• Oct. 4, 2008
and I swear,
it's not me,
it's just the things I used to know.
and get to church, because you're a good boy
and I never told you that.
Woo! Football game last night, it was truely hilarious.
I got there, and I managed to refrain from yelling "AHA!"
at random women for once.
But we started talking, about how my friend Rebecca was like Cinderella
so we made up this entire story in which I am an incompetent fairy godmother,
Rebecca is Cinderella, her friend Jake is the mouse that makes her dress,
her friend Amber is the mouse that gets turned into the chauffer,
our friend Caleb is the mouse that gets turned into the doorman,
and her prince works at Sonic.
Instead of a carriage, they steal my friend Alex's white Explorer vehicle
while Alex is at a band competition.
They go to a Death Cab for Cutie concert, where Rebecca finds an amazing skater boy
who talks and dances and everything until 12:30,
when she realizes that she has to leave to get the car back before Alex realizes it's gone.
She runs away, and all he has to find her with is a shoelace that Caleb-Mouse
chewed through because Rebecca had to tie him to a lamppost to keep him from driving off.
They all go to Sonic on the way back, because they haven't eaten and they need
a Cherry Limeade because Rebecca is depressed she hasn't found her prince.
Alex had arrived back from the competition early, so I, the fairy godmother,
had to stall him by taking him to Taco Bell in my Mazd.
Well, Amber-Mouse and Caleb-Mouse get in a fight whle on the way back,
and Amber is so mad she refuses to steer.
So Alex and I, who are in the Taco Bell drivethru, see his mom's car drive by,
off the road and into a telephone pole.
He starts to get suspicious, so I give him a steak burrito to stall him.
He promptly chokes and falls unconcious, and I give him the heimlich maneuver,
and stuff him into the wrecked car to make it look like he did it.
We finally make it to Sonic, and the guy Rebecca met is there,
and they fall madly in love and ride off into oblivion on a skateboard.
Alex's mom gets mad because he wrecked the car,
which causes him to need the help of a fairy godmother...
and so I, the incompetent fairy godmother, decide to help out...
end.best story ever
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• Oct. 2, 2008
if you want to,
i can save you.
I can take you away from here
so lonely inside ,so busy out there
and all you wanted was somebody who cares
if you need me, you know I'll be there.
please can't you tell me, so I can finally see,
just where you go when you're gone.
Well, now. Life's weird at the moment.
Lots and lots and lots of drama.
I'm not even sure who to trust anymore.
HE HATES ME, HE HATES ME NOT.
yeah it's that bad.
I got half my braces off today
so that was really amazingly cool.
My mouth is a little sore
but you know.
No more bands! yaya.
Listening to "all you wanted"
because, I'm not really sure why
it just kind of describes my emotions
at this exact moment.
about someone.
very very depressed.
and my house is really cold
I could sleep for days
football game tomorrow
but I really don't care at all.
My mom is running around angrily
I'm listening to Simple and Clean now
haha, video game music is amazing.
this is so random, isn't it?
and in stanza form...
what lyrics describe my life?
pretty girl is suffering, while he confesses everything
If you want to, I can save you, I can take you away from here
when you walk away, you don't hear me say "please, baby, don't go"
and to this day I've never found someone with eyes as wide as yours
crushed, by the softest hands I've never held,
many others too.
end post.
<3
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• Sep. 30, 2008
confess to me,
all the lies between us,
all the lies between you and me.
Shuffle:
Your wedding song:
I Need A Hero by Frou Frou
isn't there a white knight
upon a fiery steed?
late at night I toss and I turn
and I dream of what I need.
Your Bf/Gf song:
If I Never See Your Face Againby The Maroon five and Rihanna
and as the summer fades
I let you slip away
you say I'm not your type
but I can make you sway
The Song that Describes Your Life:
Fall to Pieces by Avril Lavigne
I don't want a conversation,
I just want to cry in front of you
I don't want to talk about it,
I'm in love with you.
The Song that describes your first Kiss:
Shake It by Metro Station
well if she does it like this
will you do it like that?
if she touches like this,
will you touch her right back?
The Song that will be played at your funeral:
The Great Houdini by Nefound Glory
thirty seconds til I'm past
the questions they will never ask
your regrets will haunt you
you know I never had to.
The song that best describes your childhood:
Wasted by Cartel
seven years old
got his bat in his hand
looking for his father
and he doesn't understand
The song you listen to when you're mad:
You've Made Your Bed by You Me At Six
will you teach me the games you play so well?
who'll drink to that?
I'll drink to that.
you've made your bed, so sleep in it.
when you're sad:
Anytime by Eve 6
forgetting to forget
that you're not mine
kiss your apocalypse for the last, last time
come back to me anytime.
when you're happy:
We Are by Ana Johnsson
telling everybody just how to live their lives
sliding down the information highway
buying in just like a bunch of fools
time is ticking and we can't go back,
when you're excited:
Crushed by Rosette
told myself that today was gonna be the day
no more excuses, I knew exactly what to say
was gonna make my play, but
just like yesterday, my mind erased
when you're stressed:
Read my Mind by the Killers
I don't mind
if you don't mind
cause I don't shine
if you don't shine.
when you're sick:
Crash and Burn by Savage Garden
if you jump
I'll break your fall
lift you up
and fly away with you
when you're in love with someone:
Rescue Me by Hawthorne Heights
believe, I miss your taste I miss your smell
the past mistakes that brought you here
will break the fall for you my dear,
I'll ask the nurse for bandages and send me on my way.
The First Day of School:
For You I Will by Teddy Geiger
do I seem familiar,
I've crossed you in hallways a thousand times
no more camoflauge
I want to be exposed and not be afraid to fall
The Last Day of School:
Taken by Plumb
I can see the light fall from your eyes,
as we get lost in the tears of this goodbye
but you can't go farther
than my heart can go,,
Fight Song:
Alexithymia by Anberlin
don't try to wake me up
even if the sun really does come out tomorrow
don't believe anything you say,
anymore, anymore, in the morning
Before the Big Game:
Anything Else But The Truth by The Honorary Title
Compressed in the space that frames this awkward act,
a chance to make this last has come and gone
glass shatters in your unsteady grip
a chance to catch the blood as it comes rushing in
When you See your crush:
All You Wanted by Michelle Branch
when the time comes,
I'll take you away,
if you want to,
I can save you.
The song that describes your school:
La La Lie by Jack's Mannequin
So guess what, I'm done
Drawing you pictures.
I'm dulling the day with a drink
In a parking garage by the theatre .
The Song That Describes your town:
I Met My Best Friend In Prague
You think that moving on means getting passed around,
but every move you make just takes you further down
now I know it's been a while, but I swear you wouldn't be so lonely
if only you'd let me in,
You play air guitar to:
Salt Peppa and Spinderella by Johnny Foreigner
and creep from these cheaptastic seats
and hold each other a little closer
we've got a place for the night
what are you worried about?
You mosh to:
Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year by Fall Out Boy
Take your tears,
put them on ice,
I swear I'd burn the city down
to show you the light.
You dance to:
The Science of Selling Yourself Short by Less Than Jake
I've come to my senses
that I've become senseless
I could give you lessons
on how to ruin your friendships
The song that describes your first date:
The Story So Far
And to this day, I've never found someone
with eyes as wide as yours
I've been searching up and down this coast
overlooking what I need the most.
Song you think of when you wake up:
Are You Catching My Drift Yet? by A Rocket to the Moon
leave you behind, it's not the first time
that we've been through this
it happens every time
you hear the sound of my name at the top of their lungs
song you think of when you go to sleep:
Save You by Simple Plan
you'll never know the way
it tears me up inside to see you
I wish that I could tell you something
to take it all away.
can I wish it all away,
but then you'd never stay...
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• Sep. 29, 2008
honesty's a virtue
that can hurt you,
let it be.
no time for updates!
another quick tidbits
(which is to say, life in jumbled sentences
that only make sense to me):
Big mistakes were made a long time ago.
Apologies are accepted, but let's build trust again
we never lost sight of each other
what is this feeling, not you...HIM?
oh no, not again...
the tidbits:
it's not fair, anyway.
I guess it never is.
That's what they always say,
isn't it?
I'm sure it's not my fault,
but whose is it?
I think we're all to blame,
which is wrong.
innocence is so fragile
I didn't want it to go
but it all breaks,
every string lost.
what am I saying?
I can't even sleep
tossing and turning,
this is my life.
sentences won't form
and I'm losing it
words won't speak
what I'm saying
growing up's a bother
it comes to us all in time
but I wish it wouldn't
and we could all stay
And then I'd go
and tell him everything
and what this means
and what I hope
and what I won't say
and what I'd never do
and what I wished for
and what I always dream
but I can't tell him anything
and they don't care at all
I'm still aching for that last chance
but I've used up one too many
now all time has passed us by,
and the story's gone,
fall air chills the bones,
and seeps into the soul.
and so it ends.
it always does.
and so it ends.
it never was.
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• Sep. 27, 2008
pretty girl is suffering
while he confesses everything.
I don't have time to post a whole update, so...
tidbits:
D-R-A-M-A
is a killer.
The football game was lost
and it was Homecoming.
The Principal is upset.
emotions have been played with
why do I always have to fix it?
but I feel bad if I don't.
thank God for
unlimited texting.
it solves crises.
this sounds like a poem
but my life is hardly poetic
unless you are thinking
of Edgar Allen Poe.
considering starting
a poetry journal
wouldn't that be neat?
skipping band competition
to work something out,
but I am wanted there.
tired because I stayed up
until after three
but was awakened at nine
my friend is supposed to call
we are cleaning the garage
and going somewhere
tomorrow I am being kidnapped
possibly, maybe not,
but I hope I am so we can talk.
I have no more time
I must go help clean
I just want to sleep.
<3
kiss&tell,,looselipssinkships.
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• Sep. 21, 2008
Pictures of you,
pictures of me.
reminds each other,
of what we used to be,
The (Almost) Completely True Story
of
How I Could've Been
[But Totally Wasn't]
Kissed This Summer
prolouge:
Our assignment is, as always, to write a true and faithful narrative of every interesting event that happened to us during our summer break. I’ve always wondered why teachers can’t be more creative. Do they honestly think half of what those kids say is true? And we teenagers aren’t going to tell our teachers the most important things that happened during the time we weren’t in school. What have you ever done to gain our trust?
I despise this assignment, but I’d like even less to have my summer, word for word, transcribed and broadcasted to the public. Yet, I have to do this, or I’ll fail this assignment, which will drag down my average. Then, I won’t be accepted by a good college, and I won’t get that fast-track career I’d always wanted. So I’ll spend the my entire life working at the local fast food chain, hoping to marry rich. I’d probably be cheated on by my husband, who would then abuse me and kick me out of our trailer. I’d move in with a drug addict friend, and wind up in prison, wondering where I went wrong, tracing it all back to my refusal to do that one English assignment in tenth grade.
So, I’ve decided to take the one sane course of action that you’d never expect. I’m going to be completely truthful. While other girls tell of their trips to Disney World, days spent lounging at the beach, and church camps, I’m going to tell you my story. One hundred percent truthfully.
Well, almost.
very last chapter:
(yes, I will post the stuff that happened inbetween. I just need to finish editing it.)
We stood there, eyes locked, dead serious. Neither of us looked away as we tried to break this deadlock game of cat-and-mouse that had been going on for months. We had been standing still for far too long, and I was ready to move, to stretch, to change things. For better or worse, I was ready for whatever today would bring.
His face was unsettlingly close to mine, and I could smell the sour-sweet scent he always seemed to have, drifting around me, mingling with the rain-slicked asphalt, intoxicating me, filling my head with a sort of dreamy haze.
The butterflies that had taken up residence in my stomach last summer were fluttering madly now, slowly congealing into a ball of lead that settled into the bottom of my abdomen, spreading slowly throughout my body, steeling me for whatever was ahead.
His eyelashes had caught my eye once again, rain pooling on them, sliding from black to blonde, rolling over suddenly intense gold-dark eyes. His hair was sticking to his forehead, plastered black against such pale skin. His clothes clung to him, and I could feel the chill seep from his body into mine. A scar stretching across his cheek was oddly prominent from this angle, as were a few small, stray hairs on his face. His breath was coming fast and shallow, nervously. His lips were almost on top of mine, all chapped skin and moistness. His eyelids slowly drifted shut, covering all his emotions.
And I knew, knew what I’d always suspected. For once, I had things figured out. For once, I knew what I wanted.
I’d always harbored a secret, stupid desire to kiss him and run. Not in a bad way, just scared and awestruck by what had occurred.
Instead, I just ran.
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• Sep. 21, 2008
The Fruit of My Lipstick:
It's the 21st, time for the Teen FIRST blog tour!(Join our alliance! Click the button!) Every 21st, we will feature an author and his/her latest Teen fiction book's FIRST chapter!
and her books:
FaithWords (May 12, 2008)
The Fruit of My Lipstick (All About Us Series, Book 2)
FaithWords (August 11, 2008)
Shelley Adina is a world traveler and pop culture junkie with an incurable addiction to designer handbags. She knows the value of a relationship with a gracious God and loving Christian friends, and she's inviting today's teenage girls to join her in these refreshingly honest books about real life as a Christian teen--with a little extra glitz thrown in for fun! In between books, Adina loves traveling, listening to and making music, and watching all kinds of movies. It's All About Us is Book One in the All About Us Series. Book Two, The Fruit of my Lipstick came out in August 2008, and Book Three, Be Strong & Curvaceous, comes out in January 2009.
Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $9.99
Paperback: 256 pages
Publisher: FaithWords (May 12, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0446177989
ISBN-13: 978-0446177986
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Chapter One
Carly once told me she used to wish she were me. Ha! That first week at Spencer Academy, I wouldn't have wished my life on anyone.
My name is Lissa Evelyn Mansfield, and since everything seemed to happen to me this quarter, we decided I'd be the one to write it all down. Maybe you'll think I'm some kind of drama queen, but I swear this is the truth. Don't listen to Gillian and Carly—they weren't there for some of it, so probably when they read this, it'll be news to them, too.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. When it all started, I didn't even know them. All I knew was that I was starting my junior year at the Spencer Academy of San Francisco, this private boarding school for trust fund kids and the offspring of the hopelessly rich, and I totally did not want to be there.
I mean, picture it: You go from having fun and being popular in tenth grade at Pacific High in Santa Barbara, where you can hang out on State Street or join a drumming circle or surf whenever you feel like it with all your friends, to being absolutely nobody in this massive old mansion where rich kids go because their parents don't have time to take care of them.
Not that my parents are like that. My dad's a movie director, and he's home whenever his shooting schedule allows it. When he's not, sometimes he flies us out to cool places like Barbados or Hungary for a week so we can be on location together. You've probably heard of my dad. He directed that big pirate movie that Warner Brothers did a couple of years ago. That's how he got on the radar of some of the big A-list directors, so when George (hey, he asked me to call him that, so it's not like I'm dropping names) rang him up from Marin and suggested they do a movie together, of course he said yes. I can't imagine anybody saying no to George, but anyway, that's why we're in San Francisco for the next two years. Since Dad's going to be out at the Ranch or on location so much, and my sister, Jolie, is at UCLA (film school, what else—she's a daddy's girl and she admits it), and my mom's dividing her time among all of us, I had the choice of going to boarding school or having a live-in. Boarding school sounded fun in a Harry Potter kind of way, so I picked that.
Sigh. That was before I realized how lonely it is being the New Girl. Before the full effect of my breakup really hit. Before I knew about Vanessa Talbot, who I swear would make the perfect girlfriend for a warlock.
And speaking of witch . . .
"Melissa!"
Note: my name is not Melissa. But on the first day of classes, I'd made the mistake of correcting Vanessa, which meant that every time she saw me after that, she made a point of saying it wrong. The annoying part is that now people really think that's my name.
Vanessa, Emily Overton, and Dani Lavigne ("Yes, that Lavigne. Did I tell you she's my cousin?") are like this triad of terror at Spencer. Their parents are all fabulously wealthy—richer than my mom's family, even—and they never let you forget it. Vanessa and Dani have the genes to go with all that money, which means they look good in everything from designer dresses to street chic.
Vanessa's dark brown hair is cut so perfectly, it always falls into place when she moves. She has the kind of skin and dark eyes that might be from some Italian beauty somewhere in her family tree. Which, of course, means the camera loves her. It didn't take me long to figure out that there was likely to be a photographer or two somewhere on the grounds pretty much all the time, and nine times out of ten, Vanessa was the one they bagged. Her mom is minor royalty and the ex-wife of some U.N. Secretary or other, which means every time he gives a speech, a photographer shows up here. Believe me, seeing Vanessa in the halls at school and never knowing when she's going to pop out at me from the pages of Teen People or some society news Web site is just annoying. Can you say overexposed?
Anyway. Where was I? Dani has butterscotch-colored hair that she has highlighted at Biondi once a month, and big blue eyes that make her look way more innocent than she is. Emily is shorter and chunkier and could maybe be nice if you got her on her own, but she's not the kind that functions well outside of a clique.
Some people are born independent and some aren't. You should see Emily these days. All that money doesn't help her one bit out at the farm, where—
Okay, Gillian just told me I have to stop doing that. She says it's messing her up, like I'm telling her the ending when I'm supposed to be telling the beginning.
Not that it's all about her, okay? It's about us: me, Gillian, Carly, Shani, Mac . . . and God. But just to make Gillian happy, I'll skip to the part where I met her, and she (and you) can see what I really thought of her. Ha. Maybe that'll make her stop reading over my shoulder.
So as I was saying, there they were—Vanessa, Emily, and Dani—standing between me and the dining room doors. "What's up?" I said, walking up to them when I should have turned and settled for something out of the snack machine at the other end of the hall.
"She doesn't know." Emily poked Dani. "Maybe we shouldn't tell her."
I did a fast mental check. Plaid skirt—okay. Oxfords—no embarrassing toilet paper. White blouse—buttoned, no stains. Slate blue cardigan—clean. Hair—freshly brushed.
They couldn't be talking about me personally, in which case I didn't need to hear it. "Whatever." I pushed past them and took two steps down the hall.
"Don't you want to hear about your new roommate?" Vanessa asked.
Roommate? At that point I'd survived for five days, and the only good things about them were the crème brulée in the dining room and the blessed privacy of my own room. What fresh disaster was this?
Oops. I'd stopped in my tracks and tipped them off that (a) I didn't know, and (b) I wanted to know. And when Vanessa knows you want something, she'll do everything she can not to let you have it.
"I think we should tell her," Emily said. "It would be kinder to get it over with." "I'm sure I'll find out eventually." There, that sounded bored enough. "Byeee." "I hope you like Chinese!" Dani whooped at her own cleverness, and the three of them floated off down the hall.
So I thought, Great, maybe they're having dim sum today for lunch, though what that had to do with my new roommate I had no idea. At that point it hadn't really sunk in that conversation with those three is a dangerous thing.
That had been my first mistake the previous Wednesday, when classes had officially begun. Conversation, I mean. You know, normal civilized discourse with someone you think might be a friend. Like a total dummy, I'd actually thought this about Vanessa, who'd pulled newbie duty, walking me down the hall to show me where my first class was. It turned out to not be my first class, but the teacher was nice about steering me to the right room, where I was, of course, late.
That should've been my first clue.
My second clue was when Vanessa invited me to eat with them and Dani managed to spill her Coke all over my uniform skirt, which is, as I said, plaid and made of this easy-clean fake wool that people with sensitive skin can wear. She'd jumped up, all full of apologies, and handed me napkins and stuff, but the fact remained that I had to go upstairs and change and then figure out how the laundry service worked, which meant I was late for Biology, too.
On Thursday Dani apologized again, and Vanessa loaned me some of her Bumble and bumble shampoo ("You can't use Paul Mitchell on gorgeous hair like yours—people get that stuff at the drugstore now"), and I was dumb enough to think that maybe things were looking up. Because really, the shampoo was superb. My hair is blond and I wear it long, but before you go hating me for it, it's fine and thick, and the fog we have here in San Francisco makes it go all frizzy. And it's foggy a lot. So this shampoo made it just coo with pleasure.
You're probably asking yourself why I bothered trying to be friends with these girls. The harrowing truth was, I was used to being in the A-list group. It never occurred to me that I wouldn't fit in with the popular girls at Spencer, once I figured out who they were.
Lucky me—Vanessa made that so easy. And I was so lonely and out of my depth that even she was looking good. Her dad had once backed one of my dad's films, so there was that minimal connection.
Too bad it wasn't enough.
jolie.mansfield L, don't let them bug you. Some people are
threatened by anything new. It's a compliment
really.
LMansfield You always find the bright side. Gahh. Love you,
but not helping.
jolie.mansfield What can I do?
LMansfield I'd give absolutely anything to be back in S.B.
jolie.mansfield :(
LMansfield I want to hang with the kids from my youth group.
Not worry about anything but the SPF of my sun
block.
jolie.mansfield It'll get better. Promise. Heard from Mom?
LMansfield No. She's doing some fundraiser with Angelina.
She's pretty busy.
jolie.mansfield If you say so. Love you.
Copyright © 2008 by Shelley Adina
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
The Fruit of My Lipstick (All About Us Series, Book 2)
Product Details:
List Price: $9.99
Paperback: 256 pages
Publisher: FaithWords (August 11, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0446177970
ISBN-13: 978-0446177979
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Chapter One
Top Five Clues That He’s the One
1. He’s smart, which is why he’s dating you and not the queen of the snob mob.
2. He knows he’s hot, but he thinks you’re hotter.
3. He’d rather listen to you than to himself.
4. You’re in on his jokes—not the butt of them.
5. He always gives you the last cookie in the box.
THE NEW YEAR. . . when a young girl’s heart turns to new beginnings, weight loss, and a new term of chemistry!
Whew! Got that little squee out of my system. But you may as well know right now that science and music are what I do, and they tend to come up a lot in conversation. Sometimes my friends think this is good, like when I’m helping them cram for an exam. Sometimes they just think I’m a geek. But that’s okay. My name is Gillian Frances Jiao-Lan Chang, and since Lissa was brave enough to fall on her sword and spill what happened last fall, I guess I can’t do anything less.
I’m kidding about the sword. You know that, right?
Term was set to start on the first Wednesday in January, so I flew into SFO first class from JFK on Monday. I thought I’d packed pretty efficiently, but I still exceeded the weight limit by fifty pounds. It took some doing to get me and my bags into the limo, let me tell you. But I’d found last term that I couldn’t live without certain things, so they came with me. Like my sheet music and some more of my books. And warmer clothes.
You say California and everyone thinks L.A. The reality of San Francisco in the winter is that it’s cold, whether the sun is shining or the fog is stealing in through the Golden Gate and blanketing the bay. A perfect excuse for a trip to Barney’s to get Vera Wang’s tulip-hem black wool coat, right?
I thought so, too.
Dorm, sweet dorm. I staggered through the door of the room I share with Lissa Mansfield. It’s up to us to get our stuff into our rooms, so here’s where it pays to be on the rowing team, I guess. Biceps are good for hauling bulging Louis Vuittons up marble staircases. But I am so not the athletic type. I leave that to John, the youngest of my three older brothers. He’s been into gymnastics since he was, like, four, and he’s training hard to make the U.S. Olympic team. I haven’t seen him since I was fourteen—he trains with a coach out in Arizona.
My oldest brother, Richard, is twenty-six and works for my dad at the bank, and the second oldest, Darren—the one I’m closest to—is graduating next spring from Harvard and going straight into medical school after that.
Yeah, we’re a family of overachievers. Don’t hate me, okay?
I heard a thump in the hall outside and got the door open just in time to come face-to-face with a huge piece of striped fiberglass with three fins.
I stood aside to let Lissa into the room with her surfboard. She was practically bowed at the knees with the weight of the duffel slung over her shoulder, and another duffel with a big O’Neill logo waited outside. I grabbed it and swung it onto her bed.
“Welcome back, girlfriend!”
She stood the board against the wall, let the duffel drop to the floor with a thud that probably shook the chandelier in the room below us, and pulled me into a hug.
“I am so glad to see you!” Her perfect Nordic face lit up with happiness. “How was your Christmas—the parts you didn’t tell me about on e-mail?”
“The usual. Too many family parties. Mom and Nai-Nai made way too much food, two of my brothers fought over the remote like they were ten years old, my dad and oldest brother bailed to go back to work early, and, oh, Nai-Nai wanted to know at least twice a day why I didn’t have a boyfriend.” I considered the chaos we’d just made of our pristine room. “The typical Chang holiday. What about you? Did Scotland improve after the first couple of days?”
“It was fre-e-e-e-zing.” She slipped off her coat and tam. “And I don’t just mean rainy-freezing. I mean sleet-and-icicles freezing. The first time I wore my high-heeled Louboutin boots, I nearly broke my ankle. As it was, I landed flat on my butt in the middle of the Royal Mile. Totally embarrassing.”
“What’s a Royal Mile? Princesses by the square foot?”
“This big broad avenue that goes through the old part of Edinburgh toward the queen’s castle. Good shopping. Restaurants. Tourists. Ice.” She unzipped the duffel and began pulling things out of it. “Dad was away a lot at the locations for this movie. Sometimes I went with him, and sometimes I hung out with this really adorable guy who was supposed to be somebody’s production assistant but who wound up being my guide the whole time.”
“It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.”
“I made it worth his while.” She flashed me a wicked grin, but behind it I saw something else. Pain, and memory. “So.” She spread her hands. “What’s new around here?”
I shrugged. “I just walked in myself a few minutes ago. You probably passed the limo leaving. But if what you really want to know is whether the webcam incident is over and done with, I don’t know yet.”
She turned away, but not before I saw her flush pink and then blink really fast, like her contacts had just been flooded. “Let’s hope so.”
“You made it through last term.” I tried to be encouraging. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?”
“It made one thing stronger.” She pulled a cashmere scarf out of the duffel and stroked it as though it were a kitten. “I never prayed so hard in my life. Especially during finals week, remember? When those two idiots seriously thought they could force me into that storage closet and get away with it?”
“Before we left, I heard the short one was going to be on crutches for six weeks.” I grinned at her. Fact of the day: Surfers are pretty good athletes. Don’t mess with them. “Maybe it should be, ‘What doesn’t kill you makes your relationship with God stronger.’”
“That I’ll agree with. Do you know if Carly’s here yet?”
“Her dad was driving her up in time for supper, so she should be calling any second.”
Sure enough, within a few minutes, someone knocked. “That’s gotta be her.” I jumped for the door and swung it open.
“Hey, chicas!” Carly hugged me and then Lissa. “Did you miss me?”
“Like chips miss guacamole.” Lissa grinned at her. “Good break?”
She grimaced, her soft brown eyes a little sad. Clearly Christmas break isn’t what it’s cracked up to be in anybody’s world.
“Dad had to go straighten out some computer chip thing in Singapore, so Antony and I got shipped off to Veracruz. It was great to see my mom and the grandparents, but you know . . .” Her voice trailed away.
“What?” I asked. “Did you have a fight?” That’s what happens at our house.
“No.” She sighed, then lifted her head to look at both of us. “I think my mom has a boyfriend.”
“Ewww,” Lissa and I said together, with identical grimaces.
“I always kind of hoped my mom and dad would figure it out, you know? And get back together. But it looks like that’s not going to happen.”
I hugged her again. “I’m sorry, Carly. That stinks.”
“Yeah.” She straightened up, and my arm slid from her shoulders. “So, enough about me. What about you guys?”
With a quick recap, we put her in the picture. “So do you have something going with this Scottish guy?” Carly asked Lissa.
Lissa shook her head, a curtain of blonde hair falling to partially hide her face—a trick I’ve never quite been able to master, even though my hair hangs past my shoulders. But it’s so thick and coarse, it never does what I want on the best of days. It has to be beaten into submission by a professional.
“I think I liked his accent most of all,” she said. “I could just sit there and listen to him talk all day. In fact, I did. What he doesn’t know about murders and wars and Edinburgh Castle and Lord This and Earl That would probably fit in my lip gloss tube.”
I contrasted walking the cold streets of Edinburgh, listening to some guy drone on about history, with fighting with my brothers. Do we girls know how to have fun, or what? “Better you than me.”
“I’d have loved it,” Carly said. “Can you imagine walking through a castle with your own private tour guide? Especially if he’s cute. It doesn’t get better than that.”
“Um, okay.” Lissa gave her a sideways glance. “Miss A-plus in History.”
“Really?” I had A-pluses in AP Chem and Math, but with anything less in those subjects, I wouldn’t have been able to face my father at Christmas. As it was, he had a fit over my B in History, and the only reason I managed to achieve an A-minus in English was because of a certain person with the initials L. M.
Carly shrugged. “I like history. I like knowing what happened where, and who it happened to, and what they were wearing. Not that I’ve ever been anywhere very much, except Texas and Mexico.”
“You’d definitely have liked Alasdair, then,” Lissa said. “He knows all about what happened to whom. But the worst was having to go for tea at some freezing old stone castle that Dad was using for a set. I thought I’d lose my toes from frostbite.”
“Somebody lives in the castle?” Carly looked fascinated. “Who?”
“Some earl.” Lissa looked into the distance as she flipped through the PDA in her head. Then she blinked. “The Earl and Countess of Strathcairn.”
“Cool!”
“Very. Forty degrees, tops. He said he had a daughter about our age, but I never met her. She heard we were coming and took off on her horse.”
“Mo guai nuer,” I said. “Rude much?”
Lissa shrugged. “Alasdair knew the family. He said Lady Lindsay does what she wants, and clearly she didn’t want to meet us. Not that I cared. I was too busy having hypothermia. I’ve never been so glad to see the inside of a hotel room in my life. I’d have put my feet in my mug of tea if I could have.”
“Well, cold or not, I still think it’s cool that you met an earl,” Carly said. “And I can’t wait to see your dad’s movie.”
“Filming starts in February, so Dad won’t be around much. But Mom’s big charity gig for the Babies of Somalia went off just before Christmas and was a huge success, so she’ll be around a bit more.” She paused. “Until she finds something else to get involved in.”
“Did you meet Angelina?” I asked. Lissa’s life fascinated me. To her, movie stars are her dad’s coworkers, like the brokers and venture capitalists who come to the bank are my dad’s coworkers. But Dad doesn’t work with people who look like Orlando and Angelina, that’s for sure.
“Yes, I met her. She apologized for flaking on me for the Benefactors’ Day Ball. Not that I blame her. It all turned out okay in the end.”
“Except for your career as Vanessa Talbot’s BFF.”
Lissa snorted. “Yeah. Except that.”
None of us mentioned what else had crashed and burned in flames after the infamous webcam incident—her relationship with the most popular guy in school, Callum McCloud. I had a feeling that that was a scab we just didn’t need to pick at.
“You don’t need Vanessa Talbot,” Carly said firmly. “You have us.”
We exchanged a grin. “She’s right,” I said. “This term, it’s totally all about us.”
“Thank goodness for that,” she said. “Come on. Let’s go eat. I’m starving.”
RStapleton I heard from a mutual friend that you take care of people at midterm time.
Source10 What friend?
RStapleton Loyola.
Source10 Been known to happen.
RStapleton How much?
Source10 1K. Math, sciences, geography only.
RStapleton I hate numbers.
Source10 IM me the day before to confirm.
RStapleton OK. Who are you?
RStapleton You there?
BY NOON THE next day, I’d hustled down to the student print shop in the basement and printed the notices I’d laid out on my Mac. I tacked them on the bulletin boards in the common rooms and classroom corridors on all four floors.
Christian prayer circle every Tuesday night 7:00 p.m., Room 216 Bring your Bible and a friend!
“Nice work,” Lissa told me when I found her and Carly in the dining room. “Love the salmon pink paper. But school hasn’t officially started yet. We probably won’t get a very good turnout if the first one’s tonight.”
“Maybe not.” I bit into a succulent California roll and savored the tart, thin seaweed wrapper around the rice, avocado, and shrimp. I had to hand it to Dining Services. Their food was amazing. “But even if it’s just the three of us, I can’t think of a better way to start off the term, can you?”
Lissa didn’t reply. The color faded from her face and she concentrated on her square ceramic plate of sushi as though it were her last meal. Carly swallowed a bite of makizushi with an audible gulp as it went down whole. Slowly, casually, I reached for the pepper shaker and glanced over my shoulder.
“If it isn’t the holy trinity,” Vanessa drawled, plastered against Brett Loyola’s arm and standing so close behind us, neither Carly nor I could move. “Going to multiply the rice and fish for us?”
“Nice to see you, too, Vanessa,” Lissa said coolly. “Been reading your Bible, I see.”
“Hi, Brett,” Carly managed, her voice about six notes higher than usual as she craned to look up at him.
He looked at her, puzzled, as if he’d seen her before somewhere but couldn’t place where, and gave her a vague smile. “Hey.”
I rolled my eyes. Like we hadn’t spent an entire term in History together. Like Carly didn’t light up like a Christmas tree every time she passed a paper to him, or maneuvered her way into a study group that had him in it. Honestly. I don’t know how that guy got past the entrance requirements.
Oh, wait. Silly me. Daddy probably made a nice big donation to the athletics department, and they waved Brett through Admissions with a grateful smile.
“Have any of you seen Callum?” Vanessa inquired sweetly. “I’m dying to see him. I hear he spent Christmas skiing at their place in Vail with his sisters and his new girlfriend. No parents.”
“He’s a day student.” I glanced at Lissa to see how she was taking this, but she’d leaned over to the table behind her to snag a bunch of napkins. “Why would he be eating here?”
“To see all his friends, of course. I guess that’s why you haven’t seen him.”
“Neither have you, if you’re asking where he is.” Poor Vanessa. I hope she’s never on a debating team. It could get humiliating.
But what she lacked in logic she made up for in venom. She ignored me and gushed, “I love your outfit, Lissa. I’m sure Callum would, too. That is, if he were still speaking to you.”
I barely restrained myself from giving Vanessa an elbow in the stomach. But Lissa had come a long way since her ugly breakup with a guy who didn’t deserve her. Vanessa had no idea who she was dealing with—Lissa with an army of angels at her back was a scary thing.
She pinned Vanessa with a stare as cold as fresh snow.
“You mean you haven’t told him yet that you made that video?” She shook her head. “Naughty Vanessa, lying to your friends like that.” A big smile and a meaningful glance at Brett. “But then, they’re probably used to it.”
Vanessa opened her mouth to say something scathing, when a tall, lanky guy elbowed past her to put his sushi dishes on the table next to mine. Six feet of sheer brilliance, with blue eyes and brown hair cropped short so he didn’t have to deal with it. A mind so sharp, he put even the overachievers here in the shade—but in spite of that, a guy who’d started coming to prayer circle last term. Who could fluster me with a look, and wipe my brain completely blank with just a smile.
Lucas Hayes.
“Hey, Vanessa, Brett.”
My jaw sagged in surprise, and I snapped it shut on my mouthful of rice, hoping he hadn’t seen. Since when was the king of the science geeks on speaking terms with the popular crowd?
To add to the astonishment, the two of them stepped back, as if to give him some space. “Yo, Einstein.” Brett grinned and they shook hands.
“Hi, Lucas.” Vanessa glanced from him to me to our dishes sitting next to each other. “I didn’t know you were friends with these people.”
He shrugged. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“That could change. Why don’t you come and sit with us?” she asked. Brett looked longingly at the sushi bar and tugged on her arm. She ignored him. “We’re much more fun. We don’t sing hymns and save souls.”
“So I’ve heard. Did you make it into Trig?”
“Of course.” She tossed her gleaming sheet of hair over one shoulder. “Thanks to you.”
I couldn’t keep quiet another second. “You tutored her?” I asked him, trying not to squeak.
He picked up a piece of California roll and popped it in his mouth, nodding. “All last term.” He glanced at Vanessa. “Contrary to popular opinion, she isn’t all looks.”
Oh, gack. Way TMI. Vanessa smiled as though she’d won this and all other possible arguments now and in the future, world without end, amen. “Come on, Lucas. Hold our table for us while Brett and I get our food. I want to talk to you about something anyway.”
He shrugged and picked up his dishes while she and Brett swanned away. “See you at prayer circle,” he said to me. “I saw the signs. Same time and place, right?”
I could only nod as he headed for the table in the middle of the big window looking out on the quad. The one no one else dared to sit at, in case they risked the derision and social ostracism that would follow.
The empty seat on my right seemed even emptier. How could he do that? How could he just dump us and then say he’d see us at prayer circle? Shouldn’t he want to eat with the people he prayed with?
“It’s okay, Gillian,” Carly whispered. “At least he’s coming.”
“And Vanessa isn’t,” Lissa put in with satisfaction.
“I’m not so sure I want him to, now,” I said. I looked at my sushi and my stomach sort of lurched. Ugh. I pushed it away.
And here I’d been feeling so superior to Carly and her unrequited yen for Brett. I was just as bad, and this proved it. What else could explain this sick feeling in my middle?
Two hours later, while Lissa, Carly, and I shoved aside the canvases and whatnot that had accumulated in Room 216 over the break, making enough room for half a dozen people to sit, I’d almost talked myself into not caring whether Lucas came or not.
And then he stepped through the door and I realized my body was more honest than my brain. I sucked in a breath and my heart began to pound.
Oh, yeah. You so don’t care.
Travis, who must have arrived during dinner, trickled in behind him, and then Shani Hanna, who moved with the confidence of an Arabian queen, arrived with a couple of sophomores I didn’t know. Her hair, tinted bronze and caught up at the crown of her head, tumbled to her shoulders in corkscrew curls. I fingered my own arrow-straight mop that wouldn’t hold a curl if you threatened it with death.
Okay, stop feeling sorry for yourself, would you? Enough is enough.
“Hey, everyone, thanks for coming,” I said brightly, getting to my feet. “I’m Gillian Chang. Why don’t the newbies introduce themselves, and then we’ll get started?”
The sophomores told us their names, and I found out Travis’s last name was Fanshaw. And the dots connected. Of course he’d been assigned as Lucas’s roommate—he’s like this Chemistry genius. If it weren’t for Lucas, he’d be the king of the science geeks. Sometimes science people have a hard time reconciling scientific method with faith. If they were here at prayer circle, maybe Travis and Lucas were among the lucky few who figured science was a form of worship, of marveling at the amazement that is creation. I mean, if Lucas was one of those guys who got a kick out of arguing with the Earth Sciences prof, I wouldn’t even be able to date him.
Not that there was any possibility of that.
As our prayers went up one by one, quietly from people like Carly and brash and uncomfortably from people like Travis and the sophomores, I wished that dating was the kind of thing I could pray about.
But I don’t think God has my social life on His to-do list.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2008 by Shelley Adina
This article is used with the permission of Hachette Book Group and Shelley Adina. All rights reserved.
REVIEW:
Let it be known: I am not a fan of chicklit. I'm sorry, it's just always seemed a bit...cliche for me. So, I was a bit skeptical about reading these books to review. However, I actually enjoyed these. They were a bit cliche, and extremely unbelievable at parts, but the characters were compelling and well-rounded. I found myself drawn in by their frankness and friendship, even in the face of adversity. They Christians in a nonChristian world, so most anyone that picks up Christian fiction can probably relate to that. I did think that some situtations were just set up to make them seem perfect and holy, but other than that, I really have no complaints. It was well-written, and I will reccomend it highly to all of my friends who enjoy this genre.
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• Sep. 20, 2008
was it you
that spoke the words,
things would happen,
but not to me?
well things are gonna happen
naturally.
yay! new backgrounds for banners I will eventually make.
Would anyone like to give me an idea or a nice image to make a banner with?
My inspiration is running low, so please do!
anyway, about this new background.
Do you like it better in...
full color?
I think this is adorable, but it'll be a little distracting from the main idea.
If someone can give me a nice thick image, I can probably make it work.
black and white?
I really like this. You may think it's a little boring, but with some flashy text
and a smattering of showy images...
would it be the best?
pure red?
this came from randomness, but I kind of feel fond of it.
but...what do you all think?
anyway, to keep you tided over until I get an actual banner finished,
here's a beta (an unfinished short copy that shows one of my many ideas of things to come):
It's totally not finished, but it's one of my myriad of ideas of things to come.
What say you?
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• Sep. 16, 2008
be patient,
behave.
you have a dangerous face
an illegal taste
new banners. all were made with the same person in mind.
So, yes, they are a bit repetitive in theme.
And oh! The shoes, and little background graphics in each main graphic?
yes, they actually mean something. Something...important.
Lyrics are from:
"Moan" by Cute is What We Aim For
some song I don't know
"I Met My Best Friend in Prague" by Powerspace
and "Our Bipolar Friends" by Johnny Foreigner.
(time: approx. two hours. lyrics: "moan" by Cute is What We Aim For.
pictures:photobucket. idea: thank you, Lit class.
program: Serif Photoplus)
(lyrics: who knows? other text: secret coding!
pictures: photobucket. time: about thirty minutes)
(lyrics: "I Met My Best Friend in Prague" by Powerspace.
time: about an hour and fifteen minutes
pictures: photobucket, as usual. program: still serif)
(lyrics: "Our Bipolar Friends" by Johnny Foreigner
inspiration: "what if Cinderella's feet had grown?" (hehe.)
time: about fifteen minutes.)
I don't mind if you don't mind
cause I don't shine
If you don't shine
<3
what do you think?
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• Sep. 14, 2008
I don't mind
if you don't mind
because I don't shine
when you don't shine.
Woohoo, productive weekend-not.
It was totally pointless, which is just the way I like my weekends.
The football game was awesome,
I hung out with my friends and drank lots of cola.
We made up a story about the band and how they were chasing a great dragon?
I dunno.
My friends' school won, beating the other team
40-7
the seven was a fluke though in like the last minute. pointless.
Then my friend spent the night, which was fun
we talked until like 2, at which point we promptly passed out.
Because watching football is tiring!
Then we walked around our town the next day
and ate chicken sandwiches from Sonic, and they were very good.
Then, uh, we rented Music and Lyrics
which is a very good movie actually.
And then we photoshopped pictures of us and some guys we know together
to try to find out what our kids would look like with those people.
Hopefull we did it wrong, because those were ugly combinations. like seriously.
and today, I'm sitting here listening to music. bored to death.
But I found out I like the song "Read My Mind" by the Killers.
Ah, I gotta get started on that three page list of guy movies someone wanted me to watch so we could talk about them when we hung out...
maybe later.
Much later.
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• Sep. 12, 2008
football, baby!
Fact: most of my friends go to the local public school
Fact: I live in the South.
Fact: Southerners live for football season.
how does this connect?
well,
In the south, or at least the part where I live, there is no sport more loved than football. Except, maybe hunting, but I'm not counting that right now, because it would defeat the purpose of this post.
People around here all pick their favorite college and high school team, and track the scores religiously. And now, football season is in full swing, bringing with it those ever-familiar sights, sounds, smells, and emotions. You know them, right?
the smell of popcorn and funnel cakes, the slightly off-tune high school marching band made of kids you grew up with, go to church with. (in small town, white bread americana, you can't go a block without seeing one of these kids.)
yelling and cowbells from overcompetitive parents, blinding floodlights, the scoreboard,
some people dressed up as a mascot for whatever school you've picked to support...
my school of choice is the one about a mile away from me, where the kids who live very close to me (think next door and across the street)
happen to attend, and, oh, march in the band, play football...
and of course, with my best friend on the yearbook staff, I can't miss an opportunity to show up and irritate her. (jk. or am I?)
Some of my homeschool friends like to show up at the games too, and it's really fun to hang out with them and watch people run about wildly, full of that thing called "school spirit",
and the drums start playing and you're hyper, and third quarter rolls around
and you've had so much cola that even you're hoping one of the teams will win! (which, obviously?)
And random people you don't know ask you what homeschooling is like,
and say they wish they could be like you, because that seems so much more fun!
And, well, duh...right?
So I'm totally ready for tonight's game.
Because, after all- funnel cake?
the south's second religion?
homeschool and public school friends?
FUNNEL CAKE?
the offbeat marching band that the band director mistook me for part of when I stopped by practice to talk to my friend about buying some of their fundraiser junk?
FUNNEL CAKE?
LET"S GET FIRED UP-
even if I don't go to school there,
I wouldn't miss it for the world.
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• Sep. 4, 2008
you think that moving on
means getting passed around,
but every move you make
just brings you farther down.
JOIN US!
who is "us", you ask?
The Society of Incoherent Sleepy Genuises
Have you ever had a brilliant idea,
but no way to explain it?
An amazing revelation as you were falling asleep
that you had forgotten by the morning?
Then you should join us!
Created by me and shootingstar
this group is for people
who always have great ideas
or really good conversation starters
but stay up way too late to use them.
Wouldn't you like to be one of us?
Then simply leave us a comment!
=]
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• Aug. 24, 2008
I think we have...
and emergency
(if you thought I'd leave, then you were wrong.)
Okay so. Last night, I went to a preseason band show
for the school that my friends, who play
various instruments, spin flags, etc.,
attend.
Best night of my life.
I swear.
Well, I was sitting in the stands next to my friend's mom,
Mrs. Denise,
watching the show.
The band had reached about the middle of their first number,
and were scurrying to their places for the second half of that number,
when all of a sudden,
the sprinklers come on.
The saxes (led by my friend, Alex)
were the first to be hit,
as they were standing right on top of it.
You could see the debating about whether to move
and keep their instruments and uniforms dry
or to continue marching and not let this ruin their show.
And there must be some kind of chip implanted in their brain
that tells them "kepp marching! keep marching!"
because that is exactly what they did.
One sax was caught between two sprinklers,
and had to make a crazy-wild jump through one of them.
That image will forever be imbedded in my brain.
Then, the drummers, marching backward
and unable to figure out why the the crowd was bursting into riotous laughter,
marched right into the sprinklers.
And, again, they kept playing.
After a more moments of this,
involving a near miss with a wet flag that had a mind of its own,
a soaked danceline skipping through an even wetter woodwinds section,
and no perceptible missed beats,
the sprinklers were finally turned off.
The band was given a standing ovation by the crowd,
which was mainly parents anyway,
and I laughed so hard I cried.
My friend Taylor's jaw seemed permanently open,
as we watched the spectacle unfold in awe.
When I can find some pictures,
I'll upload them,
because it was seriously amazing.
I would pay big money to have that on film.
=]
-end-
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• Aug. 23, 2008
she's away with
the raggle taggle gypsy, oh,
Yay, Celtic Thunder!
Singing everything from traditional tunes,
to creepy modernized songs,
they're pretty much amazing.
I like Heartland and their rendition of The Raggle Taggle Gypsy
though I can't find the gypsy one anywhere.
ugh.
oh! and I like "Come By The Hills" too.
the kid...Damian? has such an amazing voice.
Anyway, tonight is the preseason band show for my friends
at their public high school.
I'm going, but they're not as good as last year.
Seriously, they don't even march anymore
they just kind of stroll about.
The drummers still sidestep,
but other than that, they're pretty unrecognizable
maybe they'll be better tonight
than they were at their scrimmage game Thursday.
(by the way, my friends' school won. yay!)
I highly doubt it, but you know,
they'll be in band uniform instead of...
whatever they were wearing.
Still! I have to cheer them on,
as many of my friends play an instrument and all.
let's see, what else is important?
hm, yeah.
Can't think of anything.
Except...oh,
I reread Summer of My German Soldier
it's still sad.
currently listening to: Heartland.
end post
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• Aug. 20, 2008
Teen First Review--The Book of Names
It's the 21st, time for the Teen FIRST blog tour! Every 21st, we will feature an author and his/her latest Teen fiction book's FIRST chapter!
D. Barkley Briggs
NavPress Publishing Group (July 15, 2008)
Dean Barkley Briggs is an author, father of eight, and prone to twisting his ankle playing basketball. He grew up reading J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Patricia McKillip, Guy Gavriel Kay, Stephen R. Donaldson, Ursila K. Leguin, Susan Cooper, Madeline L'Engle, Terry Brooks, Andre Norton and Lloyd Alexander (just to name a few)...and generally thinks most fantasy fiction pales in comparison. (Yes, he dabbled in sci-fi, too. Most notably Bradbury, Burroughs and Heinlein).
After losing his wife of 16 years, Briggs decided to tell a tale his four sons could relate to in their own journey through loss. Thus was born The Legends of Karac Tor, a sweeping adventure of four brothers who, while struggling to adjust to life without mom, become enmeshed in the crisis of another world. Along the way they must find their courage, face their pain, and never quit searching for home.
Briggs is remarried to a lovely woman, who previously lost her husband. Together with her four children, their hands are full.
List Price: $12.99
Reading level: Young Adult
Paperback: 397 pages
Publisher: NavPress Publishing Group (July 15, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 160006227X
ISBN-13: 978-1600062278
Watch the Video Trailer and Enter the Book Contest here:
http://allfirstalliances.blogspot.com/
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Doors shall open / Doors shall close
Forgotten curse / Blight the land
Four names, one blood / Fall or stand
If lost the great one / Fallen low
Rises new / Ancient foe
Darkest path / River black
Blade which breaks / Anoint, attack
If once and future / Lord of war,
Queen la Faye / Mighty sword,
Rises ‘gain / As warrior king,
Prepare / For day of reckoning
If Aion’s breath / For music cursed
Sings making things / Made perverse,
Fate shall split / Road in twain
One shall lose / One shall gain
If secret lore / Then be found
Eight plus one / All unbound
Beast shall come / Six must go
Doors shall open / Doors shall close
If buried deep / Hidden seen
Ancient tomb / Midst crimson green
Nine shall bow / Nine more rise
Nine horns blow / Nine stars shine
If falling flame / Burning pure
Ten thousand cries / For mercy heard
Then plagues, peril / Horns of dread
End of days / Land be red
When final days / Bring final woes
Doors shall open / Doors shall close
Fate for one / For all unleashed
Come the Prince / Slay the beast
Cross the water / Isgurd’s way
White horse / Top the waves
Aion, fierce! / Aion, brave!
Aion rides / To save the day
— The Ravna’s Last Riddle
Chapter 1
BLACK BIRDS
The day was gray and cold, mildly damp. Perfect for magic. Strange clouds overhead teased the senses with a fragrance of storm wind and lightning and the faint, clean smell of ozone. Invisible energy sparkled like morning dew on blades of grass.
Standing alone in an empty field on the back end of their new acreage, Hadyn Barlow only saw the clouds. By definition, you can't see what's invisible, and as for smelling magic? Well, let's just say, unlikely. Hadyn saw what was obvious for late November, rural Missouri: leafless trees, dead grass, winter coming on strong. Most of all he saw (and despised) the humongous briar patch in front of him, feeling anew each and every blister and callous earned hacking through its branches.
Making room for cattle next spring, or so he was told; this, even though his dad had never owned a cow in his life. He was a history teacher for crying out loud. A college professor. Hadyn's shoulders slumped. It didn't matter. Everything was different now. Mr. Barlow didn't let his boys curse, but low under his breath, Hadyn did, mildly, just to prove the point. Life stunk. That was the brutal truth.
All true for the most part. Yet standing alone in the field, bundled in flannel, something else prickled his skin—something hidden in the rhythm of the day, at its core—and it wasn't just the chill wind. He couldn't shake it. A sense of something. Out-of-placeness. Faced with a friendless sophomore year, Hadyn knew that feeling all too well. It attacked him every morning, right before school.
But this was something more, more than the usual nervousness and name-calling stuff. His intuition was maddeningly vague. Hadyn sniffed the air, eyeing the field. A fox scampered in the distance. Bobwhites whistled softly. This had been his routine for weeks. Go to school, come home, do chores. Today was no different. Except for the clouds.
He looked upwards, struck again by the strange hues. The colors were still there; kinda creepy. They had lingered since the bus ride home. He had seen it happen with his own eyes, though he didn’t think much of it at the time. Right about the time school let out and the yellow buses began winding home, the skies had opened and spilled. Low banks of clouds came tumbling from the horizon like old woolen blankets. Like that scene from Independence Day, when the alien ships first appeared. Hues of purple, cobalt and charcoal smeared together. Not sky blue. Not normal. Riding on the bus, face pressed against the cold window, he didn’t know what to think. Only that it looked…otherworldly. Like God had put Van Gogh in charge for the day.
Strange.
Earlier, the day hadn’t felt weird. If anything, he had felt relief. Two days until Friday...until Thanksgiving Break. Only two days. He could make it. Standing by the mailbox with his three brothers, waiting for the bus—he couldn’t wait to get his own car—mild winds had stirred from the south, scampering through row after row of brittle stalks in the neighbor’s cornfield across the road. He heard them in the leafless oak and elm of his own yard, hissing with a high, dry laughter. Warm winds, not cold. But about noon, the wind shifted. Again, no big deal for Missouri, always caught in the middle between the gulf streams of Mexico and Canada’s bitter cold. Temperamental weather was normal in these parts.
Yet there it was. From the winding ride home to this very moment, he couldn’t rid himself of that dry-mouthed, queasy feeling. It was more than a shift in wind. It was a shift in energy. Yes, the dark clouds and strange colors reminded him of the thickening air before a big, cracking Midwestern storm, but that wasn’t it. This was different.
Hadyn being Hadyn, more than anything else, wanted to identify the moment. To name it.
Though he didn’t actually verbalize until age three, Hadyn was born with a question mark wrinkled into his brows. Always searching, always studying something. He couldn’t speak a word before then—refused to, his dad always said—yet he knew the letters of the alphabet at a precocious 12 months. When he finally did decide to talk, words gushed. Full sentences. Big vocabulary. Not surprisingly, it was clear early on that Hadyn was one of those types bent toward structure, patterns. He hated incongruities, hated not knowing how to pinpoint the strange twist in sky and mood right in the middle of an otherwise typically dreary day. If it was just nasty weather, name it! What did it feel like? Wet fish guts? Not quite. A full wet diaper? He remembered those well enough from when the twins were little, but no. A three day old slice of cheese?
Yes, that was it. Cold, damp, moldy.
Velveeta, actually, he decided, feeling a small measure of satisfaction. He fumbled for the zipper of his coat as another icy breeze prickled his skin. Yep, another lousy Velveeta day in the life of Hadyn Barlow.
He thought of the roaring wood stove back home. Hot cocoa. Little consolation. Until dusk, the oldest Barlow boy was stuck outside in a field with hatchet and hedge shears. Stuck in a foul mood, stuck with a knot in his throat. Just plain stuck. His task, his life, seemed endless and pointless.
“Just a little bit every day, however much you can manage after school,” his father would remind him. “And don’t look so grumpy. The days are shorter and shorter.”
But not any warmer.
“Grr!” Hadyn grumbled aloud, snapping at the cold in his thoughts. He had chosen to “clear” the massive beast by carving tunnels in it, not just hacking mindlessly. Probably not exactly what Dad had in mind, but, well, to be honest, he didn’t really care. He was the one stuck out here in the cold. He had already carved several tunnels, and reentered the biggest one now, loping and clicking his shears at the endless mess of thorns and branches, alternated by halfhearted swings of the hatchet. The briar patch sprawled a couple hundred feet in every direction, comprised of dense, overgrown nettles, blackberry bushes and cottonweed. Untended for generations, the underbrush was so thick and tall a person could easily get lost in it, especially toward the center, where the land formed a shallow ravine that channeled wet weather rains toward the pond on the lower field. Hadyn guessed the height at the center point would be a good 12 feet or more. Enormous.
Really, it was a ridiculous task. Dad had to know that.
“Why not just burn the thing?” Hadyn had asked him. Burn it, then brush-hog it. Throw a hand grenade in and run.
Mr. Barlow never really answered, just said he wanted him to clear it by hand. After the first day of grumbling and complaining (which proved none too popular with his father), Hadyn started carving tunnels. His plan was to craft a maze out of it, maybe create a place to escape...at least have some fun before his dad made him level the whole thing
Fun? He caught himself, tasting the word like a spoonful of Nyquil. Fun is soccer with the guys back home.
He paused for a moment to wipe his brow. Home was no longer a city, not for four months now. It was a cow pasture. Home had been Independence, the suburb of Kansas City whose chief claim to fame (other than being the birthplace of Harry S. Truman) was that Jesus would return there, at least according to one of numerous Mormon splinter groups. For Hadyn, it was all about skateboards and traffic and rows of houses. Noise. Friends. Now, all that—everything familiar and good—was exactly three hours and nineteen minutes straight across I-70 on the opposite end of the state. Might as well have been on the opposite side of the planet. Home now: three hundred acres in the middle of nowhere, away from all he had ever known.
The town was called Newland. The name seemed like a smack in the face.
New town. New school. New faces. New troubles to deal with. New disappointments. His dad had tried to make a big deal of the “new” thing. This would be a new start for their family, a new chapter, blah, blah, blah. A change, from sadness to hope, he said. Hadyn hated change.
He didn’t want new. He wanted it how it used to be.
How it used to be was happy. Normal. Right. Fair. How it used to be meant they were a family of six, not five. Hadyn felt a familiar pang slice across his chest. He would have traded all the unknown magic in the world for five more minutes with—
Mom...
It had been a year since she died. His mental images of her remained vivid, of a beautiful woman with porcelain smooth skin, naturally blonde, witty, vivacious. All four Barlow brothers shared her spunky attitude, as well as an even mix of their parents’ coloring: mom’s fairness, dad’s darker hair and complexion, the boys somewhere in between. Hadyn, rapidly entering his adult body, was tall for his age, muscular, lean, possessed of a sometimes uncomfortably aristocratic air. Some days his eyes were smoky jade, others, iron gray. But he had Anna’s cleverness.
His parents had been saving money for several years, studying the land all around Newland. Hadyn could not fathom why. What was so special about Podunk, America? But he knew his mom had been happy to think about life in the country. Once upon a time, that was enough. But now? Without her, what was the point? Why couldn’t they have just stayed in Independence? Moving wasn’t going to bring her back. Didn’t Dad know that?
For the second time that afternoon, a tidal wave of loneliness nearly drowned him, left him in a goo of self-pity, the sort of sticky feeling he didn’t want anyone to spoil by cheering him up. He took one more angry swing. Done or not, he was done for the day. Work could wait. Dad would just have to deal with it. Already, he had built a pretty impressive maze, though. Six unconnected tunnels so far.
Like I give a rip about these stupid tunnels, he thought as he crawled from the center toward the mouth of the largest, longest shaft. Or this stupid land, or town, or patch of—his knee jammed against a thorn protruding from the soil—thorny! ridiculous!...
He clenched his jaw, flashing through dozens of choice words, using none. Honoring his dad. Pain streamed as tears down his cheek, and it wasn’t just the thorn in his knee. It was life. Crawling forty more feet, he emerged to face the slowly westering sun melting down the sky. The otherworldly colors he had seen earlier were gone. Only the cold remained. And now, a bleeding, sore knee.
Behind him, he heard heard rustling grass and the high pitched, lilting notes of his brother’s tin whistle. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and grimaced. Ewan, like his mother, was musical. Even more like her, he was sentimental. He often carried the whistle she had brought him as a gift from Ireland. It would, no doubt, have seemed humorous to some, to see him wandering the field, playing a spritely little tune. It only annoyed Hadyn. Thankfully, as Ewan drew closer, the song trailed away.
“Hey, Hadyn.”
Hadyn grunted. “What do you want?”
Ewan shrugged, tucking the flute into his back pocket. He wore blue jeans, and a blue embroidered ball cap, initialed ‘ECB’.
“Wondered how things were going.”
“Dad sent you to help, didn’t he?”
Ewan frowned. “Yep. Got done with my chores sooner than planned.”
“Bummer.”
“Major bummer,” Ewan emphasized. “Looks like you’re near the center, though. That’s pretty cool.”
Hadyn didn’t reply. With only two years between them, the two brothers had always been the closest of friends, the fiercest competitors, the quickest of combatants. They understood each other’s rhythms like no one else in the family. Whereas Hadyn was studied, wise and cautious, Ewan was quick, fearless and comfortable with long odds. No one could make Ewan laugh—gasping-for-air, fall-on-the-ground-cackling—like Hadyn. Likewise, Ewan could frustrate Hadyn to no end, or, with the sheer power of silliness, cheer him up when a sullen moment was about to strike. Not much wanting to be rescued from his mood at the moment, however, Hadyn let his silent response wrap around him like a barrier against further penetration. He didn’t notice that Ewan’s gaze had drifted from the briar patch to the low sky and paused there.
“What do you make of that?” he dimly heard his brother say, distracted, curious. Through the haze of his own thoughts, Hadyn followed Ewan’s line of sight, his pointing finger, straight into the sunset. At first, he saw nothing. Then it was obvious. Several large, black birds were swooping low on the horizon. Even at a distance, it appeared they were headed straight for the two boys, unveering over the slope of the ground, drawing swiftly nearer, a hundred yards or so away. From the sound of their raucous cry, they were like ravens, only larger, throatier, and if possible, blacker.
“Cawl-cawl,” they cried.
Hadyn counted four total, wings outstretched, unflapping, like stealth bombers in formation. There was something organized and determined about their flight. It lacked animal randomness.
“Do they look strange to you?” Ewan asked, cocking his head.
Hadyn pretended to be uninterested. It didn’t last. “What is that in their claws? What’re they carrying?”
“Yeah, I see it. Sticks?”
“Too thick. It would be too heavy. Wouldn’t it?”
“Hard to tell at this angle. Are they heading for us?” Ewan held up his hand to shield his eyes. “Man, they’re fast. What are they?”
“I don’t know, but they’re still—”
“Look out!” Ewan dove to the side, tripping Hadyn in the process. Both boys hit the ground on a roll, turning just in time to see the birds swoop suddenly upward, arcing high into the sky, turn, then turn again. The lead bird, larger than the others, croaked loudly; the other three responded. Over and over, the same phrase, like a demand: “Cawl!”
All four were pitch black, having none of the deep blue sheen of a crow’s feathers, or so it seemed in the failing light. They flew as black slashes in the sky, all wing and beak, not elegant in the air, but fast. Disappearing completely against the lightless eastern expanse, they reappeared again as silhouettes skimming the western horizon. At first it seemed to Hadyn the birds would fly away, as they swept up and out in a wide arc. But the curve of their path soon came full circle. They were attempting another pass. Both boys nervously scooted further outside the angle of the birds’ approach.
“What in the world?” Hadyn said, hatchet raised and ready. It was clearer now in silhouette form. Each bird carried the form of a long, thick tube in their talons.
The brothers hunched on the ground, motionless, muscles tensed, watching as the birds continued their second approach. Hadyn held his breath. The birds didn’t veer, nor aim again for the boys. Instead, they formed a precise, single-file line, a black arrow shooting toward the main tunnel of the thicket. With a final loud croak—“Cawl!”—and not a single flap of wing, all four swooped straight into the hole, one after the other. As they did, each released the object clutched in its talons. The tubes clattered together with a light, tinny sound at the mouth of the tunnel, literally at the boys’ feet. The birds were already beyond sight. Their throaty noise echoed for a moment, evaporating into an obvious silence marked only by the faint breeze of wings passing over broken grass.
Hadyn and Ewan stared first at the tunnel, then at the objects. Then at each other. Then back at the tunnel. In the same instant, each of them leaped toward what the birds had left behind: four thin, black metallic tubes, trimmed with milky white bands at top and bottom.
Hadyn slowly stretched out his hand and picked up a tube. He rolled it between his fingers. It was about the length of Ewan’s Irish whistle, but thicker, maybe the circumference of a quarter. Not heavy at all. In the middle of each tube, finely wrought in scripted gold filigree, the letter ‘A’ appeared.
Ewan lightly shook his tube, listening for clues to its contents. It sounded hollow.
“They didn’t even have us sign for delivery,” he deadpanned. “What do we do with these? They look important.”
“How should I know?” Hadyn said contemptuously, flicking his eyes cautiously toward the tunnel. “Where’d they even go? I mean, really. Are they just hiding back there until we leave?”
“Who cares!” Ewan said. His disgust was obvious. Hadyn’s was being an analyst again. “This isn’t hard, Hadyn. Some big birds dive bombed us. They dropped these cool tubes. It makes no sense. It’s awesome. Totally, factor 10 cool.”
Hadyn mulled it over. “Maybe they’re some sort of carrier pigeon, but...do carrier pigeons even fly anymore?
“Only on Gilligan’s Island. TV Land. Listen to me, you’re just guessing.”
“Have you got a better idea?” Hadyn demanded.
Ewan waited, considered. Hadyn knew he hated being put on the spot like that, in the inferior position. Now it was Ewan’s turn to think.
“Okay, maybe you’re right. Maybe those birds really are carriers of some sort?—” Ewan held up a tube, “—obviously they are. What if they need to carry these things farther still? What if they’re just resting? What if they are trained to do this when they need to rest? Drop their packages, find a hole, rest, then grab their stuff and carry on?”
“So...are you suggesting we flush them out? Cause there is no way I’m going to crawl back there. They can get out later on their own.”
Ewan didn’t reply. Instead he dug into his pocket, pulled out a small flashlight, and scuttled into the tunnel the birds had entered. “Wait here,” he ordered.
“Hey, watch it back there!” Hadyn cautioned. Secretly, he wanted him to go, knew how to punch his brother’s buttons to make it happen. “Those claws looked sharp!”
While he waited for Ewan to return, Hadyn examined the tubes further. He shook one tube, flicked it, smelled another; picked up and twirled the third and fourth tubes. His efforts yielded the same muffled sensation of something barely shifting inside. Maybe a rolled up piece of paper? If the ravens (or crows, or whatever they were) were carriers of some sort, a written message did make the most sense. But who in the world still sent paper messages...by bird? By raven, no less. Hello, email anyone?
Presently, Ewan reappeared, breathing hard.
“They’re gone,” he said simply. “Must have flown out one of the other tunnels.”
Hadyn creased his brow. “No way. None of the tunnels connect yet.”
“They don’t?” Ewan’s eyes widened as it dawned on him that he hadn’t seen any other tunnels. “No...they don’t.”
The two boys stared at one another in silence. Evening enfolded them; soon, darkness. “They must have crawled through the branches,” Hadyn surmised, but he hardly sounded convinced. “Are you sure you didn’t see them?”
Ewan rolled his eyes. “Hello? Big, black flappy things. Yes, I’m sure.” He grabbed one of the tubes, shook it again. “This band looks like ivory, but it’s hard to tell in this light.”
“Reminds me of one of mom’s necklaces.”
Ewan grabbed the end and twisted. “Only one way to find out.”
This time Hadyn didn’t argue or analyze. Curiosity had gotten the best of him. The lid twisted off with surprising ease, followed by a thin hiss of sealed air. Ewan wrinkled his face. “Smells old. Yuck. Turn on your flashlight. Mine is getting weak.”
He tapped the open end against the palm of his left hand. The coiled edge of a piece of thick, cream-colored parchment slipped out. Hadyn leaned in closer. Ewan gingerly teased the scroll out. It had a heavy grain of woven cotton, with rough edges trimmed in gold foil. Both boys let out a long slow breath. Neither the silver moon hung off the treeline, nor the winking stars, provided light enough to clearly see. Hadyn turned on his flashlight as his brother unrolled the parchment. The paper was larger than normal, rich to the touch. Pinning both ends to the ground, both boys read at once the simple message beautifully scripted on the inside in golden ink: “You have been chosen for a life of great purpose. Adventure awaits you in the Hidden Lands.”
“Dude!” Ewan whistled softly. “Looks like something from King Arthur. What in the world are the Hidden Lands?”
Hadyn, who actually loved the lore of King Arthur—and Ewan knew it—was already reaching for another tube. Ewan followed his lead. Within twenty seconds, all four tubes were opened, and four identical parchments lay spread on the ground in the dark, illuminated only by flashlights. Golden ink glimmered, subtly shifting hues. Each bore the exact same message.
“You have been chosen for a life of great purpose. Adventure awaits you in the Hidden Lands.”
Hadyn grabbed the four sheets, quickly rolled them up, and inserted each back into its thin metal sleeve. “We need to head home before Dad gets worried,” he said. “You take two and I’ll take two. Stick them under your shirt and act cool. I have no idea what these are. But for now, they’re our little secret.”
He puffed up for a moment, the older brother. Still out of sorts with the world.
“And none of your games, either, Ewan. I mean it. I’m not in the mood.”
My Review: Having not received the book until two days ago, I have not completed it. I'll write a complete review when I finish the book, but I like what I've read so far.
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• Aug. 19, 2008
if you want to,
I could save you
Well, it is official.
I am sick.
I have a fever of like 100 something,
my throat hurts, and I'm disoriented.
You know those weird fever dreams you have?
Yeah, don't play cards with hedgehogs.
They seem to cheat.
Also, I'm going to use this space
to expound the joys of unlimited texting.
Because when you don't feel like talking,
you can simply type in a message and hit send.
And you can talk to several of your friends at once!
How cool is that? I mean seriously.
Though right now I'm being called nosy by one,
but that's okay.
I probably am.
At least I'm blatant about it.
Right? Yeh.
And anyway,
that's about all I can type while still sounding coherent.
I'm gonna go see if we have some non skim milk in this house
(skim milk is evil. it's water disguised.)
and then go to bed.
Very early for me.
Very very early.
Yeah that made no sense.
-off-
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• Aug. 15, 2008
cheer up, my friends all say
(you're better off alone anyway)
Here are the rules:
1. The rules of the game get posted at the beginning.
2. Each player answers the questions about themselves.
3. At the end of the post, the player then tags 5-6 people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know they’ve been tagged and asking them to read your blog.
4. Let the person who tagged you know when you’ve posted your answer.
1 ) What I was doing 10 years ago…
-uh, running around wildly?I don't know, I was 5...
almost six! Don't forget that...
2 ) What are five things on your to-do list for today?
1. Work on "The (Almost) Completely True Story of How I Could've Been [But Totally Wasn't] Kissed This Summer" {it's my best story ever, other than elf blood rising and zo and the one Rebecca and I wrote today in English about the lady murdered by her mother-in-law}
2.Text Katie U. and Alex.
3. Move the new music onto my mp3 player
4. Write down what I ate.
5. Plan tomorrow.
3 ) Snacks I enjoy…
-Popcorn. (Please, don't say "popcorn anyone" haha)
-barbeque potato chips (no, I'm not obsessed.)
-Sour patch kids (oh come on, those things are amazing)
-sour gummy worms (yeah. enough said.)
-avatar gummy snacks (I would jump in the spring after a zuko one. oh wait! I DID!)
-wheat thins parmesan and herb crackers (amazing. people kept asking me for them at lunch)
4 ) Five things I would do if I were a billionaire…
-Go to Japan and tour the country
-Go to Paris, Milan, St.Petersburg, NewYork City, London, and The Black Forest.
-Buy a big house. Near some other big houses. Hehe.
-go to a David Archuleta concert. Marry him. Hehe.
-Buy a bunch of new clothes and wear them to a fancy restaraunt.
5 ) Three Bad Habits…
-I bite my fingernails and chew on pencils/pens
-I have a bad habit of writing down everything people do and turning it into stories. Uh, yeah. It's worse than the Book of alex, The Chronicles of Caleb, and The Ballad of Chaz. (Well, maybe not)
6 ) 5 places I have lived…
-a trailer on Burning Bush road (which is actually Blue Springs Road! No one knows why its now called Burning Bush. I'd always wondered...)
-a house on Burning bush Road
-where I live now
-nowhere else
-and nowhere else
7 ) 5 Jobs I have had
-helped at a library
-candystriped at a hospital
-sold books (for an hour, but still.)
-teen columnist
-book reviewer
And I can't dream anymore since you left
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• Aug. 10, 2008
from everything,
Well, it has come to it.
My friends and I are making a band.
It started as a joke about
a Health Project.
But, now, it has escalated to so much more.
We're debating between about 15 names right now,
including
Static
Nine Lives
3 Black Cats
Speak!
TellAll
Message
All To Pass
Sera Sera
ElectroShock
This Is The Last Chance
and our original name,
that Health joke...
Teen Suicide Kings
Now, Teen Suicide Kings is the most interesting because it has an amazing backstory.
Two of my friends, Kaelan and Alex, had a Health project at their public school last year.
Having all of their top choices denied by the teacher, they decided to make their powerpoint
about Teen Suicide and how it devastated families and communities.
Well, time was running out, and they didn't have a "The End" slide for their presentation.
Kaelan, in a fit of kindness unsual for him, volunteered to make it.
That should have made Alex suspicious.
It didn't.
The day of comes, and Alex realizes- he hasn't seen the slide.
All through the powerpoint, he's wondering if there even is one.
Maybe Kaelan, with his well-known work ethic, didn't make one.
So it comes to the end, and they're preparing to sit down,
when the last slide shows up.
It's a gravestone, with the words "The End" on it.
Alex thought it was amazing, as did Kaelan, who made it.
The teacher and other students? Not impressed.
So, everyone in that class remembers their slide.
They know more about that topic than anyone else in our grade!
They're almost like, Teen Suicide Kings!
...that sounds like a band.
...it should be...
...why don't we make one...
So we are.
but what name do you like best?
VOTE NOW!
hehe
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• Aug. 7, 2008
He asked for trouble the moment he came
he's, not, one of us.
Well,
I'm currently planning a video to "Not One Of Us"
from The Lion King 2.
It'll be amazing.
I'm going to have my friends star in it-
of course...
but I'm the main girl.
I just need a tripod to make the camera steady.
I think I'm going to start on a written draft of it...
But it's going to be kind of a movie preview
of my story
The (Almost) Completely True Story
of
How I