A love story for teens by a teen with no love life.

Saturday, October 30, 2010

Chapter 11 (post two)


Pre-note: Enjoy the next section. I'm going to write some more instead of writing my bibliography... which is probably a bad choice, but whatever! lol
Chapter eleven (or ten), section two: 
When I got back to my room, there was a long list of messages on my phone. I’d completely forgotten about Jake’s request to take me to the beach every night, and he had wanted to take me today. I tried to call him back, but there was no answer. I left a message apologizing and telling him I hoped he’d gone anyways.
Afterwards, I put on my blue pyjamas on that matched the blue everything in my room and crawled into bed. It was only a bit after six, and I could’ve gone and met everyone in the cafeteria eating dinner, but I didn’t feel like it. There were memories of earth running through my head, and as much as they hurt, I wanted to think rather than push them away.
Beth had loved art too. When we met that first time in Science class, grade nine, we had clicked not because we both enjoyed dissecting the frog, but because we both hated it yet could appreciate the beauty in what everyone else thought was gross. The way the organs were laid out, the way they worked together, that was what made the whole thing interesting, yet we agreed it would be just as great on a computer screen without the smell of peroxide.
We had Science together, then lunch, then art. We spent that first day getting to know each other; we met for coffee after school and after that, it was as though we’d known each other forever. I know there are stories of best friends since birth or pre-natal yoga classes, but this was better than all that. She wasn’t my best friend cause she lived in the same neighbourhood or because she was the daughter of my mother’s friend, she was my best friend because we were so much a like it was as if she was reading my thoughts, yet so different sometimes that I wondered where she came from.
Beth’s art reflected her moods. Some pieces were dark and twisted, some were joyful and bright. Our art teacher had appreciated this, saying that Beth had a “range of talents and inspiration.” I knew it was her way of working her feelings out, and typically, it worked. In my room I had a row of three paintings she’d done of the two of us. They were actually the same picture, but you could hardly tell because she purposefully worked on them during different periods. One was black and purple, with harsh lines and little other colours; one was like a Van Goh painting, all pale blues and greens; while the last one was stylized, colourful and bright. They were the most amazing pieces of art I owned, they inspired me to be creative myself.
Beth could read my mind, finish my sentences, inspire me or comfort me. I never felt awkward or out of place with her. We had never fought, disagreed perhaps, but never fought. We hung out at every opportunity, and although we had other friends, they knew we were BFFs.
Were.
What was I going to do without her?


Friday, October 29, 2010

Chapter 11, post one

Pre-note: In this section of this chapter, Annika is missing art. Unfortunately, this part is underdeveloped. I think I mention it in this chapter then she just forgets about it, which is unlikely. So, this section needs editing! So, feel free to make comments, let me know how you think I could improve it or where it needs improving. Thanks!
Chapter eleven (or ten), section one:
The next day passed the same, except for lunch. Lunch was a show, one that was obviously put on by each school for the opposite gender. For the girls, it was not-too-obviously-but-still-obviously watching the guys throw footballs and skateboard. For the guys, it was watching the girls giggling and flexing muscles that they were hardly using.
After school, instead of joining Amy and the girls for more testosterone watching, I headed for room 102, to join the art club that met on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I had kept the sheet listing all the clubs that the principle had given me and this one was the only one I was really interested in, especially since I couldn’t take an art course here.
To my surprise, the teacher was more than happy to welcome me, not because she enjoyed the subject so much as because the class consisted of only three other members.
The room was full of many more computers than people, and I had no trouble finding a free one beside a redhead. As soon as I’d sat down, the teacher began to speak.
“We are working on signs today, students. Please open the design program.”
The redhead directed me on what to open, and again, as the teacher called out instructions. We used different tools on the program to each create a sign reading, “Main Street West.”
When we had each created the exact same sign, the teacher said, “Great job. Now we’ll move on to store signs.”
We then created store signs, reading “Back-to-Basics Drugstore.” The program was easy and I caught on quickly. However, I was also quickly bored. After that, the teacher called out, “Good work. Now to make a highway sign....”
The club was a gruelling one and a half hours. When it finally ended, I scooted out of there before the teacher, who looked like she might approach me, could possibly ask if I’d liked her club. On my way out the door, I almost ran right into the redhead who’d helped me out.
“Oh! Sorry,” we both said at the same time. We both turned right, and walking along together, I said, “Thanks for all the help.”
“Oh, no problem,” she said. “My name is Anna.”
“Mine is Nika,” I responded, “Do you always do that every meeting?”
“Well, sometimes it’s signs, sometimes it’s building layouts or flowerbed arrangements...”
“But does she always instruct you on exactly what to do on the computer?”
“Yeah, she does,” Anna nodded, “Exactly like that.”
“No offence, but how do you stand it?”
“Oh, I like it,” Anna said with a smile, “I like doing design.”
“But is it design if you are always told exactly what to do?”
“We have to learn how to make those things so that we can have those jobs.” Anna said, “I want to do design when I’m older. I like it a lot. It’s nice, the way it’s simple. We just make what has already been done, because we already know it works. It’s such a great career, it’s competitive. Without the club, I would probably have no chance of getting into the field, but now I do.”
We came out of the school building, Anna heading right and me heading left.
“See you later! Nice meeting you!” Anna called as I said, “Thanks for the info!”
Alone, I wandered to the residence building. When I got to my room, I changed into jeans then headed to the roof top. I needed somewhere to think while these memories ran through my head.
I remembered art, real art. My favourite thing to do when I was just a little kid was finger paint. I loved the cool liquid on my hands and the way the colours mixed into something beautiful. As I got older, I realized I wasn’t coordinated enough for sports nor quite book smart to hang out with the nerds, but I always fit right in with the art students. I loved art class, my grades were always As and I was always going beyond the teachers instructions. My handmade teacup was complete with detailed paint and a coat of glaze, my tissue paper art was three meters long, my paintings were intricate and colourful.
I remembered art being this thing where I was free to do what I wanted, creating what picture I had in my mind despite what someone else thought. It was something I was good at, better than some people, something that I was proud of. I remember art that used a rainbow of colour and stood out from the rest, where your hand could be aching but you’d keep going anyways just to make that sunset melt into the sea.
What was with the art in this world? I had seen nothing but some prints of flowers and framed pictures of family since I’d been here. There was no art class to take for credit, and the club was just an ironic twist to the title. It seemed like these people thought that what worked was what worked, that nothing should be changed because it was already there. But, at the same time, nothing stood out. Nothing made you think, wonder what they were thinking when they did that; nothing inspired you or struck you as creative.
I was living in a world without pencil sketches and pastel fingers, things I loved back on earth.
Sitting on the roof top watching the pattern of girls on the lawn, I looked up at the clouds rolling by and thought they looked like dolphins. A pod of dolphins I would have loved to paint.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Chapter 10, post two


 Pre-note: I miss writing this! I used to have all this spare time where I would just write nonsense, and now, I want to write and have no time! Well, at least I still have chapters and chapters I haven't posted on this blog yet, so I can keep posting them. Maybe by the time I run out of chapter sections to post, I'll have time to write again.
Oh, and if you like my posts, let me know! I always love reading your comments and seeing "like" under my FB posts, it makes me feel warm and fuzzy :)
Chapter ten (or nine in my copy), section two:
On the ride back, I wanted to ask him questions. Not about the way this place worked, not about the fact every car on this road was gray or black, not about why my wings still wouldn’t budge. I wanted to know if he was thinking the same thing I was: what it would be like to put my head on his shoulder. What it would be like to hold hands.
My heart beat faster and faster until I decided I was getting myself worked up about nothing. I pulled my eyes away from his face and onto the road ahead. Stop while you’re ahead, I told myself, but instead I wondered where I’d end up if I kept going...

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Trick or Eat 2010

DONATE TO MY TRICK-OR-EAT TEAM! ALL PROCEEDS GO TO THE FOOD BANK!
a href="http://my.e2rm.com/personalPage.aspx?registrationID=1030832&langPref=en-CA">Trick or Eat 2010

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Chapter 10 (post one)


Pre-note: This is chapter ten (or nine in my books). I'm trying to keep the society a dystopia without making it seem crazy. I was trying to convey some of this in this chapter. Let me know if I succeed.
Chapter ten, section one:
Dinner was at six, if you felt like eating something.
As Amy, Chantel and Cara headed for the cafeteria at ten to, I headed back to my dorm room to change out of my uniform, not feeling like eating anything. Jake, not knowing I would never attempt sports, had ordered me dark gray sweatpants with the school initials printed on the left hip, and they turned out to be really soft and perfect for lounging around my room. Not that I did too much of that, since soon after I was dressed, my phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hey, New Wings,” came Jake’s voice through the speaker, “How was your first day?”
“Ok.”
“Make lots of friends?”
“Yeah, a few.”
“That’s good.” There was a pause here. “Did you want to meet up tonight?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Pick you up in ten in front of the school?”
“Ok, see you then,” I said.
“Bye.”
I hung up and gathered my things together. I didn’t bother changing out of my sweats, as it was only Jake, but I did stop and fix my hair.
When Jake pulled up in his sleek black car, I jumped in the passenger seat and we were off again. It felt like weeks had passed since that first time he’d driven me through the city, although it had only been days.
“Where are we going?” I asked finally, after we’d turned onto a highway and were zipping along at fast speed.
“My favourite place,” he said.
It took me a second, and then I guessed, “The beach?”
“Correct.”
We fell into a comfortable silence, the kind where no words are more meaningful than anything you could say. I smiled as we pulled up to the sandy dunes, the ocean just in view beyond.
“It takes my breath away every time I see it,” Jake admitted as he turned the car off.
“Me, too.”
We followed the path down to the same empty sand and sea. Jake carried a blanket, which he set down far from the water.
“We’re not tempting another underwear dive from you by getting right up near the water,” he joked as we sat down.
I smiled. We watched the waves slap at the shore as the sun settled low in the sky, a seagull flying lazily past it all.
“It’s so beautiful,” I said slowly, “Why are we the only ones here?”
“The city mostly works like clockwork,” Jake explained, “People work during the day, rest at night. They only go out on weekends, and even then it’s rare that they would do more than errands.”
“Wouldn’t they want to spend their weekends at the beach?”
“They are creatures of habit and repetition. They do what they do every weekend, and they probably always will.”
“What makes us different, then?”
“You are new here, and my job allows me to do what I want. What I want is to sit on this beach and explain this world to you.”
“Sounds good to me,” I smiled.
We chatted about school and jobs, but after a while I wasn’t really listening, because the sun started to set. It sank lower and lower in the sky, until it touched the water’s horizon. Then it started to disappear, sinking into the abyss. The sky danced pinks and reds in goodbye.
“New Wings? Did you hear me?”
“Oh,” I said, pulling my eyes away for a moment to meet Jake’s, “Sorry, I was watching the sun set.”
“It’s ok,” he said, looking at it himself. “It’s really spectacular. I like to come about this time every night.”
“Yeah...” I sighed, and then I turned back to him, “What was it that you were saying?”
“Just that we should do this more often.”
“I just got to this world,” I said, smiling.
“Well, we’ll have to do it from now on.”

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Chapter 9

Pre-note: Here's the next section. This part is a little odd. Notice the gender norms that they conform to (guys are outgoing, girls are more passive). lol. 
Chapter nine, or eight in my version, section one and only:
“We have something to show you, New Wings,” Amy said, taking my arm and beginning to lead me through the garden. The bell had just rung on my second day of school, and as I’d walked out of the school building towards the residence, Chantel, Amy and Cara had caught up with me.
Chantel hooked my other arm as we headed towards the school building. “Typically we don’t spend lunch in the caf or the garden, but I wanted to save this for today.”
“You’re going to love it,” added in Cara.
They led me towards the school building, but instead of going inside we circled around it so we ended up in front. There was a large green space between the school and the street, and if you looked straight across, a mirror image of another school, the guy’s school. Their school building was exactly the same as ours, with the same sign out front, except theirs was “boys” instead of “girls.”
Obviously it wasn’t the architecture that the girls wanted to show me, though. Instead it was what was spread out across the lawn: boys. They were mostly dressed in uniforms, black pants and white collared shirts, and were sprawled in the grass reading and talking.
On our side, the girl’s side, there were even more students. They talked, giggled and glanced across the street every once and a while, obviously not there for the lack-of seating or lush grass.
It was some sort of odd courting dance.
“Isn’t this great?” Chantel laughed, leading us to an open patch of green close to the street.
“Do you come here all the time?” I asked.
“We typically spend lunch here, most girls do. They’re lunch is at the same time as us.” Cara said as we settled into a half circled facing the guys.
“Do you go across and talk to them?”
“No,” Amy explained, “They stay there and we stay here. We aren’t allowed to cross over during lunch, and even now, when we are allowed to leave school property, we aren’t allowed on the boy’s school property without permission.”
“But,” Chantel pointed out, “We make eyes at them, and every once and awhile, two will start to notice one another. Eventually, if they want to go out, the guy will come across to our side and risk getting caught by a teacher to ask a girl out.”
“Oh!” Amy giggled in a high pitched voice only a girly-girl could manage, “Look! There they are!”
I glanced across the street to see a pack of four boys walking across the lawn. They seemed to be all seniors, with varying lengths and styles of brown hair and muscular builds.
“They’re football players.” Cara leaned close to me, “When they have games, we are allowed over to go watch. We even have a cheer squad that go over and dance. They are quarterbacks and defence players. We don’t know their names, but the tall one is number 56, and the one with the black book bag is number 68. Those two we have decided are the hottest.”
“And available!” Amy giggled.
“Amy has eyes for 68.”
As Chantel said this, I saw number 68 look up. Amy smiled, and then looked at her feet.
“And he totally has eyes for her, too,” Cara said with a grin.
“Why hasn’t he come over, then?” I wondered aloud.
“He will. He just needs some time.” Amy said confidently.
I looked back at the guys. They were all very handsome for high school seniors and especially hot because of their build from playing football, but I couldn’t help notice they weren’t as charmingly handsome as Jake.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Chapter 8 (post three)


Pre-note: I am feeling rather discouraged with writing today. I was working on an essay and a dialogue, neither of which are even half decent. I wish I could go back to writing just for fun, where I could mess up and just look back and laugh at it rather than stress about the upcoming due date and how the hell I'm going to fix it. Where posting on this blog was the closest thing to it being graded; when writing was FUN. *sigh* I'm going to go type up messy notes and listen to whiny, depressing Taylor Swift songs now. Here's the next section of my (VERY ROUGH) novel....
Chapter eight (or seven in my books), section three:
When the day came to an end, I met up with Chantel in the garden. She was sitting with two other girls
“Hey!” They called together.
“Hi, guys,” I said.
They welcomed me into their circle easily; introducing me to the girls she was sitting with, whom I recognized from lunch earlier that day.
“This is Cara,” Chantel said as the brunette reached her hand out. I shook it, looking into dark chocolate eyes.
“And this is Amy,” Chantel finished. Amy was a bright blonde, most likely from a bottle. Her nails were perfectly manicured and her hair curled into ringlets.
“Hi,” I said.
 We lapsed easily into school talk, what teachers I had, what classes I liked. They didn’t ask me about where I’d come from or why I’d come here, instead they embraced me like I’d been there all along. This was better, though, since I didn’t have the answers to those questions.

Saturday, October 9, 2010

Chapter 8 (post two)


Pre-note: I still have not written in such a long, long time... and I am still behind in my readings for school (which, as my aunt just pointed out as she glanced over at my typing away on her dining room table, is not surprising). Here's the next section, anyhow! Please comment and let me know that I'm not just sending this out into cyberspace, that someone/anyone is actually reading it! 
Chapter eight (or seven in my records), section two:
School was how I remembered it.
A teacher stood up front, beside a chalkboard and a smart board, explaining concepts and examples. In my English class, which was deemed a “Level Three” class, the concepts were more advanced and less hands-on than my Chemistry class, which was a “Level Two.” I didn’t have much background knowledge from the real world in Chemistry, though, having taken it only as a part of the general Science course I had taken the year before, so I appreciated the set-up. However, it was also similar in the fact when I told a student I befriended in Level Three English that I had Level One Physics after lunch, they almost flinched. The school was very similar to my old one: competitive, over-achieving, mark-crazy brown-noser standards. I almost groaned, “Oh god,” to that English student, but I kept my mouth shut.
Lunch was also very similar, a large rush of students out of the building and onto the lush green campus, except I wasn’t the least bit hungry.
I met Chantel outside of the entrance we’d come into that morning. She had the same perky grin on her face as that morning, although her hair had wilted a bit from its perfect shape.
“Hey! How were your classes after English?”
“Great, actually.  Chemistry was not as bad as I expected, and math was a breeze.”
“Yeah, Gilbert’s a great teacher. Let’s head around the campus and end-up at the cafeteria, ok?”
I followed her through along the winding path, past the residence to the library (a simple, small building with two levels, loaded with books), then to the gym (a larger, one story building with new floors, high ceilings and bright orange basketball hoops) and finally along to the cafeteria. The garden was packed with students sitting in groups and pairs on benches and in the grass. A couple even recognized me and waved as I passed.
“Was that Brenda that just waved at you?” Chantel asked, her voice losing its high pitch.
“Yeah, I think so. She was in my math class. Why?” I glanced back at the blonde who had just waved, but she’d already turned back to the group she was sitting with.
“I would watch out for her. She was best friends with my friend Amy until last year, when she went behind Amy’s back and made-out with her boyfriend. Amy freaked out. She had been room-mates with Brenda, but after that Amy got her kicked out of the room. There weren’t any rooms left that were open, though, and no one wanted to room with her, so she was stuck in one of the basement rooms they only use for over-flow and that have no windows. Now Brenda only hangs out with niners. Oh, and did I mention Amy told me she doesn’t even shave in the winter? Isn’t that gross?” Chantel’s face held a look of disgust, so I nodded in reply.
This school was more and more like my old by the minute.
The cafeteria looked identical to the gym building, except little smaller and at its entrance were red tulips instead of white hydrangeas. Inside, the room was lit mostly by natural light from rows of windows (outside all the buildings looked to be made of the same gray-black material and you couldn’t tell which parts were one-way windows and which were only walls). The one wall was taken up by the long counter where students were lined up with trays, picking out sandwiches and soups, all self-serve. The rest of the room was filled with blue tables and navy chairs.
“Do you want something?” Chantel asked me.
I almost replied that I wasn’t hungry, and then it occurred to me that I would never be, so I responded, “Sure.”
The rows of delicious food turned out to be made of four things: soups, salads, sandwiches and drinks. The food, although made up of less options than back home, was much healthier and a lot less greasy, as well as better tasting. When we picked a table in by one of the windows and sat down with our salads and chocolate milks, I smiled. “This is much nicer than overcooked hamburgers and soggy fries, heh?”
Chantel looked at me with a blank face, her fork half-lifted to her mouth. “Huh?”
“Burgers and fries.”
“What do you mean?”
“From –” Then I stopped myself from saying it. I must have overstepped some unspoken rule, to mention things that I remembered from being alive. Maybe they didn’t remember the way I did, or maybe they’d forgotten, but either way, I wasn’t going to make a fool of myself on my first day of school.
“Never mind, Chantel.” I said and took a bite of my low-fat Caesar salad.
She took a bite of her Greek salad, and when she looked back up at me her smile had returned. “Have you seen what Mr. Zuber is wearing today?”
The rest of the lunch period was spent talking about present teachers and last year’s teachers. After a while Chantel’s friends found her and pulled chairs over to our table. She whizzed through their names so fast that I only caught a couple, and then they were laughing and joking about something else. I was slightly overwhelmed but smiling by the time lunch ended and I was heading off to Level One Physics.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Chapter 8 (post one)


Pre-note: This is the beginning of the next chapter in my rough novel. Please leave comments so I know people are reading this >.< This chapter... could use some improvement. I wish I had more time so I could actually go through and EDIT. That would be amazing! But I don't even have time to write anymore, let alone edit anything I've already done! Oh, damn you university, taking up all my time!
Chapter eight, post one (note to self: saved as chapter seven on laptop):
On the first day I woke in that room on a sunny November day, I knew this school was going to be different than any other I’d ever been to.
The room in its blue colour felt empty with the sparse furniture and lack-of pictures on the wall. The uniform I slipped into was a simple pleated skirt, black; a white v-neck t-shirt and a cardigan. Each item was nicely made and stitched with the initials: W.S.S.G. in the standard school colour. I learned from Jake that it stood for West-End Secondary School for Girls. Shoes must be black (to go with the black and white clothes) and could be worn with tights, leggings or high socks on cooler days. I slipped my feet into simple black flats bought just a few days ago, on that first day here.
My hair was a mess. Jake had loaded me with school supplies, but we’d only come as far as a brush for hair products. ‘Can I get mousse and leave-in conditioner?’ I wondered.
There was a knock on my door, forcing me to grab a hair elastic and flip my hair into a messy ponytail.
The girl at the door looked about my age; she had perfect chocolate hair that’d obviously been styled that morning, and wore her skirt short and her shirt low.
“New Wings?” she said.
“Yeah?” I responded, although secretly I was starting to become annoyed with the nickname.
“You’re going to be late for class.”
“Oh.” I looked at my alarm clock, glowing 8:03, and remembered classes started at 8:10.
“Oh!” I repeated running back into my room to grab my pre-packed bag and key-card.
The girl inspected me with her eyes as I did so, and then did a glance-inspection of my room before I locked the door behind me. She didn’t say a word, but I could tell that she was surprised that my room was different, as well as put-aback by my messy ponytail.
“Chantel.” She said, extending her hand to me as we walked down the hall. “I’m the vice-president of the senior student council, as well as in your homeroom class. Did you bring your schedule, New Wings?”
She sounded so business-like that I only nodded in response. When Chantel handed me a slip of paper in a colour that matched the hall, I almost expect it to come with her business card. Instead, it was a map of the school grounds on one side, and of the school building the other. With one glance, I knew I wouldn’t be getting lost in the school building. The school only one hall that ran in square shape on each floor and each room number was in order. I found my, or rather, our homeroom, English with Ms. Gayed, on the first floor in room 102.
“Have you had a tour?” Chantel held the door open for me that led outside and onto the path to the school.
“Only a quick one of this building, the residence. And it’s Nika.”
“Oh good, I’ll get to show you around the rest of the campus! We’ll meet up for lunch, ok? Then I can show you the library, the cafeteria, the gym and the field before afternoon classes start, ok, New Wings?” Her grin was huge, and as business-like as she was, I really thought it was sincere.
“Ok, sure.” I smiled back, trying to dismiss the fact that she hadn’t acknowledged my name and that this nickname was going to stay.