, but I don't care. "Why's this going to be your first Olympics? You were old enough to go to Sochi in 2014, so why didn't you qualify then?" Adam glares at me. "Why didn't you?" he retorts. For a second, I see red. How dare he? "You know damn well that I did go." "That's right, I do," says Adam coldly. "I know you qualified, I know you went to Sochi, I know why your short dance was a disaster, and I know why you didn't finish the competition. Everyone knows. So I'd appreciate it if you could knock it off with your holier-than-thou attitude. We don't have to like each other, but we do have to work together, and that's gonna be hard to do if you're spending every minute acting like I've somehow insulted you and everything you stand for by trying to have a skating career of my own." He turns away, skating back towards the center of the ice. "See you at dinner," he calls over his shoulder. I contemplate shouting some scathing retort at him. I debate storming out there after him and giving him a good, hard shove, knocking him on his ass on the ice. I think about maybe climbing on the Zamboni and running him over... but in the end, I do none of those things. I whirl on my heel, stalk out of the rink, and stand outside in the darkening Minnesota afternoon, allowing the frigid wind to cool my cheeks, reddened with fury... and with shame.

#Opening chapter #I wrote the first draft of this novel in three months #Then rewrote it six times #Got as far as a revise & resubmit offer with my dream agency #Shelved it when that didn't work out #Moved on to other projects #Contemplating self-publishing it now #Would anyone buy it?

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