#i read it in the fifth grade in english/writing class and it has stuck with me ever since

[love-songs-for-emma]

accidentally snipped my own hand with scissors just now and went, "what am i, 8?" so of course i'm thinking about the short story "eleven" by sandra cisneros. we are every age that we've ever been and it's always possible to feel what you felt before, like "wow, that was a silly way to try and cut that fabric. hopefully i wont do that again." but you will. if not exactly like that, then something similar. because, yes life is about learning, but it's not as linear or simple as that. you will cry like you're three and you will whine like you're 13 and you'll complain about backaches like you're 45 no matter how old or young you are. it's all within you, even the stuff that isn't technically you /yet/. it's all within you

[bipercabeth]

The Light That Shines When Things End

after Iain S. Thomas

You are at your fifth-grade graduation hugging Maya Barry and rocking her back and forth, your knobby knees shaking as she cries into your shoulder. Tears stain the collared shirt your mother wrangled you into, but you don’t have the heart to care.

“We’ll write letters,” you promise, voice dripping with young confidence. “And when I’m sixteen, I’ll drive all the way to California to see you.” Your birthday is midsummer, a whole three months before Maya’s. It’s manageable.

Only then does Maya look up at you. Your mother taught you to never pull away from a hug first. She would hold your hand, lock her eyes on yours, and say, “You never know how bad they need it.”

“You promise?” Maya asks, the flecks of gold in her big brown eyes particularly bright.

It’s then that you realize the shadows on her face are too short to come from the chandelier. You don’t need to look to your left to know the light is there, shining brightly.

Eyes fixed on Maya, you swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah,” you lie. “I promise.”

During your junior year of high school, Mr. Kennedy drones on about the speed of light in that same monotonous voice that told you to look into careers outside of STEM, and you don’t listen to a word. It’s not like you’ll pass the test anyway; your textbook sits on the floor of your room at your dad’s, so you won’t see it for another week. Your mom asks if any friends can loan you their books. You don’t answer.

Exam day comes and passes, and when Mr. Kennedy slides your graded test face down on your desk, you only check the first question.

When a star implodes, for a few days,

     A. less dense      B. in the “red giant” phase      C. a result of a lack of matter      D. brighter than an entire galaxy

C, the answer you picked, is crossed out with red pen. D is circled in its place.

You shove the test in your backpack and march out of the room. Though dimmed now, the light follows dutifully, hovering where your shoulders sway with each stomping footstep. It has always been a stable presence, consistent despite bouncing between houses, schools, and friendships.

The windowsill at your favorite coffee shop is speckled with drops of molten sunlight despite the stormy sky.

“Your order?” the barista reminds you gently. You have ordered the same thing every school day since getting your license, but he still takes the time to ask.

You clear your throat and take an extra moment to pour over the menu, resolving to finally try the drink your mother swears by that you refuse to try. It’s bitter, and you regret not ordering your sugary, caffeinated monstrosity for just a moment, but it’s an acquired taste.

When you return the next day, a foreclosure sign greets you instead of the smell of coffee.

In the next school year, the light seems to flicker more than glow. It brightens and dims with every person you pass in the halls. The girl with the long braids casts you a friendly smile in passing—as she has for the past four years—and you’re so blinded that you nearly forget to smile back. One last chord rings out in the chorus concert hall (the warm harmonies of Omnia Sol) accompanied by that golden glow. At graduation, your English teacher presents you with a department award with tears of gold in his eyes.

The light calms during freshman year of college. In fact, it’s the furthest thing from your mind when Veronica drags you to your first college party, which the two of you spend nearly an hour of in the bathroom. You are eighteen and have the same knobby knees, but they are steady as Veronica throws her arm around your shoulder to smack a kiss on your cheek. You are eighteen and surely life will feel this good forever.

It doesn’t shine in sophomore year when Matt finds you crying over the dark keyboard of your laptop, tears illuminated only by the blue light of a blank word document. Instead, Matt turns on the desk lamp and closes the computer, whispering soothing words as he texts Veronica for backup.

The world turns on its head junior year, but the light stays dim. There are other, more distracting constants in your life now. Veronica and her gap-toothed smile. Matt and his round, kind eyes. You send a silent fuck you to Mr. Kennedy when you receive your very first A in a STEM class. Veronica smiles and notes that spite is one hell of a motivator. Matt takes his nose out of a book to grin in agreement.

By senior year, you’ve nearly forgotten that little thing in your periphery. It announces itself at graduation, but it doesn’t intrude. You and Veronica rent an apartment together and get real adult jobs. Matt lives three floors below with a trumpet playing roommate, so he’s nearly always with you.

It’s comfortable for years until you get a letter from the other side of the country containing your dream job offer. Matt is the one to get the mail that day, and he presses it into your hand excitedly. Veronica asks about the commotion from over your shoulder, her voice rumbling against your back.

You pour over the words on the page before asking Matt to read them aloud, not trusting your eyes. He does, but not without his voice breaking on the section about relocating.

As always, Veronica is the one to break the quiet. “I thought the point of writing was that you could do it from anywhere.”

The words have no sooner left her mouth when it appears. There in the center of the room, casting shadows on the life you’ve built, is a small sun. You are stuck in the gravity of what it means for this moment, unmoving as Veronica shifts to look at it.

“No,” she whispers. “This was good. This is so fucking good. I’m not done with you yet.”

Matt shifts to sit beside you, wrapping his arms around you and Veronica both. You take note of the way he looks soft in the light. There is a story there, if you’re brave enough to find the words, about the way light lays itself on you before it disappears.

Together they hold you, and the three of you breathe the same air. Nobody moves to pull away, so you keep holding on.

Approaching an end is worse than being at it, when you think about it. When you’re at an end, you’re also at a beginning. Approaching an end is just approaching an end.

Your heart beats like it’s trying to break through your rib cage to sit in the curve of Veronica’s palm just above. Matt’s tears fall on the shoulder of your sweatshirt. You think back on all the bouncing around; the homes, the schools, the friends. How you’ve found homes in your time, but never stayed there long enough to recognize what you found.

You know now, with the press of your friends—your family—surrounding you on all sides, that these two have given you that.

You want to step back from this moment, to hold it in your hands. Instead, your chest heaves a heavy sigh, shaking Veronica and Matt where they curl around you. You know better than to make promises you can’t keep.

So, this is the end. Or the beginning. Not quite the beginning, you think. It’s far too sorrowful for that. There is no sense of adventure or excitement, no aching realization that you are someone new. There is only this moment in front of you with your friends on either side. And it is approaching an end.

[buckysbitch107]

Blobs and Shadows | Steve Rogers x Blind!Reader

Summary: It originally started out as just some fuzzy spots in your line of vision, but by the time you were 10, both of your retinas had completely detached. After multiple surgeries and piles of medical bills all before your 13th birthday, you stopped trying to fix it. You never had a friend who stuck with you the whole way, that is, until you met your best friend Clint. You were friends until he ran away to join the circus, but eventually reconnected at S.H.I.E.L.D. While Clint got married and settled his family down while also juggling this job, you simply stayed single. The fact that Steve hadn’t noticed your obvious infatuation with him, or your visual impairment, confused you. But when Bucky tries to set you two up, Steve voices his concerns, not noticing you standing right behind him.

Requested by: Anonymous (I lost the original request, so this is the best I could do!)

Warnings: Swearing, Sarcasm, Angst I Guess?

Word Count: 2.3K

A/N: Sorry this took so long! I wanted to do extra research so I didn’t get anything wrong, and this was also just a challenging request in general. I focused on retinal detachment, specifically my cousin’s experiences (I’m aware every blind person is different, that’s why I simply focused on him.) I also did change Clint’s storyline a little bit, mainly saying that he was orphaned at the end of high school instead of earlier, and I did write Comic Clint. I made him younger to fit the storyline, and I based his hearing loss on one of my good friends, so not everything will be like the comics. I really hope you enjoy this one, and another one should be out soon. Just a reminder that I will be starting school again on August 18th, so the time it takes to write a fic will extend a little more. Also sorry for the song I use in this fic, I watched Rio last night and it’s stuck in my head.

You sit quietly in your fourth period English class, waiting for the teacher to introduce herself as they all did on the first day of school. A book sits open in front of you, your fingers running over the raised dots as you wait for the teacher to start, well, teaching. You hear other students file in, and soon enough, the teacher clears her throat and begins introducing herself.

“Hello, class! My name is Mrs. Luken, and welcome to 8th grade English. Now, my number one policy is that at all times, I need watching eyes and listening ears!” A look of confusion crosses your face, and you slowly raise your hand, not realizing you’re the only one doing so.

“Yes, Clint?” She asks, pointing to the other person in the room with their hand up. He lets out a loud sigh before responding, his speech slightly slurred.

“I’m deaf.” Mrs. Luken lets out a small “oh” as she tries to think of a response.

“Are there any accommodations you would like me to make?”

“Just annunciate and write things down and I should be good.”

“Got it! And yes, (Y/N)?”

“I’m blind.”

“Oh, dear.”

~~~

“May I sit here?” A voice asks, one you immediately recognize from fourth and fifth period. You nod and feel the table shift as someone sits down, the sound of a lunch tray clattering against the table ringing out amongst the chaos that is 6th-period lunch. 

“How could you understand the teacher?” You ask, honestly curious about the exchange that happened earlier in the classroom.

“I can lip read pretty well, it’s also how I can understand you.”

“Huh. I’m (Y/N).”

“Clint.”

~~~

“Tony, what is this?” You question, rolling the unusual object around in your hand.

“(Y/N), meet Athena. Couldn’t come up with an acronym, so I just settled on a catchy name.” A small string of silence rings between the two of you as you continue feeling the object, now slightly recognizing it.

“Is this an upgraded guide? Does it still have F.R.I.D.A.Y in here? I like her.”

“Upgraded? Oh honey please, that doesn’t even begin to describe it! And yes, F.R.I.D.A.Y is still your guide. Go ahead, put it on!” You sigh before eventually complying, placing the small little earpiece in it’s designated place. A small beep signals that it’s on and something immediately seems different.

“What the? Why are the blobs clearer?” Tony lets out a short laugh as you still stand there in confusion, wondering how in the hell your “vision” cleared up a bit and you can see the tiniest fragment of anything other than shades of gray.

“Athena is emitting a high-tech neuro frequency towards your retinas. It can’t repair them yet, but it provides a little bit of aid.”

“Is this what Instagram filters look like?”

~~~

“Athena, help me out here. I need to get to the kitchen.” You whisper, stepping out of your room, completely alone with her for the first time.

“Of course!” She replies, pausing for a second before continuing. “Go ahead and take about 10 steps to your right. You’ll feel the floor tiles shift from carpet to a smoother texture. Once you do, take another right and you’ll be standing in front of the elevator.” You nod to no one but yourself and follow her instructions, walking confidently to be in front of the elevator. You hear the doors slide open and you step in, the doors closing behind you before the lift begins to move on its own. “ Don’t worry.” Athena reassures, most likely feeling your heart rate shift. “I communicate with the building’s mainframe to make mobility and everyday life easier for you.” 

“Got it.” The elevator stops and you step out, the light from the windows brightening up your vision. Athena guides you to the counter, allowing you to grab an apple and a knife before you begin to carefully cut it. The familiar beep rings in your ear, and you listen for whatever Athena has to say.

“James Barnes is entering the kitchen and dining area from the main elevator.”

“Okay thank you.” You whisper to her, receiving a small beep in response before you lift your head and turn it so you’re not shouting into a cabinet. “Hey Buck! Want an apple?”

“Um sure? I didn’t know you heard me come in.”

“Tony gave me a new guide. Name’s Athena.”

“Oh cool. Also, I’m gonna have to cancel our sparring session today. Sam’s taking me and Steve to the new sushi place downtown.” Your cheeks immediately flare up at the mention of America’s Golden Boy, also the man you’ve had an infatuation with since you got here. Bucky notices and laughs, quickly shutting up as you hit him on the arm before retorting an answer.

“Are you sure about that? Or do you just not want to get your ass kicked by a blind girl?”

“A little bit of both.” He admits, taking a slice of apple off the cutting board. You turn your head to glare at him, his body creating a large shadow in your viewpoint.

“Thought you didn’t want an apple.”

“I didn’t. I just wanted one piece.” You roll your eyes as you finish cutting your snack, taking a bite out of the delicious fruit after setting the knife down. “Also when are you going to tell him?” You nearly choke on your bite, calmly swallowing before turning your head to face the man, or at least you think (You really couldn’t tell if you tried).

“Tell who what?”

“We’re not dumb, (Y/N). Well, I’m not. I honestly don’t know about Steve ‘cause he hasn’t noticed your obsess-”

“It’s not really a-”

“It’s an obsession (Y/N). Don’t even try to deny it.” You huff out a sigh before Bucky lets out a short gasp, immediately drawing your attention.

“What?” You can’t see him, but you can practically sense the grin on his face.

“I have an idea.”

“I’m scared.”

“You have reason to be,” Athena comments, making you giggle to yourself. Bucky somehow hears it, as he lets out a loud sigh before explaining his plan.

“Just wear something nice, okay. And meet me in the living room at-” He pauses, thinking of an appropriate time. “7 pm, got it?”

“Sure, and what’s your definition of nice?”

“Not a ballgown, but good enough for a date.”

“Bucky no, you are not-”

“Yes I am, now go get ready.”

~~~

“Athena, who’s in the living room?” You ask, rubbing your sweaty palms on the edge of your skirt as you walk down the hallway, your feet making a small pitter-patter noise on the tile.

“James Barnes and Steven Rogers.” You let out a small sigh before walking further down the hall, just barely entering the room when you hear the two men arguing, causing you to take a step back into the shadows. 

“Where are they?” You whisper, holding your arms to your body and trying to make yourself as small possible.

“Standing in the middle of the room. Mr. Barnes is facing you, and Mr. Rogers is facing away from you.” You nod and peek out from behind the wall, Athena alerting you that Bucky had noticed you, but Steve hadn’t.

“I don’t get why you’re getting upset Steve! You like (Y/N), don’t you?!” Bucky yells, trying not to keep his eyes on you for too long as to not alert Steve of your presence.

“I do, but you know that I don’t date anyone!”

“You told me she was different!”

“She is! And I don’t know if it’s in a good way. She seems to kind of, I don’t know, look past me? And she does these little things that I don’t know if it was how she was raised or something, like stopping before entering a room, or staring in the completely wrong direction. I don’t get it, Buck! I don’t! And even if she is different, I still don’t date! She’ll be like the rest. She’ll see me like this famous piece of muscle, not the small guy from Brooklyn. Thanks for the offer, but I’m declining. Tell (Y/N) I said sorry.” Steve rants, walking out the other entrance to the living room as you start to step forward.

“(Y/N), I-”

“This is why I didn’t tell him.” You whisper, stopping in front of him when Athena tells you to. Bucky tries to speak again, possibly apologize, but you’ve already turned around and started heading out of the room. Athena leads you to your favorite spot in the building, the balcony facing the river. You carefully climb on the railing and sit, balancing yourself as not to fall, but still feeling nearly weightless in the evening breeze.

“James Barnes is walking onto the balcony.” You sigh before turning your head, hearing the other man gulp before eventually walking closer.

“I’m sorry you had to hear all that.” He whispers, receiving a short grunt from you. Bucky places something on the railing, the sound of crinkling paper piquing your interest. “I brought you some bread, its fresh from the oven. I know that carbs comfort you so…”

“Thanks Buck.” You sigh, taking a piece of bread from his hands and holding it in your own. He steps a little closer, resting his arms against the metal railing, standing next to you as the light slowly fades from the sky. 

“I’m gonna go, I know you like being alone so-”

“Thank you.” You whisper, turning your head towards the last place you heard his voice. He leaves the bread with you before heading back inside. You listen to the crickets starting to chirp, but also the sound of New York City starting to come alive.“Hey Athena?”

“Yes (Y/N)?”

“What was that song I was singing yesterday? The very offkey one?”

“You’ll have to be more specific.” You mutter a short “ouch” before racking your brain again, trying to specify what you wanted.

“From that movie. Rio, I think.”

“I believe the one you are looking for is ‘Fly Love’ by Jamie Foxx.”

“Yes, can you play it on the speakers out here?”

“Of course. Anything else?”

“You can turn off for a bit, I just want to listen to music and eat the delicious demons they call carbs.”

“Understood.” A small beep signals the AI turning off, leaving you to the sounds of the city before the music softly turns on. You start humming along to the melody, your feet swaying along. You begin to sing along, not noticing the sliding glass door opening quietly behind you. Since you told Athena she could turn off, you’re not aware of the blonde supersoldier stepping onto the balcony.

“Um, (Y/N)?” You screech in surprise, your hands grabbing onto the railing. Your body slightly tilts forward, causing your bread to tumble off your lap and down onto the ground below.

“My bread.” You whine, staring at the direction you think it went. You feel Steve move up to stand beside you and you turn your head towards where you feel his presence.

“Sorry about that. Listen-”

“Look at my eyes.”

“What?”

“Look at my eyes and tell me what you see.” You explain, turning your head fully towards him so he could see your face. He stays quiet for a few seconds before responding.

“Your eyes are glazed over?”

“And what does that mean?” He stays silent before gasping, realization hitting his brain like a bullet.

“You’re blind?!” He exclaims, making you roll your eyes.

“Wow! Sherlock finally solved the fucking mystery!” You speak, a horrible British accent coming out alongside the words. 

“Wait so-”

“So I can’t see the ‘famous piece of muscle’. All I see is a blob. A very handsome blob, I’ll give you that, but still a blob. I fell in love with you for your personality. I fell in love with that little guy from Brooklyn. And the reason I seem to look past you or stare in the wrong direction, is because I rely on hearing, dumbass.”

“You heard all that?”

“Mhm.”

“Oh.” He pauses. You can practically hear the gears turning in his head. “Wait, you love me?”

“What?”

“You said you fell in love with me for my personality.”

“I didn’t say-”

“Yes you did! You love me!”

“Not anymore I don’t.” He fakes a hurt gasp and you laugh, flipping your legs over to rest on the balcony side of the railing.

“What if I said your love is requited?”

“Then I’d be so overjoyed I’d faint.”

“Okay, so I’m not telling you that.” You laugh again, Steve joining you this time. “Dance with me.”

“What?”

“You were listening to music. Dance with me.”

“I don’t know how to dance. The last time I could see while dancing was square-dancing in fifth grade.” Steve lets out a short laugh at that, before carefully grabbing your hands, placing one on his shoulder, and holding the other in his.

“I’ll guide you.” So the two of you sway to the music, Steve having the speaker play the song over.  You rest your head on his shoulder, the whole situation quite calming. As the song ends, Steve places one of his hands on your cheek, the other going to sit behind your neck. “Is this okay with you?” He whispers, his voice severely closer than it was last time he spoke.

“Yeah.” You reply, nearly feeling lightheaded from imagining what’s to happen next. Steve presses his lips to yours, and you nearly faint right there. He smiles into the kiss, pulling away to rest his forehead against yours. 

“I love you. A lot.” He whispers, a short chuckle following his sentence.

“I love you too, even if you are just an attractive blob.”

Permanent Tags: @wintersoldierslut​ @breakmy-bedbarnes@stuckys-hot-dogs​ @andreasworlsboring101@yaxamarvel @donutloverxo​

Just a reminder that all requests are open! My masterlist is in my bio, so you guys know who I specialize in, but really I do anyone y’all request. As I’ve mentioned, nothing is too fluffy, angsty, smutty, or gorey for me. I mainly write Marvel and its characters/actors. I can also write some characters from other things, you just have to ask! Also please let me know if you want to be a part of the Permanent Tags! But please, for now,

Call me Emily

[whumphoarder]

¿Cómo se dice ‘I’m in Deep Sh*t’?

Summary: Due to unforeseen circumstances (and a bit of procrastination), Peter runs out of time to prepare for his Spanish presentation and ends up faking sick to buy himself some more.

He just wasn’t really counting on Tony being the one to pick him up from school.

Word count: 2,997

Genre: humor, fluff, whump

Link to read on Ao3

A/N: Based on a prompt from @coconutknightshade! 

Apparently it takes a village to write a story lol—thanks to @xxx-cat-xxx, @sallyidss, @fandomsficsandfeels, & @seek-rest for beta-reading and ideas, and @lunannex for Spanish help!

“What if I just like… fake my death?” Peter suggests as he hands his mentor a different sized wrench. “They can’t mark me down for not doing it if I’m dead, right?”

Tony, who is currently bent over their latest project (replacing the timing belt in May’s car), snorts. “As someone who’s been officially presumed dead more than once, can’t say I recommend it. Way too much paperwork.”

Peter sighs. “Can we stage a kidnapping then?” he says hopefully. “Or an alien abduction?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “It’s a four-minute speech, not the end of the world—though I have some experience with that too.” He holds out a hand. “Half inch ratchet.”

“A four-minute speech in Spanish,” Peter emphasizes, passing him the requested tool. “Which is a language I don’t speak.”

“Hence why you’re in Spanish class,” Tony counters. “With all the other kids who can’t speak Spanish.”

“But it’s also like ten percent of my grade,” Peter goes on as his mentor loosens the timing belt and removes it from the engine before handing it to Peter to set aside. “And I have to talk about what I do in a typical week, and it’s not like I can say I go patrolling or come over to the compound, so I’m gonna have to make stuff up—”

Tony interrupts, “Yo veo mucha televisión,” he says sagely.

“—and then what if I get up there and forget everything and just sound stupid?” Peter continues his rant. He groans and passes Tony the replacement belt. “Maybe I should just conveniently get the flu on Wednesday.”

Looking up from the engine, Tony raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you really this stressed about it? Because if you need to focus on school, I could just finish this up myself.”

Peter sighs again and runs a hand through his hair—he hadn’t meant to complain this much, he’d just kind of gotten on a roll after Tony asked him how school was going. “No, no… I wanted to come over—really. And I’ve got three more days to work on it, it’s just like… ugh. I should have taken German instead.”

Tony huffs out a short laugh. “Pretty sure they have to speak in German class too.”

“Yeah but MJ’s not in German…” Peter mutters under his breath.

“What was that?” Tony asks, elbow deep in the engine block.

Peter expels a breath. “Nothing, it’s fine,” he says a bit more audibly, trying to convince himself as much as his mentor. So what if the most observant and shrewd person in his year also happens to be in his Spanish class?

(And so what if he might have a bit of a crush on her?)

Tony chuckles. “You’ll do great, kid,” he assures. “Just make sure you practice.”

Peter forces a smile. “Right, yeah, of course.”

X

Practicing, however, turns out to be easier said than done.

With finals fast approaching, it’s crunch time for all of Peter’s classes. Whatever spare moments he has over the weekend are spent finishing up his Animal Farm essay for the English summative and cramming for his geometry test Monday morning. The upcoming Spanish presentation hangs over his head, but it’s more annoying than anything else. He figures it should be fairly simple to actually bullshit something and translate it if he just sits down and does it (which, ironically, somehow makes it easier to push off).

He’s intending to work on it Monday evening, but a winter storm hits that afternoon, dumping eight inches of snow and ice on the city. Peter spends most of his patrol assisting with minor traffic accidents and helping stranded motorists scrape ice from their vehicles or shovel cars out of parking spaces. By the time he gets home late that night, he’s too exhausted to do much more than sit on the couch with May and drink cocoa while she watches Grey’s Anatomy reruns.

Oh well. He’s still got time.

Peter tries to make good use of his study hall on Tuesday, but the period ends up being kind of a wash. He spends half the time attempting to come up with something to say that is both interesting enough to make him seem not totally lame while still believable enough to fool MJ, and the other half messing around on his phone and trying to recall the name of the annoying song stuck in his head.

(It was ‘Goodbye’ by The Spice Girls.)

He’s intending to finish the presentation Tuesday evening after he gets home, but then Ned throws an unexpected monkey wrench into his plans just before the final bell rings.

“So I gotta be there early for warm ups, but my mom will pick you up around six, okay?” he tells Peter as they pack up their book bags.

Peter frowns, confused. “...Pick me up?”

Ned tilts his head. “Unless May can give you a ride after all? But I thought you said she was working tonight, right?”

All of a sudden it clicks—tonight is Ned’s first band concert. He’d taken up percussion a few months back in an effort to beef up his extracurriculars for his college applications. Peter agreed to go to the performance weeks ago.

“Oh right right right,” Peter quickly covers. “Six is great. I’ll see her then!”

Ned beams. “Awesome! My sister and her boyfriend are coming too, so we might go out to celebrate afterwards!”

“Yeah, awesome!” Peter agrees, forcing a grin. “That should be really fun.”

(Oh yeah, he’s screwed.)

X

The concert was cool. Ned hit that triangle with all the required enthusiasm whenever his parts came up, and Peter flashed him loads of encouraging thumbs-ups from the audience. When it was over, they all went out to Denny’s for some mediocre late-night pancakes and the usual Leeds family banter. All in all, a pretty fun night.

When Peter gets home a little after ten, he opens his Spanish doc in one tab and promptly falls into a YouTube hole in another while looking for background music. He’s still grinning when he closes out of his fifth vine compilation video in a row until he checks the time a second later and the grin dissolves. It’s 12:03 a.m.

Oops.

Study hall Wednesday morning will be his saving grace, he’s sure.

X

So, of course, a fight has to break out right outside of the library.

It’s not too bad—the two instigating students are hauled away by security with a couple bloody noses and black eyes, and a few other kids are taken down to the office for questioning. Peter was far enough removed from the action that he doesn’t have to come along, but the whole debacle eats up all but the last ten minutes of the period so when the bell finally rings, he’s got precisely five words written down:

Hola, me llamo Peter Parker.

(Suddenly all those jokes about faking his own death are starting to sound a lot more appealing.)

Or if not my death, he thinks as he trudges down the hall in the direction of his Spanish classroom, cold dread pooling in his gut, then at least…

He stops walking, glancing sideways into the brightly lit office just off the hall. The elderly nurse is sitting at her desk, glasses half-way down her nose as she reads a paperback novel with the picture of a Christmasy log cabin on the cover.

No. He can’t. He doesn’t lie.

...Unless…

No. May’s at work. She’d have to leave early to come and pick him up.

Okay, but it’s not like you do this often, his brain counters. Hell, you came to school with a concussion and two cracked ribs last month and didn’t say a word about it. May can take one for the team just this once.

Peter slips into the bathroom across the hall and waits there until the bell rings to signal the end of passing period, and then an additional five minutes on top of that to add some credibility to his act. He splashes a bit of cold water on his forehead and around his neck, and then works himself up with some heavy breathing before exiting the bathroom.

Folding his arms over his stomach, Peter moves shakily across the hall back toward the nurse’s office, making an effort to look as unwell as possible. A passing student eyes him suspiciously and gives him a wide berth, so he figures he must be doing something right.

Steeling himself with a shuddery breath, he steps into the office.

“Hall pass?” the nurse asks without looking up from her book.

“Um, no, I don’t have one, uh…” Peter’s heart is fluttering in his chest. “I just… I’m not feeling good.”

Eyes still on the page, the nurse silently taps a finger to a sign on the wall just behind her desk which reads: PASSES REQUIRED FOR ALL STUDENTS.

Peter swallows hard. C’mon, Parker—commit. “Right, but, uh, I came from the bathroom.” He hugs himself a little tighter and looks down. “My stomach really hurts. I was throwing up and, uh… stuff,” he concludes, deciding that in this case, less is more.

The nurse’s expression softens. She lowers her novel and gets to her feet with a small sigh. “Well, there is a bug going around,” she concedes, gesturing for him to sit down on the cot in the back of her office.

Peter keeps his responses vague when she requests more specific information on his symptoms, mostly offering shrugs or short, mumbled answers. She checks his temperature and seems slightly suspicious at his lack of fever, but he makes up for it by getting up suddenly and darting into the nurse’s bathroom.

When he emerges—exactly seven minutes and two new levels of Candy Crush later—Peter makes sure to keep his eyes averted from the nurse’s gaze and his movements slow and a little unsteady, one hand hovering over his stomach. She gives him a bottle of Gatorade and a couple of crackers and tells him to lie down until May comes to pick him up.

“I got ahold of her,” the nurse informs, sounding more sympathetic now. She slides a small garbage bin beside the cot. “She says she’s just finishing something up at work and then she’ll be right over.”

“Thank you,” Peter mutters tiredly. He doesn’t even have to act for that part—between the stress of his upcoming finals and his last couple of late nights, he really is exhausted and he has a bit of a headache. It makes him feel just the slightest bit better about pulling May away from her shift that there’s at least something physically wrong with him, even if it isn’t what he’s claiming.

Under the thin fleece blanket the nurse gives him, Peter manages to drift off to sleep.

X

But it turns out, today is just really not his day.

“No fever yet, but sometimes with these kinds of bugs that doesn’t come until later,” Peter overhears the nurse explaining in a low voice. He’s lying curled up on the cot, face toward the wall. “If that happens, just remember that he needs to be fever-free for 24 hours before returning to school.”

“Oh, I have a feeling that won’t be a problem,” a familiar voice that definitely does not belong to Aunt May replies.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter’s eyes snap open fully and he sits up in a hurry.

Tony and the nurse are standing together beside her desk, chatting quietly. Tony turns to look at Peter, face straight but eyebrows raised in amusement. “Oh would you look at that—he lives,” he remarks. “Feeling any better, Pete?”

Immediately, Peter wraps an arm around his stomach and does his best to look ill. “Uh, no, not really... but, um wh-what are you doing here?”

“The hospital is a little short-staffed today and your aunt was having trouble finding someone to cover her shift,” Tony explains, keeping his expression perfectly neutral. “She called to ask if I minded picking you up. You know”—his eyes narrow—“since you’re so sick.”

(Peter gulps. He’s starting to wonder if maybe he’ll be sick after all.)

“So of course, I told her I would,” Tony goes on. “I mean, if you’re feeling this bad, we could hardly just leave you here...”

Peter has to force himself to meet Tony’s gaze. “Right. Um, thank you. That’s super nice of you.”

“Well, you know me, Tony Super-Nice Stark,” his mentor says with a small chuckle as he steps closer to the bed.

“Now, with stomach bugs, the biggest concern is going to be dehydration,” the nurse continues. “So you’re going to want to push fluids, especially if he’s having di—”

“Fluids, got it,” Peter cuts her off, feeling his cheeks heat up. He gets to his feet and starts moving toward the door, but Tony halts him by grabbing his arm.

“Hey, hey, slow down, kid,” Tony tuts at him. “You were just looking like you might pass out a minute ago.” He presses his palm to Peter’s forehead and glances over to the nurse, eyebrows pinched together in the semblance of concern. “He’s kinda flushed, right? Maybe we should check his temperature again.”

“It’s fine,” Peter mutters, barely managing to suppress an eye-roll. “I think I just need to go home and sleep.”

“Sleep is probably the best thing for him,” the nurse agrees, nodding. “But going back to dehydration, if at any point it’s been more than five hours since he’s last urinated—”

“Mr. Stark, c’mon…” Peter whines quietly, nudging the man toward the door.

Tony holds up a finger to shush him—there’s a twinkle in his eyes that’s honestly driving Peter mad. “Hang on, kiddo. This is all very important information. In fact”—he pulls out his phone and opens the notes app—“let me just write this down. So you said if he hasn’t peed in five hours…?”

The nurse goes on to happily share her wealth of knowledge regarding stomach viruses with his mentor. Tony nods along to her advice, looking genuinely interested the entire time, occasionally interrupting to ask pertinent questions. Meanwhile, Peter just stands there, quietly dying a little inside.

Finally, she concludes her little spiel and Tony thanks her politely, then asks, “You wouldn’t happen to have a bin or bag or something we could take with us, would you? I just got the car detailed recently—hate for that to go to waste.”

Peter lets out another low groan. “Mr. Stark…”

“Ah, I have just the thing!” the nurse says. She bustles over behind her desk and produces a plastic sand pail with assorted Paw Patrol characters on it. “I get these from the dollar store,” she informs. “They don’t look like they hold too much but you’d be surprised!”

Tony grins. “That’s perfect. Thank you so much, Alice.” Looking to Peter, he asks, “Need the bathroom before we leave?”

Rolling his eyes at his mentor, Peter takes the bucket from the nurse with a muttered “thanks” and strides directly out the door.

X

Tony doesn’t say anything for the entire walk to the car, but Peter’s mind is happy to fill the silence with dread and anxious thoughts as he imagines all the various ways his mentor might chew him out about this. Stupid Spanish presentation—he should have just winged it after all.

The moment that both he and Tony are seated in the vehicle and the car doors are shut behind them, Peter sets the bucket down on the floor and covers his face with a groan.

“Alright, let’s get it over with,” he mutters into his hands. “Lay it on me.”

“Just to clarify,” Tony begins, sounding a bit more serious. “You’re not actually sick, right? This was just to get out of your presentation?”

“Yeah, I dunno...” Peter admits, feeling defeated. “I was planning to work on it—I swear. Just, well, there was all this stuff due for my other classes, and then the snowstorm, and all these commitments just kept coming up, and I just kinda... ran out of time. Figured if I got sent home I could buy myself an extra day or two.” He sighs deeply, lowering his hands to look up at his mentor. “Are you gonna tell May?”

Tony huffs out a short laugh. “Honestly? I think you’ve suffered enough.”

Peter blinks at him, surprised. “Wait, seriously?”

“You listened to a school nurse describe the BRAT diet for three whole minutes,” Tony says with a snort. “I don’t think any lecture May or I could give would top that.”

“God,” Peter groans, running a hand over his face. “If I hear the word ‘binding’ used one more time…”

“But,” Tony says, holding up a stern finger as he starts the car. “As soon as we get back to your place, we’re finishing up that presentation in time for your miraculous recovery tomorrow, got it?”

“We?” Peter raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you even speak Spanish?”

Tony waves a hand dismissively. “I know French and Italian—close enough. More importantly, I am fluent in the language of bullshit, kid. I once convinced an entire board of investors that not adding a clock feature to the new Starkphone prototype was a philosophical statement about the ‘futility of time as a construct’ rather than an embarrassing oversight caused by deadline crunches, no sleep, and more caffeine flowing through my veins than red blood cells.”

“And how did that go?” Peter asks.

“Sold twelve thousand shares that day. And I got to meet the Dalai Lama.”

Peter just snorts.

“Oh, and there was this other time,” Tony goes on wryly, “when I helped my intern play hooky to get out of a school presentation by convincing the nurse he had the shits.”

Peter leans back against the seat with a heavy sigh. “I’m never doing this again, Mr. Stark,” he mumbles.

X

Link to all my fics

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Karmaitis

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[study-not-procrastinatiing]

So I got tagged in my first tag game (game? challenge?) by @gliagirlphd​, this is so exciting, thank you so much! 

Rules: Answer 10 questions, then tag and pose 10 questions to ten people. 

Long post warning, press J to skip to the bottom if you want. 

1. How would your best friend describe you in 5 words? 

:: Excitable, quiet (but rambles alot once you get to know me), ambitious, procrastinator, independent? I guess? 

2. What’s one thing (if any) that you still have with you from your childhood? 

:: I have a jade necklace that I got from my grandparents (who raised me until that point) when I boarded the plane to restart my life in Canada. I never take it off and probably will continue to keep it on for a long time into adulthood. 

3. If you were a book author, what genre would you write?

I actually co-published a short story anthology with my friend when we were in grade eleven of high school (not, I will not tell you what it was, it sucked). I wrote fantasy stories, and he wrote mystery stories. 

If I were to have the time to write another book now, I would probably do a combination of fantasy and Sci-fi, where the sci-fi is completely unexplained and the fantasy rigorously lawyered. That would be fun, I think. 

4. What is one thing you wish you knew how to do?

To articulate my thoughts concisely without having to write a script beforehand. Five years of putting myself through debate and model UN has only served to make me understand how inept I am at debate.

5. Name one thing on your bucket list this year?

Actually, get good at drawing anatomy and to know how muscles work without making them look fake. 

6. What’s your favorite hobby to do alone?

I like to draw or to play video games. I’m boring. 

7. If you could meet your favorite historical figure, who would it be and why?

Oh goodness, never meet your heroes.

I guess I would meet Ching Shih, the pirate queen lady? She’s not really my hero, but it would be so much fun to meet her. As, first, we can actually communicate because we speak the same language. Second, she would be like the one person historically who might actually take a young Chinese girl seriously without either being racist or sexist. Three, swashbuckling adventures, what is there not to love? Fourth, even if I'm stuck in that timeline, I would at least get pardoned, get rich, and die more or less naturally without being killed. And fifth, even if she does kill me on sight, what better way to go than at the hands of the most successful pirate in history? At least it would be a hell of a death. 

8. Someone comes to your town to sightsee. Describe 3 things/places around your town as boring as possible.

A bunch of really tall trees in the middle of a river, some tall rocks, and a structurally questionable bridge

9. Do you believe in deja-vu? Is it mere coincidence or something more to it?

I get deja vu all the time, I’m pretty sure it is just my terrible memory. I think it is mostly one subconsciously manipulating their memory to draw patterns with a current sight when slightly zoned out. 

10. Imagine you are the character in a movie; what would your soundtrack be like? 

I want it to be epic, it's probably Mambo No 5 

Alright, ten questions

How would you like to be remembered in two hundred years? 

If you can get any director for a documentary about yourself, who would you pick and why? 

What would be a museum exhibition that would definitely grab your attention? 

If you can commit any crime and get away with it, what would you do? 

Which anime/movie trope do you want to be? 

Which anime/movie trope are you actually? 

At what age would you tell a child that Santa isn’t real?

Which artist, either dead or living, would you pick to create a portrait of yourself? 

You can turn back time and rewrite one book that you read in high school English class, what would you change, and why? 

If you are a billionaire, what is the one totally self-indulgent and weird things that you would have, and everyone around you would have to pretend it’s cool? 

sorry for the super long post, for this challenge I am tagging @studyoncaffiene, @ishouldbestudyinghehe @nouvellestudy @studyingnotstressing @coffeesandyandstudy @captainofstudies @jessicastudiesx @myhoneststudyblr @ghostsnotes @laertesstudies

[hu-wenxuan]

tagged by @beihonglin

nicknames: remi, kelsey mae  zodiac: virgo height: 158cm hogwarts house: hufflepuff!! last thing i googled: seven o’clock, i think fave musicians: so! many!! skz, sf9, the boyz, day6, onewe, loona, nct, etc, etc (this is why my main is a multi fandom mess; i love too many people and so much music.) song stuck in my head: onewe’s ‘reminisce about you’, just bc i’ve had it on repeat for days. yonghoon’s voice!! is so!! pretty!!! following: 207 followers: 188 hours of sleep: i’d say i average like six hours? sometimes more, sometimes less. lucky #: uh... 13? i guess, idk. what are you wearing: star wars t-shirt & pj shorts dream job: writer, honestly. english or history teacher as well, but i just wanna write, and getting paid for that would be great dream trip: idk honestly, i have so many places i’d love to visit. south korea, japan and the uk probably (if i ever get to go to the uk, it’ll likely be to leeds bc i have family there but lkajslka) instruments: used to play violin, could kind of play guitar. i haven’t touched a violin since the fifth grade tho lkasjlkaj languages: english, and i’m not fluent in anything else, but i did do six years of french classes, i can kind of speak korean and japanese. i’m probably better at korean tho, just bc i can read it lmao. favourite songs: so!!! many!!! it also changes all the time lmao - ask me again in a week and it’ll probably change. i’ve had onewe’s ‘reminisce about you’ on repeat, bc it’s so good!! but i’ve also pretty consistently had 내 기억 속의 소년 on repeat as well. hong isak/isaac (however the fuck you want to spell his name) has such a nice voice, and this song is just! so good! random fact: i have plot and character outlines for like, three stories and i haven’t actually written anything for any of them aesthetic: red & purple lipstick, winged eyeliner, chokers, boots and flowy skirts, but also pastel colours, nerdy t-shirts and socks, reading glasses and books.

[sunnivalissy-blog]

Day 1

Hi! I've never really thought blogging would be something for me, but my friend started off a blog with a Q&A for 30 days, and as usual I decided to copy her.

After researching blogging, I figured I don't really fit into the common reasons to blog. I don't want to improve my writing, nor do I want to become "famous". Furthermore, I don't have a particular topic that I'm dying to share with the world. I simply wanted to have a project and practice putting words to my thoughts.

Since I don't have a particular topic, I've found two lists with 30 questions/topics for 30 days where I'll choose one of the questions per day for a month.

Here we go!

List 20 random facts about yourself.

1. On the 5th of October in 1998, I was born blue. Apparently there were some complications and I was lacking oxygen during the birth. Thus I came into this world as a smurf. 2. I've never had a brain freeze in my life. It's quite a simple thing, but still everyone gets shocked when I tell them. I'm starting to wonder if the blood vessel that leads to my brain isn't as close to my throat as it's supposed to. 3. I recently donated 91 grams of my hair. I was researching how to help the society this summer, but most of the suggestions were either too time consuming or too expensive. I was left with donating blood or hair, and since I'm not allowed to donate blood, I decided to cut my hair. I've always had hair that reaches to my hips, but now it's right above my shoulders. 4. I can't lie. First of all, it's a very important principle for me to always be honest or just tell bits of the truth if that's what's needed to not hurt someone. However, I don't think I would be very convincing even if I tried to tell a lie. My honesty sometimes drives my friends mad, but overall I think they're happy about it. 5. I have red hair and blue eyes. I've read that it's the most rare combination of hair color and eye color. I don't know if it's true, but at least it's something that sets me apart from the crowd. 6. I've never gotten drunk. I've tasted alcohol, but I've never really seen the point in getting used to something that tastes bad and is unhealthy as well. This might change in the future, but I'll stay sober for now. 7. I have six siblings. No, I'm not a mormon and no, I'm not amish. We're simply a huge family in a country with an average of 1,73 children per woman. 8. I'm a quarter Swedish. The rest of me is Norwegian, although I'm sure a genetics test would tell me otherwise. 9. I've never been outside of Europe, but I've visited 13 different countries. However this will change during next year. If I keep going with this blog, I'll come back to this topic. 10. I didn't know my biological grandparents until last February. My dad and his twin brother were adopted as babies by my grandparents. Last Christmas he decided to find out who his biological parents were. As it turned out, his mother was still alive, but dying from cancer. Just a few days later we were on a plane to meet her before she left the world. It was an incredible journey and my dad now has 6 more siblings and I have 25 more cousins. Turns out having many children runs in the family... 11. Most of my dreams are absurd or psychedelic. I know that everyone has weird dreams, but I have the feeling that people get genuinely concerned about my mental health after listening to my dreams. However, I just find it interesting and can definitely recommend to write dream-diaries to others, as I did for a year myself. 12. English and PE have always been my weakest subjects in school. This makes it kind of ironic to write this blog in English, so please excuse me if my grammar is off. 13. The first time I moved in my life was last August. My parents built their house just three years before I was born and I've lived there my entire life. However, this fall I moved to a type of Norwegian boarding school called "folkehøgskole" where there are no tests, nor any grades, and you have a year to figure out what to do with your life while you have fun doing what you love the most. 14. I love cheese.  Cheese is definitely one of the most wonderful things on earth. Sadly Norway has very few good cheeses to offer in common grocery stores, so whenever I travel outside the country, you know what I'll be eating! 15. My MBTI personality is INFJ.  At least that was my result, although I can only dream to do as much good to the world as the people used as examples for this personality type. However, I do relate to a lot of the traits that characterize INFJs, for instance following my principles (as mentioned in fact 4), so I guess that's the correct personality type for me after all. 16. I was one of the last children in my class to stop playing. I don't know why, but the other girls in my class started wearing makeup, hanging out and just talk during recess from fifth grade. Meanwhile my friends and I kept playing in the sand and snow for another few years until it gradually faded away during middle school. 17. I had PFAPA from the age of 1 until right after I turned 13. It won't surprise me if you haven't heard about PFAPA before. In fact, it will surprise me if you have. The first two letters are short for periodic fever which is basically what it is. I had a fever for 4-5 days once per month. I also had a headache, stomachache and enlarged lymph nodes, which made my neck stuck slightly tilted to the left. 18. After that I was healthy for 4 years until I got CFS. How I miss those 4 years... When I was 17, I got a mycoplasma infection around this time of the year, but I only noticed getting a bit more tired. Therefore, I didn't go to the doctor for another month when it got really bad. After some time with antibiotics, I didn't get better and revisited the doctor's office. That was the start of my Post Infectious Fatigue which goes within the umbrella term Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS). 19. I'm demiromantic. For the longest time I was convinced I was asexual. However, two things were wrong about this: 1. I didn't understand the difference between romantic and sexual attraction, and 2. As a demiromantic, I had never gotten close enough with any guy to experience that kind of attraction. That changed when I was 17, and I had to revisit the labels I had put on myself.  I'm pretty sure my labels will have changed again in ten years time. 20. I absolutely love dogs. My dog is the best creature in the universe, in a completely objective way. ;) My daily life today is mostly about her, because the school I chose (as mentioned in fact 13) is about dogs and dog sports. I don't think I could have chosen anything better, and I love her and all the other dogs here so much. I'll probably talk more about dogs here sometime.

Congrats for reading all the way through! And if you just scrolled to the bottom, that's okay too. Hopefully you got to know me a little bit better and found some of it interesting.

[richiestoziers]

tenderness (chapter 1)

summary: eddie kaspbrak is the most popular guy in derry high and thinks he has nothing to worry about in his senior year of high school, boy is he wrong! with the news of his messy ex stepbrother richie living with him and everyone in his life’s love life becoming a mess (his included), he is feeling totally clueless!

warnings: starting off detailed and ending half assed?? idk um no idea!! um?? extremely clueless au so warning expect that??

read on ao3 here!!

it was the first day of senior year at derry high, and eddie kaspbrak was worry free.

what would he need to worry about? he’d slowly but surely become one of the most popular kids at derry high, alongside his best friends ben hanscom and stanley uris. high school was a breeze when you were popular, smart, and had close to nothing to worry about. he was coming to school with a new haircut, a new outfit, and at least one class with each of his friends.

“what do you guys have first period?” stan questioned, looking down at his own schedule as they walked on campus. 

“debate, what about you?” ben responded first, already having memorized his schedule. 

“me too! i would have hated not having someone in that class with me. what about you eddie?” stan and ben were psyched to have it together, debate was a fun class as long as you knew somebody, but if not you were totally screwed.

“i have trig, aka the bane of my existence.” eddie spoke, walking in between his two best friends, jealous that they had debate together. they all took it in hopes that it would be a class that they could all share, but while they had it first period eddie was stuck having it last.

“what classes do we have together again?” stan questioned, analyzing his schedule for the hundredth time.

“the only one all three of us have together is study hall, which doesn’t even really count.” eddie had made sure to memorize his classes along with his friends, it made things so much easier in his life.

“it’s our last year and us three don’t even have a real class together, this is hell.” stan tended to be over dramatic, but they were all used to it.

“we’ll push through, anyways there’s passing periods, lunch, and study hall. i think we’ll survive.” eddie teased, rolling his eyes at stan with a smile on his face.

ben had been looking at his phone all the while as they talked, and stan and eddie looked at each other, both knowing why. 

“i promised i’d meet beverly in the quad, wanna come with?” ben questioned, and the smile on eddie’s face grew.

eddie himself was responsible between the love connection of his best friend ben hanscom and the lovely beverly marsh. he seemed to have a knack when it came to matchmaking, which showed through the almost year long relationship between the two. he saw the looks ben gave him, and he had become friends with beverly through mutual classes, and he knew what to do. 

it was a bit harder than normal since ben was his partner in crime when it came to making these love connections, ben was a hopeless romantic and loved helping eddie, but that was one he had to do on his own. it was worth it, and he had a feeling that relationship would last.

“of course, let’s go.” eddie responded, and ben took the lead as stan and eddie wiggled their eyebrows at each other because of the smile on ben’s face.

they could easily spot beverly, anyone could with that red hair. she had grown it out a bit longer and embraced the curls, it suited her. 

“hey guys!” she lifted her arms to hug her boyfriend first, ben who after years finally got taller than her, and while he was more fit still maintained some of his pudge. he was no longer overweight, hell he was the star on the track team, but his body maintained a healthy weight.

she went in for a hug for stan and eddie after, having become much closer to their group since dating ben. her and eddie were already friends after having history together the year before, but she was officially in popular territory once she joined their group. the main problem with that was the fact that greta bowie-keene was technically apart of the popular group, non of the liked her but she somehow was still apart of it. she only played nice with bev because she wanted to kiss ass for eddie, ben, and stan. they all disliked her, but the best part was they could be bitchy to her face and she just took it since she was desperate for the full level of popularity.

eddie never thought he’d see these tables turn, but he didn’t mind it.

“what class do you have, baby?” ben asked beverly, wrapping an arm around her waist, always clinging to her. 

“trigonometry.” she responded, and boy was eddie uber thankful. 

“bless! i thought i was going to have to go the entire year in that class alone, but you’ve saved me from a horrible class yet again.” eddie smiled up to his friend, going up to kiss her cheek since she was taller than him.

bev smiled and laughed, glad she had such a good friend group. once losers turned popular, it’s a wonder what a few years in derry could do. take the inhaler away from eddie and put him in some preppy clothes and boom he was popular, and the rest followed suit.

their chatter ended with the bell ringing, everyone in the area scattering to their classes. 

“gotta haul ass to class, see you later guys?” bev spoke for the both of them, her and eddie going in one direction and ben and stan going in the other. 

“so you and ben?” eddie questioned bev, hitting her side as they walked. 

“what about us?” she asked with a smile. 

“how are things, duh? are you still indebted to me for doing such a good deed for the both of you?” he teased, always bragging about the good he’s done for the two. 

“you are so cocky, eddie.” beverly teased.

“i’m just proud of all my hard work, can you blame me?” they had reached their class, and the conversation ended with bev rolling her eyes and the two laughing together.

they took the last two seats in the class that were together, both in their mind hoping the teacher wouldn’t give some ridiculous seating arrangement.

first period passed easily, the two maintained their seats together and were just lectured on the class syllabus, and they talked for the brief passing period before going their separate ways to their second period class.

his next class was american lit, which sounded pretty easy just from the course description. they were reading all the ‘great american stories’ aka the books sparknotes already had written up for you. not that eddie would ever cheat, but it sure as hell helped.

walking into the class he was one of the first ones there and took a random seat in the second row, going on his phone to distract from the silence. he already had multiple texts from his group chat with ben and stan, a mixture about how the debate teacher was already being a hardass and stan having a baseball meeting after school.

speaking of baseball, in comes one of their star players, bill denbrough. eddie felt his stress alleviate once more, glad that he not only had a friend but one of the best students when it came to english in the school. bill denbrough was six four and had auburn hair, and he was known for baseball and writing, and eddie had been friends with him since they were kids. 

“bill! i thought you would have been taking creative writing this year.” eddie smiled as his friend took the seat next to him, thankful. 

“i’m doubling up on english, so i’m taking this and creative writing. no s-study hall for me.” he still had a semblance of a stutter, rare but occasionally there, always reminding them of their humble beginnings. 

“well i’m glad you’re in this class with me, i’d probably die from loneliness if you weren’t here and fail without your help.” eddie smiled, always having to look up at his friend.

“you’re getting too dramatic eddie, i thought that was stan’s job in your little friend group.” bill poked eddie with his statement, it was meant to be regular but eddie being ‘frail’ thought it hurt.

“who told you that?” eddie questioned, genuinely curious.

“word on the street.” bill gave him one of those smirks everyone seemed to fall for, turning to the teacher as she began to speak.

how curious.

third period was already his favorite, it was just a straight hour of doing absolutely nothing with his best friends. they were supposed to stay quiet in study hall, but it was only the first day and the teacher couldn’t expect them to be working when the only thing meant to be done was read over the syllabus. 

“beverly and i just had history, ap. beverly’s thinking about dropping it, but i’m trying to convince her to stay.” ben spoke to them as they walked around the school library where study hall was held, following him as he looked for a book. 

“stan and i have that fifth period, it can’t be that bad already.” eddie spoke, suddenly anxious. he rarely took ap classes, but they all had decided to take the only ap history class they offered for seniors.

“i don’t think so, but it’s ap. that’s why she’s nervous, but i think she’ll get the hang of it, she’s smarter than me so i can’t imagine her doing worse than me.” ben grabbed some architecture book, neither boy cared to look at it in depth. 

“she is smarter than you, that’s true.” stan teased, hitting his shoulder with ben’s. 

ben didn’t show any indication of annoyance or anything towards stan’s comment, because he thought beverly was the smartest person even if she didn’t have all the grades to prove it. “i got my book we can sit now.” 

they all went to the table their bags were holding for them, and stan and eddie continued on with a conversation about their weekend plans as ben read from his book.

ben was typically the quiet one of the group, though that never got rid of how important he was. he was eddie’s best friend, his partner in crime, the person he went to for all his problems. he had met him before he had met stan, so while they shared a similar bond him and ben just had that history together.

funny, because this year stan and eddie had actual history together, fifth period to be exact.

“so i heard in second period that there was going to be a rager in bangor this saturday, are we going?” stan asked the group.

ben nodded as he read, an indicator he was down to go. 

“bangor? my mom will kill me, but i’m sure i can manage something. can’t miss the first party of the year.” eddie smiled, his mother still protective but gave him some more freedom. 

“great, do you need a ride, eddie?” stan questioned, everyone knowing eddie still didn’t have his license. 

“of course, as if my mom would drive me to a party.” he rolled his eyes, hating it.

“i can give you guys a ride.” ben, always the kind one, smiled up from his book to them.

“aw, thanks ben.” eddie and stan smiled at him, hugging him and surprising him with tickles, the trio filling the library with their laughter.

eddie and ben waved goodbye at stan as he left the two to his class, them going to the science wing of the school since they had chemistry together that year. neither of them were great at science, but neither was horrible either. together they worked well, and they were glad to already have heard from others that the chem teacher lets you pick your lab partners.

the two picked the table somewhere in the middle of the class, talking as the teacher set up her presentation for the syllabus. the first day was always the best, you just went to school and didn’t have to do anything. if only the entire school year could be like that. so far his classes seemed fine, so eddie thought this year might be an easier one. 

the teacher began to lecture but it just sounded like the peanuts teacher to eddie in the moment, and he went between diddling with his pen and whispering to ben about god knows what. 

he could feel his stomach grumbling, his body naturally in tuned to the cycle he once had when his mother forced him to take unnecessary medicine. after he confronted her things drastically changed, and he eased his way to the point where he stopped taking them unless his new doctor actually told him he needed to. at times like this he still expected his watch to ring indicating him to eat and take his pills, and his stomach rumbled inside of him for that. 

he had to shake it off, he only had history then he had lunch. he still had some resentment for his mother for what she did, but he couldn’t hate her. she was all he really had, her past marriages always failing and non of her ex husbands being a good father replacement, and while her actions were misguided he told himself it was all because she cared about him.

and she did care about it, she just went about it in all the wrong ways.

he could forgive her for that, and for the fact that he didn’t want to have to spend the years of his life from thirteen to eighteen constantly fighting with his guardian. it was easier this way, and if he played nice she gave him more independence. it was also a good thing she liked stan and ben, she said they were good boys and good influences, which he couldn’t argue with. 

he was glad ben would be his lab partner, he would take the labs seriously, and be actually safe.

he loved his friends.

it was the second to last period of the day and the last one before lunch, it was history which he thankfully had with stan, but he was starting to stress because he had debate last and so far none of his friends seemed to have it with him. 

if he didn’t know anybody in his debate class he would be screwed, that could singlehandedly ruin the entire year for him.

he met stan inside the class and spotted his khaki wearing friend already sitting down, and eddie quickly made his way to the seat next to him. 

“hey, bird boy.” he teased, setting his bag on the joint desk next to him.

stan rolled his eyes, he hated that nickname, but it was a universal nickname for him at derry high. everyone knew the famous stanley uris had a thing for bird watching, and even as a child he was labelled the bird boy. the nickname was once once filled with malice towards him, and now was filled with only appreciation. eddie thought it was cute, most people at school did. 

“i’ve only heard mixed things about this class, some say it’s the easiest ap and some say it’s the hardest. i have no idea what to prepare for.” stan seemed already stressed, in a typical stanley uris manner.

“guess we’ll find out as the classes go by, but come on stan! stop stressing! all we’ll probably do is talk about what’s expected and what we’ll learn today, so calm down.” he wrapped his arm around his friend and squeezed his shoulder, the two the same height making it easy. 

speaking of height, the opposite of theirs had just walked in. mike hanlon, who was almost as tall as bill denbrough, and the school’s football star. he too was in popular territory, making him a good friend of eddie’s. they had become friends in the eighth grade when mike’s family finally let him go to a real school rather than continue homeschooling. 

“hey eddie, hey stan.” mike smiled at them, taking the open seat on the other side of stan. 

“hey mike, i didn’t know you were in this class.” stan smiled up at him. 

“history is my passion, i had to take this.” he was one of the only other students at derry high that was frequently at the library, following ben. 

“really? i had no idea, well it’s a good thing we have you to help us if we get lost.” stan laughed, his stress still showing. 

“i got you guys, i’m more than willing to help.” mike smiled at them, he was one of the nicest people eddie knew, so he knew he really did mean it when he said that. 

watching the two interact eddie got an idea, it felt like a lightbulb turning on in his hand, and in a typical emma woodhouse he felt the need to set the two up.

he quickly grabbed his phone out of his pocket, frantically texting ben. new couple project! stan + mike? when baseball meets football? you need to see this chemistry and tension, we found our senior project!

he was internally squealing, already thinking of all the sly things he could do to ease them together, ready to have another happy couple to add onto his resume. 

kitty powers is shaking.

lunch finally rolled around and since they were seniors they could eat off campus, but they decided for the day to stick to the school lunch. all in line with their trays they followed behind everyone to get whatever the school was offering that day.

“you have debate next, right richie?” ben asked, he was ahead of eddie in the line. 

“yeah, why?” he questioned, moving his hand to grab an apple. 

“just wondering. good luck, mr. mueller is being an extra hardass this year, only the first day and we can already tell.” ben warned him, and now eddie was feeling stan’s stress.

“great, and i don’t have anyone in that class.” he bitched, following behind ben to their table, and ben gave him a sympathetic look. 

beverly and stan were already at the table, ben and eddie taking their places. the table was typically filled, so much so they never even got to speak to most of the other people there. greta bowie-keene and sally mueller were sitting at the end, mike and some other football players were there too along with bill, and eddie was all in the center of it with his main group. 

bev and stan were talking about something, eddie couldn’t really hear over the noise, and instead listened to ben talk about his latest architecture project. 

“so my mom is having me redo a lot of the loose boards in the kitchen and while i was looking at the set up, the wood used, and the wood we have now i got an idea. i think i might even do more so it all matches, i mean it’ll help me get used to working with this stuff and it’s doing my mom a favor. i just wish there was more i can do to work with real stuff.” eddie could really admire him for his passion and drive when it came to his dreams of architecture, he himself still had no idea what he wanted to do with his future. “anyway, tell me about stan and mike.”

eddie looked around frantically to see if anyone heard ben, before leaning in close to whisper. “not so loud! they can’t know we’re setting them up, duh. okay, so in history we found out mike was in our class, and he sat next to stan and all class they were being all flirty and lovey dovey.”

ben had such a sweet, tender look in his eyes. he was such a hopeless romantic, which is what made him such a great partner when it came to this. “how sweet, how are we going to do it?”

“well i’m thinking we put them in situations where they have to talk and shit. the party on saturday will be the full kicker, so we have to make this week a week filled with stanley and mike action.” eddie whispered to ben. “i’ll text you when i get a full plan.”

ben nodded, putting his hand out for the two to do their handshake, something they had done since they were young and always did in situations like these.

and wasn’t it perfect timing that right as they looked up stan and mike were briefly talking? the two immediately turned to each other at the sight, squealing with excitement. 

oh, how fun!

eddie kaspbrak was on his way to the dreaded class; debate. what should have been an easy, fun class was shifted to the complete opposite at the news he had received. no friends, hard-ass teacher, and the fact he wasn’t even that great at debate in the first place.

he walked into the room nonetheless, never one to ditch, and took a seat. he had no need to pick one specifically, it wasn’t like he was saving a seat for anyone. 

and what he expected to be the worst class of the year became the best, because he walked in.

he being victor criss, reformed bully turned total baldwin. his once bleach blonde hair going to a more natural brown, and eddie hadn’t realized just how hot he had gotten that summer. ditching the bowers gang and coming out did wonders for victor criss, and eddie was starting to think he’d have to break his streak of not having a crush in high school.

vic caught him staring and gave him a shy smile, one eddie returned, not feeling embarrassed in the slightest. 

victor took the seat next to him, thankfully, and eddie gave him another smile. “hey.”

“hey.” victor responding, giving him a nod, and the two were cut off by the teacher beginning their spiel. 

that was all they said to each other that day, but eddie had a good feeling about victor criss and his debate class this year.

wow, things were totally going his way this year!

spoke too soon, because eddie’s perfect beginning to the school year is shattered when he steps foot into his mothers car.

“eddie, honey, richie’s going to be coming tomorrow.” she started to say as she drove them back home after picking him up right after school.

his mouth was gaped. “what? why?”

mrs. kaspbrak, always a worried being, was worried about his reaction. “well, he’s going to be going to college here so i offered to let him stay with us.”

eddie muttered out an “ugh” as he rested against the seat, already annoyed just thinking about his ex stepbrother richie tozier. “why can’t he stay in the dorms? you were married to his father for less than a year, not to mention he’s always messy, and chaotic, and annoying. do you really want that in our house?” 

“eddie, be nice. richie is a sweet boy and you know how his father is, we’re the closest thing to family he’s got, and it’s cheaper if he stays with us. he’ll behave if he’s living with us, give him a chance.”

“he is not family, ew, don’t say that. fine, not like i have a choice.” eddie bitched, even though whenever he saw richie they got along fairly well. they tended to bicker and eddie acted like he hated him, but when it really came down to it he wasn’t completely opposed to his company. 

“good, i set up the guest room for him and everything. please be nice when he get’s here tomorrow, i’m going to have him pick you up from school.” they pulled up to their driveway, living only a few minutes from the high school.

“seriously? please, no.” eddie begged, wishing he had his license more than anything now.

“i made a deal with him that if he’s living with us he has to take you to and from school. it’s easier on me and i’m able to work more if he does that, and it’s a good way for him to repay us for letting him live with us.” she explained, parking the car and the two getting out. 

“fine.” eddie rolled his eyes, knowing all his arguing would do nothing. he hugged his mother to show he wasn’t mad and retreated into their house which would soon be occupied by the ex stepbrother.

so much for his perfect year.

[astormyjet]

March 13th - July 18th 2017: ES and JHS Graduation Round Two, Korea and Osaka, Hanami, Early ES Sports Day, Becoming RA, Shiminami Kaido Round Two, More Farewells and the Start of Summer.

Yeah, it’s been a while folks. Life hit me full force. As did the looming threat of the future. I’ve been working on trying to motivate myself. It’s pretty hard, when you set the bar low and you eventually achieve what you want, there’s this big moment of well, this is temporary, what the f**k am I going to do with my life after this. Basically the last few months have been one existential crisis after another. Fun times.

A bunch of really cool 6th Grade Elementary School kids and 3rd Year Junior High School kids graduate in March. I keep seeing a bunch of the JHS Graduates on my bike to and from school this year, my fave tennis kid from last year nearly ran me off the road and into the river the other day she was so stoaked to see me. A bunch of my faves from ES came to the JHS, but I haven’t really had the opportunity to teach them or be in class with them as much as I was with the 1st years last year.  It’s made me a little jittery to be honest.

 I’ve only really had the chance to go to 2nd year classes, and that’s not picnic being that 80% of the kids are little punks. I love them to bits, but they are disrespectful, lazy little shits - and have been since they were in the 6th Grade. In part this is due to the way their English teacher taught them last year, but it’s also on them. It takes WAY to long to explain anything to them, so we’re stuck in discipline mode for 90% of class, review mode for 5% and have very limited time to do anything outside of the text book. They’re getting better, we’ve made more headway with the tougher kids which has bought the mood of the classroom back a bit, but there is still SO MUCH TO COVER. I want to go to 3rd and 1st year classes more. *sobbing* At least my 3rd years have been writing to me a lot. I have ninja-ed my way into some of their classes during my free periods, but it’s not the same...

My new 5th Graders are fantastic, cute and terrifyingly smart kids. I mean all the kids I teach are smart, but this lot are quirky and just so...genki? My 6th Graders are still great too. Which is a relief. I was worried they’d get one of the teachers from last year and that would change them for the worse, but that particular teacher was moved to another grade. English club is going well, it was so popular this year that a bunch of kids got turned down. We’re at capacity with 28 kids, and boy is it stressful having to think of fun stuff to do with a bunch of kids for an hour and a half every two weeks. But I love it.

South Korea and Osaka were fun. I’ll be honest, I think I bought the mood down A LOT in Korea, which I feel really guilty about. The person I was travelling with had so much they wanted to see and do, but I was a total fun sponge. I just felt REALLY uncomfortable in Seoul. I walked past a couple of anti-gay protests, and I think that had something to do with it. Being around other tourists also just..drove me mad? People are so rude? I think I’ve been in Japan too long as the standards I have for politeness are way too high...

That said, the lady in our hostel was really sweet. As were the other guests. Most of the vendors I interacted with were civil, even when I fucked up and started speaking Japanese instead of English out of habit (guy took it in his stride, and was almost relieved I think because his Japanese was better than his English). It was easier to find clothes that fit, particularly pants. The food was delicious, and the things we did go and see were pretty fun. I loved K-star Road and Myeondong. When we were leaving for Osaka, there was a drama or a CM being shot in the Airport, so while we were trying to get to sleep there was a lot of yelling and camera people running by. It was pretty cool. 

Osaka was much more my speed. I enjoyed going up the tower and doing some shopping in the Pokemon Center (this time minus the encounter with random 5th Grader from my ES) and ironically enough the Korea Town there. We were only in Osaka for a night, but as soon as we hit the ground back in Japan I just felt like I was home. There’s something that has always pulled me towards this place. I’m not sure how I’m going to leave in a few years. Hopefully by then somewhere else will be calling to me just as strong. 

After that trip it was right back into the new year with the teacher change and the new classes. Introduction lessons were about the only time I’ve had lesson with my 1st year JHS kids this semester so I’ve had words with my JTEs and they’ve paid lip service at least to timetabling me in for next Semester. Somewhere in this time I got pissed at my ES Supervisor for all the mucking around with the timetable and not informing the Japanese ALT about the changes and making her come all the way in for no classes or classes in the afternoon only. It stopped happening for a while...then it happened again today. Hopefully it was a one off thing or I’m going to have to talk to the BOE because it’s really not fair on anyone.

There were a bunch of Hanami parties ect too around this time. Also a couple more farewell parties. I applied for RA some time in Feb and got the position in March/April along with another person who is super cool and motivated, so that has had me busy.  In May there was Golden Week, which I did pretty much nothing in, besides go down to the Ikazaki Kite festival on Children's day again. It was fantastic. My ES had their Undokai/Sports Day in May too due to the big Paralympic championship being held here in September. It was so much fun this time, I dodged between tents and got to hang out with the really little kids as well as their parents and we all enjoyed cheering for our teams. The team I was on won for a change!!!

I graded from Green belt to brown finally after a four year period of dodging grading for Karate. I’ve learnt about 4 more kata since I have been here too, which is overwhelming. My teacher is threatening me with my black belt either at the end of this year or middle of next....so better get into shape a bit more before then. 

I bought a new skate board and have gone out a couple of times with my friend and his girlfriend. It’s surprisingly easier to cruise on compared to the old k-mart board I had, though I miss my longboard something shocking. I also miss being able to cruise around on it like back in Uni, you can’t really do that here without breaking the law or getting run over by someone. 

In June we held our first RA event, doing Iyo-kasuri dying in Matsuyama. It went well for a first event, I just need to relax a bit and plan stuff out for myself a bit more. The next event we’re hoping to hold is one for a Beach day after all the new people come in. But that is after Orientation, so I am going to start plotting that in about two weeks. 

I also did the Shimanami Kaido again with AJET. This time it actually went a lot better, it RAINED something fierce on the second to last island so we basically swam up the last couple of hills, but it was well worth it. It was hot, but not unbearable. There was also a festival at the end of it in Onomichi which was cool. The morning after, on the way to get breakfast we ran into on of the guys I came in with in 2015. I can’t for the life of me remember his name, but he pointed us in the direction of a really nice bakery. So props fellow kiwi. Best Curry-pan I have ever had. 

I took the JLPT N4 on July 2nd. I’m pretty sure I failed again. But I only have myself to blame. I need to figure out how to study. I was always one of those kids that did really well on tests with relatively little study at High School, I just needed to pay attention in class and do the homework. But everything changed when the firenation..I mean Uni attacked. I know for a fact my conversational Japanese has gotten heaps better (though it is strongly Iyo-ben/Yankii/Inaka), my reading and writing hasn’t improved at all. Nor has my ability to do their shitty grammar puzzles, really the format of that section is going to be what makes me fail in tests I study for even...but for now it’s over, I think I’ll wait until this time next year to sit it again, if I pass I’ll aim for N3. 

This last weekend there was the AJET leaving party on Kashima island in Hojo. It was a bit surreal to be quite honest. A fair few of the people who came in with me, as well as the sempai who guided us through our first month, are leaving. I know life will plug on as normal after they’re gone, that is the transient nature of this job, but it is going to be odd for a bit having new faces around in a couple of weeks.

It’s made me realize how fast time is going. I have no plan for after JET yet. I have no ambition or motivation really. I don’t really have anything waiting for me back home other than Student debt and few job prospects. So for now I guess the plan is to take more TESOL courses, brush up on my Japanese and look into what I need to acquire a similar job after my final renewal.

One of my 5th graders was on the island when we got there. So that was weird....but she was really cool today, bragging to all her friends about how she saw me and my friends. A bunch of kids were surprised I even had friends, but that’s another story for another time. The next day as I was going to pick my bike up from the repair shop (my back tire burst on my way to the supermarket/station on Saturday) I ran into one of the shyer 6th Grade kids and her cousin. We had a special fifth grade lesson with my teacher for JHS, we’re doing phonics, and it’s equal parts hilarious and terrifying how kiwi these kids sound. 

This weekend there is E-Talk camp, which I am looking forward too. One of the few decent 2nd year JHS boys is doing it again this year as well as one of my fave 3rd year girls. I think there might be one more kid, but my teacher didn’t really confirm that yet. I’ll find out on Saturday hopefully.

I’m going to my ES End of term party on Thursday, which I am looking forward to, but also dreading. The nurse who has been at the school for the last year or so is transferring out to Seiriyo High School and we’re getting someone new. So this party will be the last time I see her for a while. She’s been pretty cool about me coming in and out and chatting with the kids who have anxiety issues and the kids who aren’t feeling well, but are still genki enough to be sitting up. It’s also been really nice to hide in the nurses office while I don’t have classes because I can do my homework there a lot faster than I can in the teachers room, and they had the aircon on earlier...and not as high as the teachers room does...either way, I hope the dynamic doesn’t change too much, especially for the two kids who have that place as their refuge.

Next week, I have a trip to Tokyo coming up. I need to get off of the island for a bit again I think. And I need to do it on my own. So I’ve booked five days away, and only have tentative plans to meet up with my former Japanese housemate. I want to climb Takao-san, even though people say it’s nothing special and I want to go to Ueno Zoo and do a couple of nerdy things in Akiba/Ikebukuro again. I just need to push myself a little more. Then it’ll be right back into Orientation Prep and welcoming the new kids.  

Orientation prep is a bit stressful. I screwed up and made things complicated for everyone by trying to be considerate of my stressed out JHS JTEs. At the end of the day I should have just bitten the bullet and started planing the whole demonstration lesson on my own and run through it with whoever I was going to do it with a couple of times before the actual event, but noooooooo I had to go and try change things up by asking if we could have one of the other ALTs in our region do it with our old boss....but that’s a problem for tomorrow or the end of the week. I am confident I can pull it off if things fall through, but if not, there is really only me to blame for it all.  

I have so much to do before I leave, but I should wack the last of the urgent stuff out by tomorrow afternoon. If not, I took leave on Friday, so between cleaning my house up for Micheal to stay here on his last night while I am away and packing (hopefully not too hung over) I have time to get the bulk of what I need done out of the way before my holiday and the printing deadline. 

Basically I am happy, a little stressed, somewhat frustrated with lack of classes at my JHS, but also shit scared of the future. What else is new....

[artificialqueens]

When Worlds Collide Ch. 1 (Biadore) -Splatt

For a lot of people, high school is a time full of double lives, lies, and misdirection. Kids lied about money and status and relationships in order to climb the social ladder to be one of the “populars”. They pretended not to care about their grades in front of their friends and then cried to themselves at night when they got a C- on that one big paper that they had worked on for hours upon hours. They put on a (hopefully) convincing smile as their parents fought at home. They learned how to use concealer out of necessity when their parents and siblings and other students left them bruised and battered. They pretended to be confident and in control when all they wanted was a short drop with a quick stop, because anything- anything- was better than high school.

Or at least that seemed to be the collective unspoken hope shared by the student body.

Danny was no different.

He kept to himself for the most part, not because he wanted to, but because no one messed with the tatted up bad boy type. No one talked to the kid who stood behind the school smoking at lunch instead of eating in the lunchroom like everyone else; who wore lots of black and dark colors and never took off his hoodie even in the heat of summer.

Danny lifted his cigarette to his lips and took the last drag right as the bell rang for fifth period. He moved the rock that he had used to prop the door open and slipped inside to join the mad rush for his next class.

“Did you hear that Adore is going to be on some late night show tonight?”

Adore. That was the name echoing around the halls lately. For the past six months, that had been the hot topic for everyone at the school. A new star was born out of their very own town, yet no one knew who she was. No one had met her. No one had funny stories of growing up in the house next to this girl who they just knew from the beginning would be famous.

That is, unless you headed to one club downtown where everyone had known Adore before she made it big, because it was the girl had been discovered nearly a year ago, but no one would ever think to go there and the regulars and other performers and staff were all sworn to secrecy.

“Yeah, I heard. Do you think she’ll finally let something drop about who she really is? No one names their kid Adore. That has to be a stage name.”

Danny rolled his eyes and put his head on his desk until the teacher called him up to the desk. He stood and shoved his hands into his pockets as he made his way to the front.

No one in the class looked twice. It was normal for teachers- especially Mr. Haylock- to call Danny up to talk to him privately. They all figured he had some kind of trouble and needed extra help, which in their minds made sense with his mysterious bad boy vibes.

Mr. Haylock motioned for him to sit down in the chair next to his desk and lowered his voice so no one else would hear. “So you’re going to be busy tonight, I take it?”

He phrased it as a question, but Danny knew he didn’t need to answer. Still, he nodded and smiled weakly.

“I’ll give you the weekend to do your paper for full credit, but that’s it, okay? After that it’ll be ten points every day it’s late. That’s three extra days.” He sighed.

“Thanks Mr. H.” Danny let out a relieved breath. “You’re a lifesaver. I promise I’ll try to have it done by friday, though. I can work in the car.”

The teacher shook his head. “Kid, all you need to do in the car is sleep. Pretty soon the bags under your eyes will be too big to be considered carryons.”

Danny chuckled and shook his head. “I have too much to do. My other teachers don’t know what’s up, so they just bitch at me every day if I don’t have my work.”

Roy shook his head exasperatedly. “You know, you could just tell them.”

“Yeah, because that’s exactly what I need to do. I need to completely blow my cover so I can never have a normal day at school again.” The boy rolled his green eyes and scowled.

“Fine. Tell Adore to visit Oasis soon. The girls miss her.” He gave in.

Danny grinned and winked. “I’m sure she misses them, too. Especially Bianca. It’s been too long since their last movie night.”

Mr. Haylock nodded. “Get some sleep, Daniel. Do you know what kind of things they’re asking tonight?”

“Not really, but if rumors around the school are anything to go by, they want her real name. I think they’re going try to get her to slip up to get some details about her life.”

“You mean like the fact that she’s a man in a wig?” Mr. Haylock cocked a brow.

Danny snorted and discreetly gave his teacher the finger. “You’re an ass, Haylock. Adore doesn’t have anything planned for saturday. Do you think Bianca can tell the girls to expect her then?”

“Go sit down. You reek of cigarette smoke, and I don’t want everything on my desk to stink. If you haven’t caught up on your sleep by saturday, I’m telling the door bitch not to let you in.” He threatened.

Danny stuck his tongue out childishly and plastered on an annoyed frown to walk back to his desk.

_~_-_~_-_~_-_~_-_~_

To: Mama B From: Danny OMW to LA

To: Dorey From: Roy Get some sleep. If you hand in that paper tomorrow, I’m going to make your life hell.

To: Mama B From: Danny Guess I should prepare for hell, then, huh? Wat r u gonna do? Cancel r movie nite?

To: Dorey From: Roy Sleep while you can, bitch. I’ll be watching your interview.

Danny smiled down at his phone and leaned his head against the window.

“My baby’s all smiley. Who’re you talking to?” his mom, Bonnie, nudged his shoulder.

“No one. Shut up! I’m not smiley.” Danny tried to stop smiling, but his lips stretched even farther.

Bonnie grinned and shot her son a sarcastic look. “Tell Roy I said ‘hi’.”

Danny threw his eraser at her and went back to writing his English paper.

_~_-_~_-_~_-_~_-_~_

“Our next guest is the upcoming singer, dancer, and model, Adore Delano! Welcome, Adore! How are you doing tonight?” The interviewer hugged the rockstar and led her to the couch.

Adore smiled widely and air kissed his cheeks. “Hey man. I’m good. It’s been a long day. I came here straight from school.”

The interviewer nodded. “You’re still in school? Even with being a rock star? That’s admirable.”

She scoffed. “I don’t know if I’d call it admirable. I kinda have to finish high school, you know? I’m a little less than halfway through my senior year.”

“Almost done, then. Where do you go to school?”

“If I told you that, I’d be giving you a pretty damn big hint at who I am when I’m not Adore, and I don’t think it’s time for that yet.” Adore shook her head. “There are three public high schools in my school district. I go to one of them.”

The interviewer kept pushing. “If you’re a high school senior, then you’re eighteen, right? When’s your birthday?”

“I’m nineteen, actually. They kept me back in kindergarten because I had trouble reading and writing. Mixed up my letters.” She admitted. “Aren’t you supposed to ask me about my music or something?”

“Right, yes. Do you have anything new coming out?”

Adore nodded enthusiastically. “I’m writing songs for a new album that’s supposed to come out this summer. I’m excited for it. It’s very different from ‘Til Death Do Us Party. It’s a lot more personal than DTF and Jump the Gun and Speak My Sex. Of course, there are still songs like those on it, too.”

The interviewer nodded and took the bait. “So would you say this album is going to be more along the lines of I Adore U?”

“Yes, exactly. That was really the only super personal song on Til Death Do Us Party. This one has more like that. More having to do with my relationships in my life as a normal person and how that kind of clashes with being Adore. When the two worlds collide, you know?” She admitted. “It’s hard to balance friendships and everything like that when the world doesn’t know who you are. There are only a handful of people who know where the two identities meet.”

“Is there a special guy in your life?”

Adore thanked her lucky stars that her blush was invisible through all the layers of makeup on her face. “Not really, no.”

Even without the reddening cheeks, the interviewer noticed the change in the girl’s demeanor. “If there isn’t a guy, who is I Adore U about? There has to be someone.”

Adore covered her face embarrassedly. “Crap! I guess yeah, there’s this guy I like, but he’s older, and I’m sure he just thinks of me as some little doofus kid. I Adore U is about him. I made it sound like a breakup song, but really it’s about how we couldn’t be together because of a whole bunch of other reasons.”

“Sounds like you’re in love. What’s this guy’s name?”

“I am not in love! He’s fourteen years older than me, and he used to be my boss at the club where I was discovered. And he’s kind of my English teacher. That gets in the way more than anything.”

The interviewer froze for a moment. “He’s your teacher?”

Adore hung her head. “Yeah, he’s my teacher. I have a huge crush on my teacher, and I am absolutely sure that he’s watching this right now.” She waved to the camera. “He’s the only one at my school that knows who I am. He’s the only friend I have there. I have all the girls at the club, too, but he’s just… I feel like I’m drugged with the thought of him. Walls built higher, just because of him.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’m just way more into daddies than I thought.”

“And we’re out of time. Thank you so much for coming here tonight, Ms. Delano. I hope for your sake you get over that crush.”

Once the cameras stopped rolling and the director yelled “cut”, Adore let her head fall back against the couch. “What the actual fuck did I just say? I’m pretty sure school tomorrow is going to be incredibly awkward.”

“I’m sure he’ll understand. Kids get crushes. I’m sure he’ll be tickled pink.” The interviewer rested his hand on Adore’s shoulder comfortingly.

“Yeah, I’m just going to hope he fell asleep before this came on. You know, he’s always super busy because he has two full time jobs.” Adore tried to reason. The stagehands ushered her off and soon enough she was in the car unpinning her wig and wiping off all of her makeup.

Bonnie grabbed her son’s hand and squeezed it. “Everyone has a breaking point, baby. You’ve let this stew in your head for a year, and now you need to let it out. Come here.”

Danny shook his head and pulled out another wipe. “Not right now. I need to change and get this shit off my face, then we need to find a gas station bathroom so I can untape my dick.”

“You know Roy is going to pretend you didn’t say anything because he’s your teacher and your boss and he’s alot older than you… Shit, Dan. You’ve really got yourself in trouble this time.” Bonnie sighed.

Danny threw one of the used wipes at her. “You’re really not helping. I have to see him tomorrow, and he’s going to call me up to the front before class just like he always does, and he’s going to bitch at me for writing my essay instead of sleeping, but then he’s going to give me that sad look that he gets when he has to do something he doesn’t want to, and he’s going to ask me to stay after class and tell me either way too politely or all snarky that I need to get over it.” He ranted.

Bonnie let him finish de-dragging and the rest of the car ride was spent in tense silence while Danny finished his essay and tried to pretend he wasn’t crying.

His phone pinged and he hesitated to look at the message.

To: Dorey From: Roy Come over when you get home.

Danny sniffed and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sweater.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Bonnie asked quietly.

Danny nodded. “He wants me to go to his house when we get back.”

“So go. Climb over the back fence into his yard like you think I don’t know that you do, and go spend the night with him.” Bonnie encouraged. “That’s a good sign, Dan. Go see him.”

Danny frowned. “You know I sneak over to his house?”

Bonnie laughed. “Of course I do. I’m your mother, Daniel. I know everything you do.”

The last ten minutes of the ride were completely silent. Danny stared at the text and thought about what could happen once he hopped the fence into his neighbor’s yard.in his mind, one of two things would happen: either they would end up having sex by the end of the night, or Mr. Roy Haylock would tell Danny that he had to get over this little crush and send him back home.

So, when Danny stood in front of the back fence that connected his yard to the Haylock residence, he didn’t know whether to run back to his bedroom and pretend he didn’t see the text or hop the fence and take his chances.

Luckily, Roy seemed to make the decision for him.

“You know I can see you standing there, right?” a voice called over from the other yard. “You’re not even twenty feet away from me. It may be dark, but I’m not blind.”

Danny’s heart started racing. “I’m really not sure if I should come over. I can only deal with fucking up so many times in one day.” He watched Roy get up from the porch and walk over to stand right in front of him.

Roy reached out and took Danny’s hand. “Oh yeah? And just how many times did you fuck up today?”

“Look, I really don’t think I can handle this right now. I’m just going to go inside and get a few hours of sleep. I’m dead tired.” He pulled away and took a few steps back.

“We don’t have to talk about it, but I owe you a movie night. Please, Dan?” Roy asked softly.

Danny shook his head and sighed, but still vaulted over the fence and stalked into Roy’s house. He dropped onto the couch and curled up into a ball. Roy sat heavily next to him and pulled the boy’s feet into his lap.

“You’re not just some little doofus kid.” Roy said after a few minutes of tense silence. “You’re a doofus, sure, but in the best way possible.”

“Drop it, Haylock. You wanted to watch a movie, so put on a movie. We are going to pretend I didn’t say anything. You can save the speech.” Danny grumbled.

Roy took a deep breath and pulled the boy up until he was sitting in his lap. “No speech. Pick a movie you’ve already seen.”

Danny’s eyes widened and he wiggled around until he was sitting on Roy’s legs and not his own. “Please don’t do this. Don’t just humor me because you know I have a pathetic little crush on you. Just tell me this isn’t going to work out and let me have a week of avoiding you and crying myself to sleep every night while clutching a pillow that turns into you when I fall asleep.” He kept his eyes down and away from his teacher’s face.

Roy laughed.

“What the fuck, Roy? Do you really think this is funny? Because I’m not laughing.” Danny stood up and started towards the back door to go back to his own house.

“Danny, please just sit down. That’s not what’s funny. Come on.” He scrambled up and held the boy against him. “I’m not laughing at how you feel. I laughed because you think I don’t feel the same way. Come sit with me so we can figure out what the next step is, okay?”

Danny melted into the older man’s chest and shook his head. “No you don’t. You’re just saying that because you know I’m stressed and I haven’t slept in three days.”

Roy hushed him and stroked his hair while he gently led the green eyed boy back to the couch. “Why don’t you come upstairs with me and we can just cuddle up in bed and sleep? Then, in the morning once you’re rested, I’ll tell you again.”

“Just to sleep?” Danny asked weakly. He felt Roy nod against his shoulder.

“Just to sleep. Come on.” The shorter man led him up the stairs and pulled back the covers on the bed for him. “I’m going to go to the bathroom quickly. You get comfortable. There are pajamas in the second drawer down if you want them.”

He ducked into the ensuite and waited five minutes to come back out and get into bed. By the time he opened the door, Danny was already curled around a pillow snoring lightly. Roy crept into the bed as quietly as possible and laid next to him. He was careful to leave the boy his own half of the bed so no lines were crossed before he fell asleep, but when he woke up again, he could feel hot breaths puffing across his shoulder, and his arm was numb and tingling from how Danny was laying on top of him. He checked the clock and adjusted to get blood flow back into his hand and kissed the boy’s forehead before closing his eyes again.

[c9sneaksen-blog]

on a heartstring

Hello– it’s the waffly, rambly author! And I’m actually here, in a non-threatening, non-bold text, to tell you about this particular fic…

Well, it’s 1058 words, so what’s the big deal, Tianhuo? It seems like you’re just waffling around, rambling for no good real reason– standard fic of yours– if not erring on the short side.

You’re right about that! It is, in fact, erring on the short side, and for good reason. Because this is only one installment– one chapter– of what is going to be 15.

Clean your glasses and rub at your eyes; yes, I’m writing an on-going piece! So here are the technicals:

There will be an update every week on Friday.Since this one is the first chapter of what will be 15, this one is an exception! And takes place on a Thursday (because I was really excited for this one to come out).

Knowing my fickle-mindedness, this might be subject to change, but I am aiming for every chapter to be within 1000-2000 words.Of course, there are probably going to be exceptions to this, and there might be extra long ones.

Of course, since the first update is coming out today, on a Thursday, there’s not going to be an immediate update tomorrow. But, you can look forward to one next week!

Gosh, alright, I’m sure everyone has had enough of me– so I’ll get out of everyone’s way and just let you read the darn thing. As always, I’m always super duper open to feedback and really eager to hear what people think of it! Please say something about it, I’m fueled by your comments, positive and negative.

—

Word Count: 1058 Words

This fic is based off of a prompt: “one of us is an actor and the other is on tech and we’ve been warned not to date each other but wow do we really want to date" 

It’s also a high school AU! Two in one!

You can find the prompt here. (Not the source link, since it can no longer be found.)

—

All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.

Easy enough quote to remember, Zach had thought, when he packed up from his English class– normally, he wouldn’t be too excited about having a quiz so early in the year– in the first week of school, more like, but it was just a quote quiz. And he could remember a line or two from Shakespeare easily enough.

Right?

It was his 12th year of high school, and, really, he was just trying his best to not be done and over with it all so soon. It was just one more year to survive– and then– then he could leave, and be done with it all. Not that school was a hellhole, but, well– it was hard to imagine any kid enjoying the stress of compulsory testing and mountains of homework each night. And Zach was, well, any kid.

Not that college is probably going to be any better, he had thought to himself, as he made his way down the hall, and then down the stairs to his science class– which was Physics (which he was not particularly looking forward to)– practically lamenting upon his chain to the school system. Physics– in third period? So early in the day?

It’s like I got stuck with the worst schedule possible, Zach thought to himself, as he sat in his desk and studied his schedule. Lunch was sixth period, which, he supposed, would have to be alright. His fourth was his history class (which was all the way back upstairs, in a different pod than he was in, go figure), and his fifth, Pre-Calculus– which was, thankfully, located within the same general vicinity as his history class.

I guess it’s good that I get a break between Physics and Pre-Calc, he thought, although, history isn’t really a break.

Although, is there really any break in a school day besides lunch?

And then, Zach scanned his schedule– as the bell rung and the teacher walked in– looking for the class that he really wanted to know about (besides lunch).

And he groaned. (Inwardly, of course, because he wasn’t going to be that weirdo that just groans and talks to himself during class.)

His drama was eighth period– the very last period of his day.

Maybe that’s a good thing, he tried to positively reassure himself as the teacher droned on about class rules after she handed out the class syllabus, it’s an easy class to end the day with.

Drama was, without any shadow of a doubt, Zach’s favorite class. It was his mini respite from the bustle of the overcrowded, noisy halls as he tried to dodge people running, late to their classes, and squeeze in between people standing around their lockers, crowding up the halls. He didn’t have to worry about memorizing any formulas like in his math classes or science classes, and he didn’t have to worry about analyzing a huge wall of text or creating timelines in his head about revolutions and innovations in history alike– he could be at ease, managing sound control, adjusting lights, and working with speakers– easy stuff for him, stuff that he actually thought was kind of cool and cared about.

Oh, god, you didn’t think it was his favorite because he liked acting or anything, right?

“Hey,” his friend had said, plucking one of the flyers hanging from the walls of the hallway as they made their way to class in sophomore year, “you should try out for this.”

Zach laughed, hiding his nervousness upon a wall of casualness. “Fuck no,” he had responded, “I’m ass at acting.”

Zach would never, ever, ever. Deathly awkward he was, and very anxious in front of large crowds– he wouldn’t be sure if he could even breathe correctly in front of a huge crowd like that– a huge turnout of people that would be watching his every move, every animated motion he made, every line he uttered– what a terrifying thought, even if it had only been within the confines of his mind. He would never, ever, ever get on top of a stage, bright lights on his bronzy golden hair and blue eyes staring out into that mass of people, faces blending together like a sickly-looking painting–

… He wouldn’t be any good, the point was made.

And, besides, he didn’t have any interest in the cheering and the applause and the throwing of roses (as cliché as it was, people did it here– the town had a particular inclination to that of the cheesy and cliché nature, it seemed). What he was really interested in was the tech behind it all– there was just– something fascinating– about flicking the switches and fucking around with the mic settings that turned pitched-up chipmunks into deep-voiced robots; something cool to be found in climbing tall ladders and adjusting the lights (although he usually let the other techies do that one– heights made him dizzy). There was just something cool about it– about working behind the scenes of a production, see how the actors and actresses really were, and watching the uptight, control-freaky stage manager yell at chatty leads and quiet extras alike. And he didn’t need fame or glory– just satisfaction– in knowing his contribution, even if it would always be behind curtains.

Maybe he was just a bit of a geek at heart. Zach was never too far away from any sort of technology– be it his phone or his computer. It was just… his thing, if he could have a thing– if he, a painstakingly average kid who got just barely average grades, in painstakingly average classes, and a painstakingly average amount of friends– could have a thing.

Quite suddenly, and abruptly, in the middle of his life-evaluating monologue, as most teenagers-going-on-adults-going-on-quarter-life-crises do, the bell had rung (a rather horrible, screechy bell, that was less like a school bell, and more of a resemblance to a rather cranky old lady emitting a horrid noise, indicating one of her 12 cats has just peed on the carpet), and Zach stuffed his Physics syllabus into his binder, and carried on his merry way, dodging through people running, trying to get to class, squeezing through many crowds of people, and racing up flights of stairs.

Eighth period could hardly come soon enough.

[shanmatheson]

“Life is not unlike cinema. Each scene has its own music, and the music is created for the scene, woven to it in ways we do not understand. No matter how much we may love the melody of a bygone day or imagine the song of a future one, we must dance within the music of today, or we will always be out of step, stumbling around in something that doesn’t suit the moment.” – from the book – “Before We Were Yours” by Lisa Wingate

I arrived back to my father’s condo in Fort Lauderdale after a long and very wet twenty-four hours of driving south from our home in Wheatley, Ontario. Our son Cheyne and I did the trek together and although he slept much of the time, we still enjoyed good conversations and laughs over some hockey podcasts.

 It was the accident up ahead during a downpour that made the hairs on our arms stand up and stomachs flip. So close to involving us. A coincidence perhaps. Just like the one that shut down my writing program to update just as I typed that word. After months of not writing was this a test, challenging me to decide to whether to continue writing or procrastinate some more?

 The last eight months had been a challenge for both Mark and myself. Living on an island in the middle of The Bahamas is not as most envision with our “toes in the water and ass in the sand!” However, this past season, we were determined to greet the arrival of the owners with a positive attitude perhaps for the last time. From our experience the prior year, we new what would be expected of us. We consciously made the choice to take on the challenges of cooking full-time, caregiving and meeting their every need until they departed the end of March.

 Our fifth Christmas without our family came and went. I was asked to speak in the church Christmas day and teared to think of the family we were missing.  In the back of our minds, Mark and I knew that our following Christmas would be spent with our children somewhere. We hoped that they could experience the celebration in the little church on LWC surrounded by our friends that filled the small chapel yearly.

 The New Year was met with more challenges. At least once a week after an exceptionally frustrating day, Mark and I would have the conversation again whether the way we were feeling was worth it. Did we come here and leave our family and friends to lay awake at night stewing? Instead of enjoying our days and island adventure, we set our sights on just getting through the days until they left? Deep inside, we both felt there was method in their madness. The more we agreed to do, the more responsibilities were added without thanks or compensation. Sad and exhausted we both nearly quit many times but instead took turns being each other’s advocate to suck it up and do the best job possible. In our hearts, we knew with the impending island sale, they were trying to force us to quit.

Painting Main kitchen day before depart

My much needed support socks!

 Steadfastly we encouraged each other to meet each task and managed to get through to the first of April seemingly unscathed. Were we the fools?

 The owners of the island departed the last day of March, like lambs and we came to the realization that we were ready to go home as well; for good this time.

 Just earlier in March, we were left caregiving the owner of the island while his wife left for a reprieve of her own. Over the past five years, we had seen Parkinson’s disease take away his mobility and swift thinking. Thirteen days of preparing his favourite foods, staying by his side to ensure that his weakening body did’t fail him and discreetly cleaning up after it did was tiring. We were proud to have cared for him so well.  The time spent into the late evening watching the shows he preferred and listening to his stories of racing in Monaco and more left rare and special memories for us. This is not how we envisioned leaving this incredible job and couldn’t help but wonder if it was how he chose to see us depart either.

With mixed emotions, we flew off the island on May twenty-second . Luckily, the boxes filled with our possessions were able to be stored at my father’s place in Lauderdale while we flew on home to secure the next stage of our life.

 Tuesday morning, in Lauderdale Cheyne and I awoke early. He headed out for his day at hockey camp shortly after six. I stayed back to enjoy my coffee and the nineteenth episode of a ‘Netflix’ series that I had begun watching mid-morning two days prior while recouping from the twenty-four hour drive. Without a vehicle, I gave myself three options. Stay in and continue my movie marathon, walk or Uber. I chose to walk and ended up at a spa for a long overdue massage and facial. The last time that I had indulged in either of these was in Destin, Florida while escaping  Hurricane Irma. Hmmm…was this how I chose to endure storms? While at least I knew that I was more likely to get through tough times with loose muscles and a glowing complexion.

 This particular morning, in spite of the heat, I set out walking again in search for a book store and specifically for the book entitled, “Connecting with Coincidence…”. Runners, my NEC shirt from Cheyne’s college, nice enough shorts, a LWC ball cap and roots back pack combined to make up my eclectic look.  As in many of my endeavours, I second guessed my adventure and whether or not to continue or return to the next chapter in the air conditioning. I continued on.

 With each step in the extreme heat, the ring of sweat grew around my belly. My backpack stuck fast to my back and I envisioned the character building sweat stain that would add to its character. I’m not sure whether it was having to focus intently on taking each step or dehydration that brought my mind to creatively wander. As I consciously, breathed in and out, I imagined myself first in a hot yoga class, then a steam bath and finally a sweat lodge where I allowed thoughts at new levels and realms to enter. It was very surreal to say the least.

 Approximately, half way or close to an hour to my destination, my parched mouth tried to sway me across the street for a beverage. Never the less, I kept plodding on noting all of the ongoing changes along the A1A strip in Lauderdale. Both old and not so old buildings were being torn down and replaced by large sprawling condo/hotel units. The fact that the Elbow room and some older retro style units still remained comforted me. Again,  I resisted taking a rest in the shade and marched onward for a book and the promise of getting lost in its pages.

 One building in particular suddenly reached out to me. The ‘Conrad’ stood large and looming and although I found it lavishly beautiful also empty and lonely. It promised availability and pricing beginning in the low nine hundreds, meaning thousands I suspected but never the less a shell without the pearl. I stood and dreamingly envisioned myself in flowing linen pants and shirt on one of the sprawling balconies overlooking the sea. Whatever possessed me at the moment, I am unsure but I crossed the A1A with a plan.

 Inside the overly chilled building, my sweat drenched body shivered. A quick glance into a gilded mirror along the grandiose wall reflected the stench of a homeless person but also the confidence of someone on a mission; me.

 The signs to the sales office lead me down an opulent hallway that offered a quick refuge inside the ladies restroom. It reminded me of the bathroom at the Coral Ridge Yacht club years earlier. The first area was velvety with poofs to sit on while sprucing up in the mirror. I passed on that option, as it didn’t fit into my plan. I tried to go to the bathroom but every minute bit of fluid had absorbed into my dehydrated body. “Water, water everywhere but not a drop to drink, water, water everywhere and all the ships did sink.” delusional entered my mind, as I quoted the ‘Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner’ from grade eleven English class. But it wasn’t true, there was lots of water albeit tap water. We’ve been brainwashed into thinking bottled is the only way to go. What a farce!! I took a chance and used my hand to sip water from the tap. Would I die? Was bottled water the only way to go in two thousand and nineteen? Not for me.

 My confidence faltered and for a moment I questioned my sanity as I entered the sales office. There, a young, beautiful receptionist not surprisingly greeted me as the lost and possibly homeless person that I looked like. I took her off guard as I reached out my hand and offered out my name as if it were someone that she had just read about on the celebrity web page she quickly hid. “Can I please speak with the manager or person in charge of sales?”, I asked. Reluctantly, she started to say that I would require an appointment but before she could finish I explained that I was only available now and that I had a business offer to extend.

 For whatever reason, whether it was the smile on my face, confidence in my voice or my natural deodorant breaking down, something inspired her to make the call. The next thing I knew, I was handed an extensive form to fill out and told that the lead sales Rep would be here shortly.

 I was able to fill out the application quickly except for one question. Where was home??? This was the predicament. We had left Canada five years prior and now forced to leave our Bahamian home, so where was home for us? Ahhhh but this was the point. We were in search of our home and next adventure.

 The next couple of hours was like I imagine a trip on a magic carpet ride. Somehow I talked the sales rep into touring me through one of the one bedroom units. Why may you ask?  I wheeled together a scenario how my husband and I would be the perfect candidates to give a condo to on trade. I know right????? This was a crazy suggestion but for whatever reason, at that moment I believed in it so much, that he did too! Before, I knew it not only was I sitting in front of the Head Sales Rep, a couple of associates and the developer himself. Timing was on my side.

 On our routine provisioning trips to Lauderdale, Mark and I had noted the Conrad building and others along the strip many times. Today however it called out to me. This cry for help led me to believe that somehow I could be the one to help fill this building with occupants by sharing our living experience there. We were going to live in it as our home and with the help of social media sell it to others as their next home too!

 I had a captivated audience and realized that I had done it while looking unconventional, yet real and isn’t that what we are all striving for in this life, something real. My sales pitch, “I am going to sell this as a home not another house on  reality t.v.”. I also explained that although this would be a difficult sell, the fact I really believed and wanted to prove that you could have ‘your’ Life ‘your’ Style anywhere!

 They gave me a card key and one month to see what I could do.

 From there, I continued on my walk search for a bookstore. I passed the last strip side restaurant before Sunrise Boulevard. This time I broke down and doubled back to sit at a sticky, sweaty hightop table where I ordered a water, a Mexican style margarita and two of the best chicken tacos on corn tortillas that I had ever had. The margarita went right to my head so I took advantage of Florida’s hospitality and took the balance in a cup ‘to go’. Now with drink in hand and totally saturated shirt and shorts, I gained popularity with the other street people. My potential customers??? Who knows.

Further up the road after passing the Galleria mall, I saw the bookstore now turned CVS pharmacy. My ‘google’ search showed me another quite a stretch down Federal and way beyond what my stamina had to offer. It dawned on me that perhaps I should tell Mark our idea of trekking on feet home via either the Appalachian or PCT (Pacific Coast Trail) is not on my bucket list any longer. With minimal energy left in my phone, I contacted an ‘Uber’ to get me to the bookstore up the road. However, while she maneuvered several u-turns, my phone died and she gave up on me.

 Once again, I doubled back and entered the Galleria mall otherwise now known as the arctic. Until you enter a shopping mall, in sweat saturated clothing do you first note how well dressed everyone else is and second how frigid it is inside. I contemplated listening to my mother’s voice in my head and purchase a cute sundress and head to the nearest restroom to change but the other voice, Mark’s rang louder. “I’m working”.

 I headed straight to the ‘Apple’ store where I unplugged an iPad and plugged in my phone until I retrieved some green back in the battery. In short time, I was climbing into an immaculate Uber car and returning to Dad’s condo, booklets.

 Back at the apartment, I went through the same boxes that I had the day before, the ones filled with the stuff carrying our belongings from the island. Boxes of our favourite cookware, cookbooks, books read and re-read, clothing, snorkelling gear and artwork. No much and pretty much identical to the things we brought five years earlier to the island.

 Thankfully, our new home comes totally and beautifully furnished however it still looks like a shell. In no time flat with the addition of our artwork created by family members, cookbooks including splatter marks and the aromas of our first meal it will resemble our life and our style. With that inspiration and a hunger building up, I went online to place our first grocery order with ‘Instacart’ to be delivered to our new address the next morning. Another of my best creations was in production, a home.

While walking down the strip the next day, many thoughts and questions entered my head. Sometimes the things that go through it amaze me and Mark even more. Thankfully he entertains me by listening and more and more all the time by believing in them as well.

 As I walked through the foyer, portico or entranceway of our new home, I was not recognized. What can I say, I clean up well. I followed the same hallway back and entered the antechamber of the sales department. My welcome from the receptionist was very different than it was just twenty-four hours earlier. With my new card key in hand, I headed up to our new home and next adventure dragging behind the luggage rack with our few belongings.

 Making a house a home; that’s what I’m selling.

This story is fictional but I believed in it so much on my walk that I nearly made it a reality. The friends and family that I shared it with became believers as well and were slightly disappointed when I told them the truth. The truth is, the place we have chosen to make ‘our home’ is back in Wheatley. Our little home is perfect; the size, its potential and the fact that our few ‘worldly’ possessions fit into our ‘life’ and our ‘style’.

More updates on our life to come.

    ‘Our’ Life, ‘Our’ Style. "Life is not unlike cinema. Each scene has its own music, and the music is created for the scene, woven to it in ways we do not understand.

[mensu54it]

Education in Theory and Perspective

A retired teacher and principal with thirty-eight years of experience in public education, Renato C. Nicolai, Ed.D., taught 6th through 12th grade and was both an elementary and middle school Men suit  principal. In education circles, he was known as Dr. Nicolai, which eventually was shortened to Dr. Nick, and has stuck ever since.

Tyler: Thank you for joining me today, Dr. Nick. Obviously, the state of public education in the United States is of great concern to many people. To begin, will you tell us what you think is wrong with the public education system?

Dr. Nick: Wow! What an opportunity! Yes, I would be pleased to tell you what I think is wrong with the public education system. My thoughts aren't in any order of priority; I'm telling you about them as they come to mind.

What I think of first is what I wrote about as the main emphasis in my book. Teachers desperately need to improve the quality of their teaching, so, specifically, what's wrong is that too many teachers are either incompetent or mediocre instructors at best. Yes, if you had the opportunity to stand by my side in the hundreds of classrooms I've visited in my career, you would be both amazed and horrified at how much poor quality teaching there is in our public schools. If parents only knew how much more their children could be learning with instruction from superb teachers compared to what they are most likely learning now from incompetent teachers, they leather jackets  would be flabbergasted. That's how bad it really is. This indictment of teachers, however, is not a major problem at the elementary school, but is a serious and rampant problem for sure at the middle school, junior high school, and especially the high school level of education. Parents, you'll want to read about the eight essential qualities most teachers don't possess. I've listed and described them in the first chapter of my book.

Tenure is another critical problem. Once tenure is granted by a school district, an incompetent teacher is a teacher for life. It's extremely difficult to dismiss a teacher who has tenure. What's wrong with tenure is that it's achievable so soon in a teacher's career (after only three years in most cases), so final (once it's granted it's irrevocable), and so long lasting (the teacher keeps it for as long as he/she teaches). What happens is that some teachers work very hard during their first few years on the job, receive tenure, and then slack off in their performance because they know they can almost never lose their job. Instead of tenure, public education should promote a system of performance reviews that teachers are required to pass periodically sherwani  in order to keep their teaching position for the next two or three years.

The way a teacher is evaluated is all wrong within the education system. It's basically a sham and a joke. Collective bargaining contracts and union involvement in teacher evaluations has watered down the process of teacher evaluations to the degree that practically nothing worthwhile results from the process. In my book, I have a chapter titled "What You Don't Know Won't Hurt You," and the concept of teacher evaluation is discussed in that chapter. If parents and the public at large knew how ineffective and unproductive teacher evaluations are, they would demand a more efficient system. The system as it exists in most school districts today is a tactful process of saying the right words, doing what's anticipated, and not ruffling anyone's feelings. What it should do is help teachers improve the quality of their teaching to the degree that they help students learn better, but it doesn't cool leather jackets  do that at all.

The public education system is rooted in the false notion that all teachers are qualified educators who can be trusted to make good decisions, follow school district rules and regulations, work together in a spirit of collegiality, promote the welfare of students as a priority, and, generally, do what is just, moral, and professional. What's wrong is that this description is simply not true; yet, school districts throughout the United States allow teachers the freedom to work unsupervised because they are assumed to be well-intentioned, professional persons who have the best interests of students at heart. Don't misunderstand me, please. Of course, there are many conscientious teachers who do work well with each other and do have the best interests of students at heart, but I believe that there are many more who take advantage of academic freedom, collegiality, and lack of supervision to do whatever they want within the four walls of their classrooms. This is actually a very serious problem that is covered up by the educational hierarchy.

Another very serious wrong is the way in which biker leather jackets school districts manage the use of substitute teachers. Substitute teachers are rarely observed to determine their competence, frequently assigned to subject areas they have no qualifications to teach, and regularly subjected to unbelievable disrespect and insolence from students. When a substitute teacher is present in a middle school, junior high school, or high school classroom, little or no learning takes place. That class is a waste of instructional time, the students' time, and the substitute's time as well. The three most common activities that take place when a substitute takes over a regular teacher's class are the showing of videos or DVDs, the administration of tests, and the supervision of long, boring written or reading assignments left by the regular teacher. The lesson plans left by most regular teachers for substitute teachers to follow are generally a set of instructions on how to occupy the time students have in class. The entire substitute teacher system needs to be completely overhauled. Students must be taught to respect substitute teachers, to assist them with the lesson, and to be responsible for their own learning. Expectations that students will cooperate with substitute teachers, that plus size leather jackets regular teachers will conscientiously prepare quality lesson plans, that substitutes will teach, and that administrators will monitor substitutes are so miserably low, currently, that the education system simply accepts the status quo of chaos, lack of learning, and disgraceful substitute teacher academic and professional performance.

Tyler, the public education system in the United States is really in trouble. It's inundated with problems; there are many things wrong with it. I could have written about lack of student discipline, emphasis on sports over academics, permissiveness throughout the culture of public schools, reticence about the problems that exist, and much more. I believe that it has deteriorated so much over the last fifty years, that mediocrity and incompetence are the status quo. Parents don't even realize that the system is so bad. What they see and experience is what they think is how the system should be. They don't understand how much better it could be business suits for men and how their children could be receiving a more superior educational experience.

Tyler: Dr. Nick, will you tell us a little bit about your background in education-where you taught and the subjects you taught, as well as your experience as a middle school principal. What personal experiences have led to your current viewpoints?

Dr. Nick: My first full time position in public schools was as a 9th and 11th grade teacher of English at El Camino High School in South San Francisco, California (a city separate from San Francisco). After teaching two years, my assignment changed to teaching English half the school day and counseling the other half. In my third year as a teacher at this school, I was elected president of the local teachers' union and the following year chairman of the School District Negotiating Council. In my fifth year, I was appointed Assistant Principal of Parkway Junior High School (7-9) in the same blue suits for men school district.

During the seven years I held this position as assistant principal, I enrolled in a doctoral program at the University of Southern California, and from 1969-1972 I achieved a Doctor of Education degree in Educational Administration and Secondary Curriculum. My dissertation, which researched the administrative behavior of superintendents of schools, was the first dissertation sponsored by the newly formed Association of California School Administrators (ACSA).

In 1974, I was selected Principal of Isaac Newton Graham Middle School (7-8) in Mountain View, California. You asked me to share my experience as a middle school principal, and I'm pleased to do so, but I want you to know that I could easily write another book about those experiences alone. So, I'll try to give you an encapsulated answer. I think I could best describe my experiences as a middle school principal as a continuing five year roller coaster ride because I never knew when my feelings, emotions, and experiences would be up or down. On the up side, I was thrilled to see many students learn to their potential as a result of the excellent teaching of some superb teachers. After all, helping young people learn is what education is all about. I also observed some outstanding teachers whose skills and methods motivated students to excel beyond their own personal expectations. That was extremely exciting. As the leader of a neighborhood school, I grew personally as an educator because I had the opportunity to influence curriculum, work for the educational benefits of students, and associate often with community leaders in various agencies (fire department, police department, recreation department, mayor's office, and so on). These experiences made me a better principal. On the down side, I learned quickly that many teachers should never have been allowed to enter a classroom to teach. They were not suited to interact with adolescents and teenagers; they didn't have the skills needed black men in suits to help young minds understand concepts and ideas; they failed to devote themselves to learning how to teach expertly; they didn't know how to control and manage a class of thirty students. I also realized what some of the problems were that I had to deal with (incompetent teachers, low quality curriculum, collective bargaining contracts to name a few) but that I didn't have the power to bring about effective change. That was frustrating to no end. Finally, the lowest possible experience for me was to meet so-called teachers who had literally given up; that is, they had decided to go through the motions of teaching only. They were no longer eager to teach, didn't look forward to meeting their classes, and did as little as possible to meet their professional responsibilities. I left out so much that I feel my answer is inadequate. I can see the joy on the faces of students who won academic and sports awards, the enthusiasm of both staff and student body at our annual soft ball game, the annual parent club barbecue, and so much more.

I remained at Graham for five years and then moved on to an opportunity in southern California as the Administrative Director (Superintendent/Principal) of Chatsworth Hills Academy, a private school in Chatsworth, California. I preferred serving in public education, so I returned to Graham as a 7th grade core teacher, teaching English and social studies (world history). In October of my second year back from southern California, I was asked by three Santa Clara County superintendents to head up a "joint powers" school named The Institute of Computer Technology as an on-loan wedding sherwani  school administrator. Along with an on-loan administrator from IBM (Ken Butler), I helped this new educational enterprise get its feet off the ground. It was exciting work and I enjoyed hiring teachers, meeting technology experts at Apple and IBM, developing curriculum, outfitting a school with security systems, working with school superintendents, learning how to protect valuable hardware and software, and a lot more. After doing what I was hired to do, I returned to Graham, teaching English, social studies, and geography to 7th and 8th graders, including the 8th Grade Honors English program. I remained at Graham for the next twenty years and retired in 2001.

During my career, I've been a presenter at various conferences, in-service sessions, and conventions. My presentation topics were usually in the areas of teaching methods, literature-based instruction, discipline, and classroom management. I've also been a master teacher, chairman or member of numerous curriculum committees, and an adjunct professor in the teacher training program at National University.

My current viewpoints and attitudes toward public education developed throughout my career based upon my personal experiences as a teacher and principal, what I saw other educators do and heard them say, what I read, what I learned best helped young people reach their learning potential, what political reforms failed, and what I learned about how young minds gain knowledge. For instance, there was a time when I opposed vouchers; I'm adamantly in favor of them now. The more choices parents have in the SEO Training  education of their children, the better. I was a staunch supporter of tenure at the beginning of my career until I witnessed how many deficient teachers hide their incompetence under the protection of this law. Tenure should be abolished. I'm sure you get the idea. I hold the views, attitudes, and feelings that I do about education as a result of a life-long career in schools. You know, children aren't the only ones who learn while at school.

Tyler: You mention that many teachers are not competent? What is the reason for this, and why does the school system allow them to remain in the classroom?

Dr. Nick: Why are many teachers incompetent? Here are some reasons to contemplate:

Because they don't possess the personality needed to interact well with young people. If a person doesn't like kids, doesn't enjoy being with them all day long, doesn't look forward to teaching them, doesn't accept their immaturity and want to help them become more mature, can't stand constantly answering questions, can't accept individual differences (race, ethnicity, gender, religion, etc), can't cope with special needs (hyperactivity, behavior problems, and so on), then that person will never be a competent teacher.

Because they don't possess, exhibit, use, and treasure enthusiasm, and, so, they are truly boring to most of their students. Ask any kid at a middle school, junior high school, or high school in your community what they dislike the most about their teachers, and, I guarantee you the SEO training course answer will overwhelmingly be that they are boring. And you know something, Tyler; the kids are right. Most teachers are insufferably boring in how they teach. Enthusiasm is a sine qua non for all competent teachers.

Because they don't know how to get concepts and ideas across clearly to their students. They don't possess the knowledge and skills needed to help students learn. They just don't know what to do and end up quite often being frustrated and saying something like, "Oh, those kids just can't learn this stuff." That's an expression equivalent to defeatism and incompetence. If the learning material is age appropriate and part of the accepted curriculum, of course a normal, healthy student can learn it. It isn't the student who is at fault; it's the teacher who doesn't have the competence to design lessons, activities, and programs to help students learn. The reason for this is that many teachers tell students but don't show and teach.

Because they can't manage and control student behavior. Teachers daily face challenging disciplinary and behavior problems. If a teacher can't effectively handle these problems, that teacher will never be a competent instructor-never! In this case, the incompetence is in not knowing what to do when a disciplinary or behavior problem presents itself because the teacher hasn't thought out a personal Educational Philosophy for Control of Student Behavior. Every teacher needs to do this to harmonize his/her personality with methods of discipline. I explain this in detail in my book.

Because many teachers don't manage classroom time efficiently. I devote an entire chapter to this topic: "Wasted Time - Inept Instruction (Euphemism: Teaching Mistakes). How can anyone consider Seo training certification a teacher competent when that teacher tries to teach over the noise of unruly students, doesn't know how to quell effectively unnecessary noise at the change of a classroom activity, and allows students to talk whenever they want. This inability to control noise leads to as much as 25% of each class period being wasted. Many teachers can't even control the time at the end of class when students get ready to leave and waste the ten or fifteen minutes left.

Because many teachers can't effectively control group learning. One of the most effective ways for students to learn is to interact with each other, allowing students to help each other learn in groups. Sometimes, students have just the right words and explanations to help a fellow student understand a lesson. However, most teachers don't control student groups effectively and so waste tremendous amounts of instructional time.

Because many teachers don't have high enough academic and behavioral expectations and standards. In other words, many teachers don't challenge their students enough academically and don't expect them to learn to the level of their potential. Teachers must project an attitude of high expectations to motivate their charges adequately. Most teachers don't even understand this concept and need to learn it themselves. Not putting it into effect in classrooms is indicative of ignorance and incompetence. In Chapter Three, I wrote a seven-page description of the most important strategies used by teachers who truly understand how to teach high academic and behavioral standards. Teachers, you've never seen anything come close to this practical list of how to teach standards.

Because some teachers don't have a sufficient knowledge of the subjects they teach. They don't! They are assigned to teach a subject they don't know adequately or they don't even like. Many teachers are teaching subjects and they don't have either a major in that field or a valid certificate to teach it.

There are other reasons as well, but the few I mentioned are really significant ones, aren't they? Now, what are the reasons for these incompetencies and why do school systems allow these incompetent teachers to remain in the classroom? Well, the first part of the question can be answered easily. Students learning how to teach are not being prepared adequately by schools of education. You know who should teach prospective teachers how to teach? Not education professors! No! Excellent, experienced, current and retired teachers who know what a classroom is all about and who have a love for kids and teaching in their hearts should teach candidates for teaching. Give me proven experts at teaching young people, a group of twenty teacher candidates for a year, and I know we could do a much better job of teaching them how to be good teachers than any school of education in the country.

Answering the second part of the question leaves me with a heavy heart. The reason is that most school districts don't effectively monitor and evaluate the progress, competence, and teaching skills of new teachers. The procedures to do this are woefully inadequate and rarely result in new teachers being dismissed if they are incompetent. Teachers new to the profession learn more about teaching from their own personal experiences the first three years on the job and from other, experienced teachers than they do from any program presented by the school district they work for. School districts don't really know if a new teacher is mediocre or, worse yet, incompetent so they grant tenure because they need a body in the classroom. There is a tremendous shortage of teachers throughout our country today. Once tenure is granted, it is virtually impossible to dismiss a teacher on the basis of incompetence.

(Due to space constraints a portion of this review was omitted -- please see Reader Views website for the entire interview.)

Dr. Nick: Parents must be involved in their children's education from preschool right through high school and, perhaps, even into college. The tendency is for parents to step back from involvement when their teenagers start high school. This is a serious mistake. Parental involvement is critical during high school because the high schooler is under tremendous pressure from peers mainly to experiment in many different areas: drugs, alcohol, sex, ideology, cults, etc. That involvement should take the form of proactive participation, diligent observation, and ardent questioning. I recommend that parents do the following to ensure that their children receive a quality education:

Parents must communicate regularly in person, over the phone, and via e-mail with the teacher throughout the school year about every aspect of their child's learning by asking questions and seeking information about these and other important aspects of schooling:

[cksiren]

Caroline’s Roses - Chapter one: Orchard Lane

Hey guys! This is a story I started writing in 2015. It’s completely inspired by All Time Low, so I’m going to call it an Alex fic. 

Caroline's life by the woods with her grandmother was going to change when the moving trucks rolled in, and a new boy arrived at school. She didn't really like how obnoxious he was, but she did like that familiar laugh and the way he said her name. Alex is happy to be home, but he has no idea what he missed while he was gone, and Caroline isn't sure she wants to dig up the past with him.

A U-Haul roared up the road, leaving dust in it's wake. The street hadn't been paved in a few decades; they were actually lucky if a pothole got filled in. It was as good as dirt nowadays. There were a few old-style, ranch houses dotting the dead-end road half a mile after you turned on to Orchard lane, really giving it that "out there in the woods" feel that the spaced-out inhabitants enjoyed. 

Caroline heard the roar of the large truck's engine from the back porch, watering can in hand as she was about to step off and water the first sprouts of flowers in the gardens - It had been a rather dry spring, and she didn't want the seedlings to suffer. Distracted by the noise, she tried to see over the bushes but could only make out the orange and white top of the truck backing into the driveway of the house that sat diagonally across the street from her own. 

The house had sat vacant for some time now. Caroline hadn't even noticed when the "For Sale - Berkshire Realty" sign had disappeared, even though she'd grown used to seeing it since she was in the fourth or fifth grade. She gripped the edge of the watering can tighter and pursed her lips, thinking back on the last family that had lived there and how God awful they had been, and how happy she and her grandmother had been when they left. She hoped these people would be as quiet and peaceful as the rest of the old couples living on Orchard Lane. 

Afternoon sun hit her skin as she walked to the soon-to-be flower beds that needed watering. The late March temperatures still made her shiver a little in the mornings, but the sun brought promise of Spring. 

---

For a week, the Halls of Hopewell High school were haunted by the presence of Alex Gaskarth, who had just moved from Manhattan, New York. Most people who heard this raised their eyebrows, wondering why in the world any family would move from metropolis to suburbia featuring a few rural routes. In a matter of days he became fast friends with almost everyone and fast enemies with anyone that sat up front in Mr. McKinnon's English class with the intent of paying attention.  Caroline's eye twitched with annoyance as something else was thrown to the front of the room while the teacher's back was turned to the board, this time an eraser. The game seemed to be to throw as many things from the back without Mr. McKinnon noticing until there was a small pile of crap accumulated just before his desk. 

"Watch out for the pretty girl," she heard a voice say behind her. Alex's, she was almost sure.  "She didn't notice last time..." a different voice - Jack Barakat, seated right beside the other boy. Instantly Caroline's hand flew to the back of her head, sifting through her dark, shoulder length hair for any unwanted accessories. 

Mr. McKinnon went on with his lecture, explaining something about Lenny's character sketch that the class was supposed to pick from Of Mice and Men. The girl sitting beside Caroline breathed a sigh of impatience that mirrored Caroline's own feelings. 

"...As we've all been saying, Lenny's a gentle giant. Very misunderstood... Very dependent ..."

Another eraser flew to the front of the class, this time landing an inch away from her desk. Mr. McKinnon turned around to address the class on a point and for a moment, the objects stopped flying. "Now let's take a moment to focus on George. You all know he's Lenny's caretaker, making sure that every time they get into a mess, he gets them out of there and moves them onto the next place. So aside from the fact that he's very patient and very caring, what else makes him tick?" 

He turned back to the board and as if on cue, this time a cheap blue pen landed with a clack at the side of the teacher's desk. Caroline rested her chin on her palm, tapping her foot with impatience. 

"Hardworking, good," Mr. McKinnon was writing George's character trains with little arrows pointing to his name. "Sociable, that's a good one, he's a good talker..." 

Another pen flew on the other side of Caroline's desk. 

"Can you please just cut that out?!" Caroline whipped around to face the smirking Jack and Alex, making Mr. Mckinnon turn as well and the other students stare at her with wide eyes. "Some of us are actually trying to focus here," she spat, turning back and crossing her arms.  

"Everything alright?" said the English teacher with a frown. 

"Dandy!" Alex piped up from his seat. "We're just loud learners is all," he said playfully. Mr. McKinnon frowned again and shook his head, shrugging it off and turning back to his lecture. 

When the class ended, Caroline rushed to pack up her notebook and pens. Color had crept into her cheeks since her outburst and she didn't want to be around long enough to give anyone the chance to say anything to her. "Loud learners," she muttered to herself as she zipped up the maroon backpack she used for school. "My ass." 

"Hey!" Alex took a large step, trying to catch her attention just as she was about to turn towards the door to leave. "I'm sorry," he stated, before she could say anything, or pretend to ignore him. 

Caroline shrugged, unsure if he was being sarcastic, finding a way to make fun of her or give her a hard time. "Whatever," she said lowly. 

"No, seriously. I'm sorry, I'm just new here and it's rough. I'm trying to have a good time, you know? And come on. Of Mice and Men? Seriously most over-analyzed piece of literature out there next to To Kill a Mockingbird. Right?" He gave her a half smile, leaning one arm onto her desk. He was a good few inches taller than her, and he smelled like some kind of American Eagle cologne. 

She paused for a minute, sizing him up. His eyes were a dark brown, and his smile was extremely friendly. His hair was sandy colored and messy. He had on a black tee-shirt with an unbuttoned shirt over it, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. "Right, well, that doesn't really make it ok for you to make it rough for everyone else," she said finally. 

The smile disappeared from the boy's face as he straightened up. "I'm sorry," he said again, this time with a little pout. "Won't happen again, your highness. I'm Alex by the way," he stuck out his hand, as if trying to start anew. 

"Cool," Caroline answered, turning away from the boy's peace offering to hear out the door. It had been a week since Alex had started haunting these halls, and Caroline already knew she didn't like him. 

---

"How was school, dear?" 

A question Caroline was accustomed to hearing upon walking through the front door to the house she and her grandmother shared. It was old, built in the 1800's, and much too big for a young girl and her grandmother. She was sat at the kitchen table, sifting through a crossword puzzle from the morning paper. 

"It was fine," Caroline answered as she slipped off her backpack, placing it by the door. She walked around the stairwell towards the back of the house, where the kitchen was located. "I'm probably going to finish the book we're reading for English tonight. Got a 93 on that geometry test I was telling you about." 

"That's great dear. Six letter word for a mystery that's already been solved?" Her grandmother asked. 

"Riddle," Caroline replied as she reached into one of the cabinets for a glass. She filled it with tap water from the sink as her grandmother penciled in the answer that she gave. The older woman looked up for her paper, a smile playing across her wrinkled, tissue paper face. 

"You're much better than me at these things," she said as she folded up the paper. "Going out to check on the garden soon?" 

The teenager nodded, drinking down the last of the water in the glass and setting it on the counter. "In a moment. Did you see any of the new neighbors today?" 

"No," her grandmother answered, shaking her head. "All quiet. Seems to be just a middle-aged couple looking for a quaint place to live. There was a Jeep that left early this morning though, they might have a son.”

Caroline frowned and reached into the pocket of her sweatshirt in search of a hair tie to pull her hair back. The last time they had assumed there was a middle-aged couple searching for a "quaint place to live" it had ended terribly. She knew that the same people couldn't have moved back, and it was foolish to think that tragedy could strike twice like that. It was years ago. But still, it made her nervous; she tried her best to shake the feelings of unease off her shoulders as she made her way to the back door.

The metal watering can sat where she always put it on the stone porch that led to the garden. She took a deep breath and winced at how cold the metal was in her hand, but decided instead to focus on the refreshing breeze and the clear blue sky. It had rained last night, leaving the watering can almost full, so she didn't waste any time refilling it with water from the hose. Besides, not every flower bed would need to be watered - just the roses that were closer to the back, under cover from a particularly voluptuous willow tree. 

Caroline's backyard was the most peaceful place in the world to her. It was where she went to clear her head or to be alone, or to search for inspiration and motivation. In the Summer she could sit under the willow tree and read, or on the stone bench by the goldfish pond to listen to her grandmother tell her stories about her parents. In the fall, Caroline could walk past the garden to the Apple orchard and fill a basketful to bring back to the kitchen for fresh apple pies, cider, and whatever else she and her grandmother could come up with. It truly was a quaint life on Orchard Lane, and Caroline was very protective of it. 

As soon as the rose bushes were within sight, Caroline could tell that something was not right. She stopped, gripping the watering can tighter, wondering if she should turn back to the house. It was probably just an animal that she heard rustling in the bushes, but it could be rabid, and that might be dangerous. "Hey," she said hoarsely, hoping the noise would scare whatever it was off. "Hey, Get out of there!" 

"Ow!" at the sound of a person, Caroline's pulse started to race. 

"Who's there?!" she demanded, setting the watering can down, ready to stand her ground. "Come out!" 

The body of a teenaged boy erupted from the lilacs and the roses that sat right next to each other. Caroline groaned, stressing herself out as she wondered of the damage to the plants. "What on Earth are you doing?!" she asked as the stranger brushed off the leaves and twigs from his hair. It was only as he turned to face her with a wide-eyed, deer-in-headlights look that she recognized him. 

"Hey! Girl from English,” said Alex, a lop sided grin playing on his face. “What are you doing around here?”

Caroline's eyes went wide with fury as the anxiety slacked off. "Excuse me?!" she started. "I LIVE here. YOU are intruding!" 

"Wait a minute - you live here?" Alex’s voice dropped in volume; he looked taken aback. He stepped towards her, head cocked to one side, a hand reaching up to stroke the stubble on his chin. “For how long?”  

Caroline was breathing heavily, desperately trying to calm her racing heart from the scare. “My whole life! And not once have any of these bushes grown a BOY!” she exclaimed, still waiting for an explanation for his sudden appearance.

Alex stared at her, his hand still covering his mouth in thought. His eyes looked her up and down.

"I'm going to call the police," Caroline stated, taking a step back, away from him. Color crept up her neck, nerves and anger swelled inside her chest. 

"No, no," Alex raised his hands as if in surrender, "Don't do that. I'm sorry, I just moved across the street and... Jesus, your name is…" he swallowed. "Caroline, isn't it... Carrie?"  

[nerdladydraws]

School started, so now I’ve got 135 students standing between me and lettering practice. To keep up my daily lettering goal and build on my practice as an English teacher, I have a new project for the school year: whiteboard lettering with literary quotes.

Part of the new Texas teacher evaluation system requires that teachers have a professional goal that they actively work on throughout the year. Mine is to incorporate a short book talk and 10 minutes of reading time at the beginning of every class period as a way of encouraging reading in my classroom, and my school. That’s where the lettering comes in. To start my book talks, I share an essential quote from the work–a quote that I have lettered on the board. Because my school is a strange one that has no walls and no assigned classrooms, I get to leave literary quotes throughout the building, hopefully getting not just my own students curious about a book, but the others at the school. In about a month or so, I need to start turning over book talks to the kids, so I may have to adjust my goal. But for now, I’m loving it. Here are this week’s boards and a little of my experience so far:

Day 1: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone

I have ALWAYS wanted to say Dumbledore’s words at Harry’s first Hogwarts feast on the first day of school, and this year I got the chance! Very few students admitted to knowing the quote on the first day. Three days later, after I had thoroughly shown my nerdy side, the majority of the students were proud to raise their hands and admit that they knew the story of The Chosen One.

Day 2: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

I got the idea for daily book talks from the NTCTELA conference in June–basically, a huge gathering of North Texas English teachers. The keynote speakers were Kelly Gallagher and Penny Kittle, celebrities in the ELAR world. Gallagher led a session about guiding kids through confusing pieces, and used Jekyll and Hyde as an example. Hearing him speak about the continued relevance of classic literature, when I feel like I am stuck in a world that is emphasizing only vocational reading and writing, was absolutely refreshing. Most of my book talks this year will be classic pieces because I want my learners to be aware of literary works that have and continue to influence our modern culture.

Day 3: Not really CS Lewis

This was to get kids started on reading an essay that I hoped they would be able to connect to. It was also a good chance for me to talk about Google quotes–this one is often attributed to C.S. Lewis, but it’s actually from Shadowlands, the biopic about him.

I found out that I could play with filters on my phone to clean up the glare and grime from my whiteboard, but then it looks like digital lettering… so I’m choosing the #nofilter route to show that this is, in fact, lettered on a whiteboard.

Day 4: The Namesake

Because I draft and practice the night before on paper, the whiteboard lettering process has only been taking me about 10 minutes. It’s still a fifth of my planning time in the morning, but it’s also 10 minutes of “zen” time that helps me calm down and get in the zone for teaching.

Day 5: The Lord of the Rings

At this point in the week, the kids were comfortable enough with each other to raise their hands when I asked if they had read The Hobbit, and even give a little exclamation of nerdy excitement to see that I was going to talk about Lord of the Rings.

This project has been fun and scary… When there are no walls to hide behind, it’s scary to think that your work is valuable enough to share with a whole school. Stay tuned – I plan on sharing my boards and reflections every week (as long as grading doesn’t get in the way)!

Whiteboard Lettering: Week 1 School started, so now I've got 135 students standing between me and lettering practice. To keep up my daily lettering goal and build on my practice as an English teacher, I have a new project for the school year: whiteboard lettering with literary quotes.

[820poetics]

Becoming A Black Woman Writer

As an undergrad, I started off as a Biology major. I went from being in classrooms of two hundred plus, to thirty in my literature classes after switching my major to English. At least there were a hand full of colored folks in that auditorium, mainly a demographic of international male students, but this new discipline of interest positioned me as the only Black body in the midst of thirty. As the only Black body, in the classroom if I missed a day it was noticeable, therefore, I pushed myself to come to class even if I wasn’t interested in the texts we were reading or didn’t want to be around all them white folks. Before in my biology courses, I could get away with missing a few days of class when I didn’t want to be around all them white folks, but with a class of thirty—my body was always displaced. When I switched my major to English, I thought I would be doing more reading and writing centered around racial, cultural, social, and political topics, but instead I was introduced to the white narratives that didn’t have shit do with me or other Black women lived experiences.  

I was aware that we lived in a racist and sexist world, but as an English major I slowly began to realize that there was a lack of Black women voices in academic spaces—physically and through the texts we were engaging in. I was disappointed in the lack of Black narratives.  I didn’t care about white British, and eighteen, nineteen, and twenty-century English literature. If there was a black character in the texts we read, that black character was a peasant/slave or not the main focus of the story. I was like the Black characters in the texts we read, present, angry, and irrelevant. That Black characters didn’t matter. Not only didn’t it matter in the text, but also it didn’t matter to my professors. “The only people who care enough about us to work consistently for our liberation is us” (Combahee River Collective 213). As Black women, facing oppression with a personal mindset rather than having structural goals that align with colonial practices is a strategic tactic because the actions white heterosexual males are those that assuage their own concerns even if they leave the status quo intact and displace bodies that aren’t of their own race. My lived experiences weren’t represented in the white British, and eighteen, nineteen, and twenty-century English literature my white male professors had me reading. We never discussed the position Black bodies played around those eras. Like Alexander, I began to wonder “Who were my people? How does one know the stories and histories of one’s people? Where does on learn them” (262). Black women struggling against racial, sexual, heterosexual, and class oppression was not an urgency of discourse like white men getting cuckolded? Instead of integrating this issue and speaking up on how I was displaced and left out of the texts and discussions—I kept quiet. I sat in the class most days wondering where are the Black writers? I didn’t see other women like me in the classroom. I couldn’t find myself in the texts. It made me question if my lived experiences mattered. I was hesitant to include myself in my writing. I entertained what my white male professors and white students in the course wanted to discuss in order to get the grade. When it came to theorizing and writing my assignments, like a “good” student I wrote about the creativity of Walt Whitman and how his metaphors spoke to my soul. I wrote about the inspiring words of Emily Dickenson to women—bullshit! I wrote about the eloquence of Shakespeare and language, while being told African American language and my writing an’t shit. I had no personal attachment to my writing. I was displaced from my writing. I was displaced from literature. Up until my fifth year in undergrad, I had my first Black women professor. Her course was the only one on the curriculum structured around Black women lived experiences, and that course was seen as an elective rather than a core requirement for a degree in English Literature.  I was introduced to Black novelists and activists Zora Neale Hurston, Alice Walker, and Toni Morrison. The women in Combahee River Collective write, “there is also undeniably a personal genesis for Black feminism; that is, the political realization that comes from the seemingly personal experiences of individual Black women’s lives” (211). I became aware of the manifold and simultaneous oppressions that Black women face. I began to recognize my own oppressions.  That year I heard voices that I hadn’t before. I saw writing that made sense to me. I read stories and heard testimonies that moved me. The classroom space was different, white students were the ones displaced. This was the first college course I took with so many people of color from different disciplines, such as law, women studies, cultural studies, only to name a few.

Not only was I displaced as a Black student, I was stuck. I was stuck as a writer. For the first time I became a Black woman writer. “Morrison writes the kind of books she wants to read, she acknowledges the fact that in a society in which ‘accepted literature’ is so often sexist and racist and otherwise irrelevant or offensive to so many lives, she must do the work of two” (Walker 8). Now I frame myself as a writer who writes the stories and academic articles I want to read, while collectively including and helping Black women who aren’t positioned or who never got the opportunity to testify.

Now that I was positioning myself as a Black woman writer, I was slowly moving and growing while becoming aware of the multiple identities I had. Who was I as a Haitian American? Who were we as Haitians? Who was I as a child of immigrants? I wasn’t Black enough. I wasn’t Haitian enough. How do I write as an intersectional body? Like Alexander, I begin to wonder, “How do we frame our analyses, our politics, our sensibilities, and our being through the chasms of those different, overlapping temporalities” (269)? As I become a Black Haitian Diasporic writer and finding spaces where I can be this writer, the far more difficult question I have “has to do with the political positions (in the widest sense) that we come to practice, not merely espouse, the mutual frameworks we adopt, as we live (both consciously and unconsciously) our daily lives” (Alexander 272). As Black women, as we become conscious of our transgressions, becoming is an ongoing practice. We never stop becoming. Anzaldúa pauses to call the dangers of a colored women obstacles, because the obstacles we face are repetitive. “I wanted to call the dangers "obstacles" but that would be a kind of lying. We can't transcend the dangers, can't rise above them. We must go through them and hope we won't have to repeat the performance” (165). As a Black writer and scholar, the more I research and engage with other Black women, I become conscious of the mutual and multiple obstacles around racial, sexual, heterosexual, and class oppression. I am always displaced. I am always becoming. I am always shifting. Fuck colonial comfort.    

- Wonda

Works Cited

Alexander, M. Jacqui. Pedagogies of Crossing: Meditations on Feminism, Sexual Politics, Memory, and the Sacred. Duke UP, 2005.

Moraga, Cherrie and Gloria Anzaldua, eds. This Bridge Called My Back: Writings by Radical Women of Color, Fourth Edition. Suny Press, 2015.

Walker, Alice. In search of our mothers’ gardens: Womanist prose, First edition. San Diego: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, (1983).