May 1st 5 Pages Workshop with Mentor S.T. Underdahl -- Final Entries are Posted

The final revisions for the May First Five Pages Workshop with guest mentor S.T. Underdahl are posted below. Jump in and comment on them or just lurk and peek over Susan's shoulder as she helps the writers transform these all-important first pages into their best versions. Even better, go back and peek into the full workshop history to see where the writers began and how far they have come.

Want to know more about how the workshop functions? Interesting in joining the June workshop? Read the pages on the tabs above. Hope you'll join us!



About the Mentor

Susan Thompson Underdahl is a North Dakota native who lives and writes in Grand Forks, ND. She has always been an avid reader who counts among her favorites writers Judy Blume, Sandra Dallas, Elizabeth Berg, Shirley Jackson, Steve Kluger, Dave Eggers, and Nancy Turner. The Other Sister (Flux, March 2007) was Susan's first published novel, followed by Remember This (Flux, 2008), and Summer On Lake Tulaby (Authorhouse, 2011). No Man's Land (Flux, 2012)is her most recent work. She is represented by Quinlan Lee of Adams Literary Agency.

Aside from writing, Susan's primary working life revolves around her job as a clinical neuropsychologist, a specialist who works in the evaluation and treatment of individuals suffering from brain injury or dementia. She is also a clinical supervisor of graduate students at the University of North Dakota in Grand Forks.

Besides work and writing, Susan enjoys spending time with her husband, two sons, one daughter, and three stepdaughters, ages 12-20. The family is rounded out by one unfriendly cat and four overly-friendly dogs.

1st 5 Pages May Workshop - Roy Rev 2

Name: Soumi Roy
Genre: Young Adult Fantasy
Title: Shattering Vengeance


Prologue: 4 years ago

THE time had arrived, the onset of darkness.

And somehow he felt it.

The illumination of a striking thunderstorm enriched the feel of a dead end in the earth, or a new beginning. Whichever it was, his feared the worst.

Standing on the first landing of the staircase, Nathaniel Clayworth watched the raindrops sliding down the windowpanes. Outside the window the eerie night seemed darker than ever, enshrouded in cold gloominess, like the dirge of a dead soul. Raging torrents of rain struck down with lightning bolts, piercing through the turbulent night sky down to the desiccated earth. And the macabre view simply frightened him more.

He silently shifted closer to the banister, leaning a bit over it, so he could clearly see his parents sitting at the dining table, but careful not to make himself visible.

Something seems very wrong, he thought to himself. He just didn’t know what.

“Are you sure you will be going to the Council? I don’t think we can trust anyone anymore.” His mother’s voice broke the silent ambiance that previously hovered over their dining table, as she watched her husband Victor tap his fork on his plate. He had convened a secret core committee meeting for the following day at the Keepers Council, the assembly that was engaged in ruling the city of Neo Predris with an iron fist.

Victor sighed, and dropped the fork on his plate. “Catherine, darling,” he replied in a grave voice, as if preparing for the chance of a storm whose direction was still unknown, “we still have some trusted friends left who are willing to help.”

“The League? I don’t trust them either,” Catherine said dryly.

The League. Nate heard the name before, and out of curiosity he had asked his father once. However, his father refused to answer by saying he was not mature enough to know such things. It irritated him, very much, being treated like a child.

“Yet, we must give our best to protect our last hope of survival.”

“That may indeed be the city’s future. But…” Catherine paused and shivered a little, “think about Nate, and his future. What if we endanger our son’s life?”

At the mentioned of his name Nate bit his lips and tensed.

“Nothing will happen to him. We will send him back to the institute tomorrow morning. He will be alright,” Victor tried to reassure his wife with a deep breath, the anxiety written over her beautiful face, and softly squeezed her hand. Unconvinced, Catherine looked away.

Victor pushed aside his plate and walked toward the staircase. Nate edged backwards, hoping his father wouldn’t catch him eavesdropping. “Nathaniel, come here,” he called for his son, who should supposedly be taking a nap in his bedroom upstairs. “I know you are feeling sick, but a little food will make you feel better, son.”

“I’m going to see how he’s feeling,” Catherine hushed her husband. She gathered her long dress and headed upstairs. Nate quietly hurried back to his room, threw himself on the bed and pulled the blanket over his head.

Nathaniel was the only heir to the house of Clayworth, and had taken a holiday at home from Predris Institute of Young Apprentices, the royal academy where young boys were sent to be trained as future Keepers, protectors of Neo Predris.A mild headache and low fever had weakened him enough to take leave from the Institute.

He heard his mother’s footsteps before she knocked on his open door. She swiftly passed into the room and sat beside Nate. “Did you take your medicine?” Catherine gently said to her son. “Have some food, dear, else you’ll be weaker.”

“Oh, I took my medicine, Mom. And no food,” Nate answered in a husky voice, poking his head out of the blanket. “I’m not feeling well.”

His mother gently stroked his hair as he rested his head on her lap, and her affectionate eyes gazed upon his sun kissed face, which was the most handsome in her eyes. She had often told him that his raven black hair and stormy blue eyes with a slender build would shame any other human beauty. He had inherited both his mother’s elegance and grace, and his father’s intelligence and dexterity, to become a maven of weaponry at his very young age of fifteen.

Then there was the sound of an explosion, which tore their attention away. The noisy rapping over the main entrance intruded into the room. His mother jerked upright and gripped Nate’s hand with fear, her palm sweating in his hand.

“Nate, I must go. Do not come downstairs, okay?” she said, kissing his forehead, “Goodnight, baby.” She stormed out of the door, closing the door and leaving her son stunned behind her.

Closing his eyes, Nate curled inside his blanket, but was unable to sleep, anxious and worried over the suddenness of his mother’s changed behaviour. The uneasiness in her voice really scared him.

Then he heard rasping voices, harsh words, as if someone was arguing with his father furiously. The argument was slowly heating up. His father was a man of dignity and he would never allow someone to talk to him in such an unpleasant way without reason. Nate sat up on his bed, trying hard to better hear every word from downstairs.

A sharp scream pierced the walls of the house. Someone thumped on the ground, falling heavily. Nate clearly heard his heart storming against his chest, felt it ready to jump out of his throat. Quickly guessing what could have happened, he jumped down from his bed and instinctively picked up his dagger from the nightstand drawer.

Suddenly, the door burst open with his mother’s intrusion. Horrified and drenched in blood, her face had taken on the color of crimson red. Her whole body was trembling in unutterable terror and her sobbing started to echo through Nate’s ears. She immediately locked the door behind her and before Nate could ask anything, she held his face in her shivering palms and uttered haltingly, “They…they…killed your father. They are coming up for me, but I…I…won’t let them touch you.” Though she stuttered, a fierce protectiveness rose in her voice. “They don’t even know you are home. Just hide under your bed and whatever happens and don’t come out.”

They murdered my father? He couldn’t believe his own two ears, the ground slipping away beneath his feet and he stood frightened, too shocked to even cry.

Someone banged on the bedroom door with full force, again and again.

“I don’t have much time left, Nate…” She gripped his shoulder. “Just remember, protect the Last Mage and don’t trust anyone. Do you understand?” She turned her face to the door, her blue eyes wide with terror.

Mage???

The long lost name was just a scribbled word of ancient Predris mythology. Nate only nodded in response, though he didn’t understand why his mother was talking about such an absurd topic now, at this very moment when both of their lives were at stake.

Nate wanted to ask what was happening, who were these people? But his mother pushed him under the bed and hushed, “Promise me you won’t come out.”

Terror ran down through his body, paralyzing his thoughts and movements. The door exploded violently and he heard footsteps, loud as they invaded the room. The group seemed bigger than he anticipated. His eyes squinted and his gaze darted in the direction of where his mother stood. He could only see the hem of her nightgown, once white and now swamped in blood.

“You think killing us will pave your way?” Nate heard his mother’s nervous laughter, rather unnatural in fear. “I doubt if you even know who or what the Last Mage is, yet you are stretching your dirty hands into the darkness in search of a myth that doesn’t even exist!”

One of them cut her off with his hoarse voice. “You think you are so smart Catherine, and we are a bunch of fools?” The voice was known, much known but Nate was too afraid to think clearly. “You Clayworths have distracted us much in this matter and now we have enough reasons for support. Your lies won’t work anymore.”

“What a shame,” Catherine said in a nervous voice, struggling to keep it firm. “Keepers, protectors of innocents, hailed as heroes. Where’s your honor now?”

“Pity,” replied the same voice that was speaking before, “we are not heroes to those who betray the Council. Your husband should have thought about that before he decided to go against us.”

“My husband only did what was right. He was holding onto his Keeper’s honor, unlike you,” Catherine spit the words at them.

“Enough,” another man roared. “Enough of your games. We know the truth of the blood running through your dark veins. Clayworths’ bloodline should end now with the last Mage.”

1st 5 Pages May Workshop - Noser Rev 2

Name: Ann M. Noser
Genre: YA fantasy, 61,000 word count
Title: Desiderata


Prologue – To Find the Perfect Girl

Wesley’s hands trembled as solutions in glass flasks percolated. Yellow, orange, and green fluids coursed through tubing and collected in glass beakers.

Please be a match.

The collected samples of hair from the prince and the maiden in question curled together in a small cauldron upon the tripod. Wesley carefully added the distilled concoctions, turned up the flame underneath, then stepped back.

The cauldron steamed in the sweltering laboratory. As the experiment rose to a boil, Wesley’s heart raced. His unruly hair fell into his eyes. He swiped the damp strands away before extinguishing the flame. He watched the solution cool as sweat ran down his neck.

Please be red. Put an end to this.

The fluid continued to bubble for a long while, turning from purple to pink to...

It’s going to be red! She’s the one! I am saved!

With a loud belch, the solution curdled and turned black. And stayed that way.

Wesley dropped his head in his hands.

I better warn that sweet girl before Duncan gets a hold of her.


Chapter One – The Prince Needs a Wife


Maria heard the front door slam. Her nap interrupted, she rubbed her eyes and glanced around the wood-paneled library. Her younger sister Anna leaned over their father’s shoulder as he sat in his favorite forest green chair. Anna’s finger trailed a great river across the map which lay open on his massive wooden desk.

I love this room. It’s so quiet and peaceful here. Nobody’s yelling at me: “Maria—sit up straight and fix your hair!” or “Maria—tighten your corset before Lady Peafowl tells everyone you’ve gained weight!”.

Maria tensed as footfalls approached the library door. Oh no, here she comes…

A few seconds later, Mother Leon burst into the library. “Oh, my dears—I have such news for you!”

Maria yawned and stretched in the window seat. “What is it, Mother?”

“The prince is coming!” Mother Leon announced.

“Here?” Maria eyed the cluttered bookshelves, worn furniture, and faded tapestries. The prince had been touring Desiderata for the last two years in search of a suitable wife, but Maria had never thought he would come to their home.

Mother Leon sighed. “No, of course not, dear. He’s been invited to the Pekipsies’ estate for their annual Summer Festival.”

Father Leon glanced up from his large book of maps. “They’re the only family around here with enough gold to impress royalty. Your mother almost married into the Pekipsie family. Did you girls know that?”

Mother Leon shook her head. “No need to dig into the past, dear. I’m more concerned about the girls’ future.” She turned to her daughters with a gleam in her eyes. “Anna’s fifteen, the perfect age to be presented! And, Maria, all of the young men have already seen you and…nothing’s come of it.” Mother Leon cleared her throat. “Maria, step forward, please.”

She left the window seat and stood before her mother, trying her best to hide a stain in the back of her dress from where she’d sat in the damp grass earlier that morning.

“What happened to your dress?” Mother Leon shrilled. “You’re more careless now than you were as a child, I swear!”

Maria’s cheeks burned as her mother dismissed her and turned to evaluate Anna, who somehow always looked perfect.

“Anna, my dear, your golden hair glows like the sun and your waist is smaller than mine was at your age.” Mother Leon circled her youngest daughter like a cat. “Let’s see what we can do to make you look your best at the Festival.”

Anna turned frightened eyes towards her older sister. “Help me,” she mouthed.

***


An hour later, Maria crept along the hallway to her parents’ bedroom. She carefully pressed her ear to the door.

“We’re not in the poor house yet,” Mother Leon pleaded. “We still have our pride. This is Anna’s chance at a royal marriage!”

“Where do you think we’ll end up, if you spend the last of our borrowed gold on gowns for the girls?” Father Leon grumbled.

“Then we will only get a new gown for Anna. If she marries Prince Bane, it will put an end to all of our troubles.”

Maria hurried down the hall. She burst into her bedroom, slammed the door shut, and fought back tears. Bright afternoon sunlight fell through the window and caught on the vanity mirror. Maria gazed at her reflection. A tall girl, almost a woman, with long auburn hair and intelligent blue eyes stared back.

She watched herself swipe at the smudge of dirt on her cheek, the leaf stuck in her hair, and the scrape on her elbow. Then Maria frowned and moved away from the vanity. As she passed by the window, she noticed Anna working in the garden.

***


Blue skies cheered Maria’s spirits as she hurried outside, but one glance at her sister’s face told her she didn’t feel the same. “Anna, are you okay? You look like you’re about to cry.”

“Maria…” Anna took a shuddering breath. “I don’t want to go to the Summer Festival.”

“Why not? It was loads of fun last year.”

Anna shrugged. “For you, maybe. But there’s so many people there, all staring at me, and waiting for me to say something clever…but I never know what to say to them.”

“Then stick by me, and I’ll be clever enough for both of us.” Maria grinned.

Anna attempted a weak smile, but faltered. “Besides…I don’t like the way Mother looks at me, like I’m the fattened pig about to be slaughtered.”

Maria chuckled. “It’s better than the way she looks at me—like I’m the spider she forgot to kill before important company came over.”

“That’s not true! Mother loves us both the same!”

“If you say so. Now move over—you over-trimmed that arbor vitae.”

“No, I didn’t.” Anna shook her head. “The deer got in here again.”

Maria sighed. “We’ve gotta fix that gate. Come on and give me a hand. Or two.”

Both girls grappled with the broken gate. Finally, after much sweating and swearing (both on Maria’s part, Anna did nothing of the sort), Maria gave the gate a final heft and slid the bolt back into place.

Maria grinned. “That’ll keep those thieving buggars out!”

“They’re just hungry—you know how that feels.”

“I don’t care. They have to find their meals somewhere else. We’ll be the ones to starve if they don’t.” Maria smeared the newest dirty spot on her gown, making it even worse than before.

“Look at you!” Anna gasped. “You’ve ruined another dress! Mother will have a fit!”

“Don’t I know it! Oh, bother, there’s no point.” Maria stopped fussing with her dress and moved over to examine the sparse arbor vitae. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and brushed her open hands slowly back and forth across the branches. Soon, fresh greenery filled up the gaps.

“Be careful, Maria.” Anna glanced around. “What if someone sees you?”

“Who would see me? There’s no one out here but us.”

“I hope you’re right. You know what they say about us in town.”

Maria snorted. “You worry too much, Anna. What could they possibly say? That it’s a pity to see a noble family reduced to selling berries to get by? That it must be magic we can grow anything in here with our fence in shambles and a broken gate?”

Anna smiled. “At least that much is true.”

“You know what they really say about us, Anna? Nothing. No one even notices us anymore. That’s what comes from being poor. Now come on, we should fix that hole in the fence, too.”

1st 5 Pages May Workshop - Campen Rev 2

CAMPEN – Revision 2
Genre: Upper Middle Grade, coming-of-age story
Title: Riding Double


Dad drove slowly through the Malibu hills, ignoring the line of cars bunched up behind us. Our old truck couldn’t go any faster, not while pulling our horse trailer along the steep, curving roadway.

“There!” I pointed at a sign for Creekside Riding Club just as the engine started thudding loudly, a signal it was overheating. Dad turned onto the Club’s gravel driveway and coasted to a stop under a canyon oak that stood beside the main riding arena. I leaned forward and cranked down my window, thankful for the tree’s shade.

Dad opened his door and stretched out his legs. “This pony sounds like a good deal,” he said. “Even better, the seller doesn’t know beans about horses. We can use the dead pony story on him.”

I sighed, thumping back against the seat. Dad looked over and grinned at me. “Aw now, it’s just a little play-acting to get the price down. All part of the horse-trading business—right, partner?”

“Right, partner,” I said, trying to sound game.

In the riding arena six pokey old lesson horses trotted in a dusty circle, ridden by girls my age dressed in stylish riding breeches, clean white shirts, and velvet hunt caps. None of them could ride worth a hoot—they jerked and bounced, their elbows flapping like chicken wings.

I was wearing blue jeans and a pink tee-shirt, with my hair braided in pigtails. Ridiculous, considering I’d turned fourteen last month. But on horse-shopping trips Dad wanted me to look like a child, because sellers got soft-hearted about girls and ponies. A price might drop fifty dollars if I acted sad when Dad said a pony cost too much.

A fancy station wagon with fake wood paneling on the side drove past us. The driver parked and walked toward our truck, stepping carefully around a pile of horse manure in the dirt. Instead of boots, he wore loafers with little tassels on them. “That’s our guy,” Dad said. “Dead pony story, definitely.”

Dad jumped out of the truck, smiling like a goof. “Hi, I’m Joe Coogan. This is my daughter, Sunny.”

“James Smith.” The man shook Dad’s hand. “The pony’s this way. We bought her two years ago but now my daughter’s lost interest. She hasn’t ridden in months.”

Dad started his act. “Heck, I wish Sunny would lose interest. I don’t know much about horses, I grow oranges.” Another part of the act; it was our neighbors, the Frantelli’s, who owned an orange grove. “Still, she wants a pony. She had a great one, a real trooper. He died last week.”

That was my cue. I looked down, dragging my boots in the dirt, pretending to feel sad about a pony who never existed.

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Smith said. He placed his hand briefly on my shoulder as we walked behind the barn to a small dirt paddock. The little mare inside pricked up her ears, watching us. She had knots in her mane and mud caked on her side, but she was cute, a bright chestnut color with four flashy white socks. She stood at least fourteen hands high, a large pony, which was good because I took after Dad in height.

“Here’s Cricket,” Mr. Smith said. He didn’t make a move to open the gate.

“She’s a pretty little thing.” Dad picked up a halter that hung on the fence and handed it to me. “Can Sunny bring her out?”

Cricket acted like a brat, yanking at the lead rope and pawing the ground while I brushed her. She pinned her ears, threatening to bite when I tightened the girth on her saddle. It didn’t bother me. The horses we bought weren’t perfect—that’s why we got them cheap. Some of them had been mistreated, but most had simply been mishandled, allowed to act rude for too long. Horses are geniuses at figuring out who’s the leader. If you don’t act like a leader, they’re happy to take over. It doesn’t mean they’re bad.

I led Cricket as we all walked toward the arena, where the riding class now clustered at one end of the ring, taking turns trotting over a small jump. I heard the clunk of lazy hooves hitting the wooden jump pole as the lesson horses ambled over it. Cricket jerked her head, tugging at the reins, trying to walk faster.

Mr. Smith stopped and leaned on the arena fence while Dad walked inside with me. “This pony is half-wild with boredom,” he said in a low voice. “She’s gonna act up—let her.” He cupped his hands and gave me a leg up.

Cricket zoomed off like her tail was on fire when my butt hit the saddle. I gave her a loose rein—it wasn’t fair to start working her right away, not after she’d been cooped up in her tiny paddock for months. She cantered a half-dozen fast, large circles before stretching her head down and snorting, a sign she was starting to relax. I loved these first moments with a horse, figuring out their personality, finding a way to work together. I stroked her neck and took up the reins; she tossed her head but listened, slowing to a trot. We circled in both directions, halted, backed up, then cantered again.

Dad arched his eyebrows in a silent question when I rode by. I nodded and settled down to the part of my job I hated. I needed to get Cricket to do something bad, something Dad could use to bargain with Mr. Smith. Fooling people was one thing, but fooling a horse seemed downright puny. Horses never lied, or pretended to be something they weren’t.

I asked Cricket to trot, then shortened the reins, making the bit bump her mouth with every stride. I squeezed with my legs. I was asking her to do two different things at once. Pulling on the reins meant stop; my legs said go.

Cricket pranced sideways, trying to figure out what I wanted. Then she got mad. She flattened her ears and did the best thing possible. She bucked. Not a big buck, just a little crow-hop. I could have stayed on, easy, but let myself topple over her shoulder into the soft dirt.

“You OK Sunny?” Dad called.

“Yes,” I yelled. I stood up, making a big show of brushing dirt off my jeans while Cricket trotted toward the other horses. The lesson girls stared at me open-mouthed, like they’d never seen anyone fall before. I hated this part, too, acting like I couldn’t ride. I trudged to the end of the ring and caught Cricket.

Back at the railing, Mr. Smith was apologizing to Dad. “I’ve never seen her do that before.”

“Gosh,” said Dad. “I didn’t realize she bucked. Three hundred dollars seems high—we’d have to find a trainer to work with her. Do you like her, Sunny?”

“Oh yes, Daddy,” I said, stroking Cricket’s nose. That part was true. I just wished she was bigger. I was tired of riding ponies too small for me, ones I knew would be sold as soon as possible.

Mr. Smith frowned. One tasseled loafer tapped in the dirt. I knew what he was thinking—he’d have to keep paying the stable bill until Cricket sold, whether or not his daughter rode. A fancy stable like Creekside probably cost a hundred dollars a month, at least.

1st 5 Pages May Workshop - McTavish Rev 2

Dayna McTavish
YA Urban Fantasy
Supergeek

The second week of school it becomes obvious PE is going to be my downfall. Coach Marshall, evil fiend in tiny man shorts, is out to get me, for reasons that aren’t yet clear.
Marshall has all thirty of us lined up at the beginning of class, ready and waiting for our next stupid assignment.
“Alright kids.” Marshall blows sharply on his whistle, a volleyball cradled against his hip. For the last two days we’ve been practicing how to set, serve and bump. I’ve spent most of my time avoiding the ball as much as possible. “We’re scrimmaging today, everyone get on your courts.”
Coach starts directing people and I automatically head over to my usual PE group—my asthmatic friend Jane, Weird Cape Billy and the kid who wears a helmet. My people.
“Talis, you’re over there today.” Coach points to the last court, where all the BP (Beautiful People) are congregated.
“But I’m always over here.” There’s no way in hell I’m going over there.
“Not today.” He looks at me but I don’t move. “NOW!” Tiny flecks of spittle shot out his mouth so I know he’s serious.
I walk over slowly, finding a place to stand on the outer edge of the group. Everyone else is ignoring me, they’re talking or looking at their nails or throwing volleyballs at each other. Jake Buchanan runs around acting like he’s going to depants everyone. This isn’t so bad. I can handle this.
“Are you lost little girl?” Shawna Soto is staring at me, a sickly sweet smile on her face that no one would mistake for nice. Shawna, tyrant of the sophomore class, master of the well-timed slut bomb, purveyor of eating disorders, is talking to me.
“I. . .” Can’t talk. My tongue is frozen in my mouth.
“That’s a cute shirt.” She points to my t-shirt, which is plain and gray and nondescript, except for a little bunny on the lower corner of the shirt that I thought was cute. “Did you find that in the children’s section?”
Okay, here’s the thing. Puberty has not been kind to me. Still waiting for it to get in touch. I can’t help it if I look like an underfed sixth grader.
“Shawna, how bout you dial back the bitch a little?” Cole says. Shawna and I both turn to stare at him in shock. Cole and I have been neighbors since elementary school but we don’t exactly get together now to braid each other’s hair. Except for an occasional hi in the hall last year he’s pretty much ignored me since jr. high. Shawna laughs, like it was all just a joke. Cole’s kind of got that untouchable sex god thing going. Even Shawna wouldn’t mess with him. Cole smiles at me but I’m too stunned to be grateful.
“Okay, people.” Marshall blows his whistle and motions us onto our volleyball courts.
I somehow end up between Jake and Cole, which is good because Jake is more than happy to field all the balls that come into our area. Shawna’s up to serve and when she hits the ball into my territory, Jake steps back to take it. I get out of his way, veering sideways and accidentally knocking into Cole. He grabs my waist to steady me.
“Dude, watch out,” he says to Jake. “You’re forcing ladies to run me over.” He leans in, his breath tickling my ear. “Nice work, Skee Mee. Way to get in the mix there.” He pats me on the hip before letting me go.
I stumble away, unhappy to hear a nickname I hoped died in elementary school. I concentrate on staring ahead, like my life depends on paying attention to volleyball.
“Skee Mee,” Cole says. Ugh, there it is again, that nickname. Cole has been my neighbor since elementary school, when his dad gave me the nickname “Skinny Minny.” Cole adapted it, calling me a lot of things—Skinny, Skin Min, Skins, Skee, Skeezy Breezy, until finally settling on Skee Mee as the winner.
“Skee,” he singsongs. Even though I don’t look at him, I can hear it in his voice, like he thinks he’s doing me a favor by talking to me. Giving me something to write about in my diary when I go home tonight. “Oh, silly Skee.”
I can’t hear you.
“Come on, Skins.” He stretches his arm out, halfheartedly trying to reach my shoulder. “We’re about two feet from each other. I know you can hear me.”
I freeze in place, like if I don’t move he’ll go away. What’s up with him? All of a sudden he defends me from Shawna and we’re best friends or something?
“Talis.” He drops the teasing tone.
“What—” I turn to look at him and a volleyball smacks me in the side of the face.
Everyone on our court bursts out laughing. For a second, I’m not really sure what happened. I look down at the floor, where the offending volleyball is lying at my feet. Jake stops laughing long enough to scoop it up and send it back under the net to Shawna.
The first assault might have been an accident, but because it’s greeted with such enthusiasm Shawna serves it to me again. And again. And again.
The next time she serves, I deflect so it only hits me in the arm. And the third time I try to avoid it completely. It turns into a sadistic game. No matter where I move on the court to hide, she’s there to find me. It’s like she’s possessed with the demon of incredible aim. This is exactly why I stick to my court. It would be hard for the helmet kid to do this to me.
No way is anyone going to help me hit the ball back, considering all the humorous times we’re having watching me get pummeled. When Coach finally notices what’s happening, he becomes enraged. At me.
“Hit it, Brooks!” he screams. He’s acting like this is the final round of the volleyball Olympics and because of me the US is going to lose the gold to Russia. I miss the next serve completely, swinging at air. The crowd titters. This almost sends Coach over the edge.
“Again!” He waves at Shawna to serve.
I look around, and everyone is staring, most of them smirking.
“Just try to hit it back,” Cole says, which irritates me. What does he think I’ve been doing?
Shawna makes a big show of bouncing the ball on the floor, picking it up and palming it in her hand. A few people giggle nervously. When she’s ready, she throws it and gives it a good whack, sending it hurtling over the net.
Please, please, just let me hit it. I silently pray to the god of sports or socially humiliating moments. Really, I’ll take whoever’s listening.
I close my eyes and swing, and like one of those kids in a sports movie who comes through at the last minute, connect with the ball. My eyes pop open as I feel the ball hit my arms. For a second I can almost hear the inspirational music. Until the volleyball shoots off my arm and hits Coach in the face.

1st 5 Pages May Workshop - Lambert Rev 2

Jeannie Lambert
Young Adult
LEFT SIDE OF THE TRUTH


Chapter 1

And five-thousand. KaBOOM! Lightning is one mile too close. “Missed
me.” Rolling my eyes and waggling my tongue is a bold move, habit,
considering I’m a teenager caught on top of Devil’s Cellar. This craggy
cliff has a hole reputed for consuming anyone close to the edge. I could
almost hear God say, “This time.”

Before today my biggest hike was cutting across the empty lot. Getting
away was my purpose, but I didn’t have a destination. Running away was
the easy part. But I lacked an exit strategy leaving everyone behind who
could tell me what to do next. I purposely punish myself by hiking up,
scrambling, falling and here I am with yoda versions of spindly pines.
The weathered, scrappy trees were clinging to any crevice. I too
continued to cling, hoping for a do over. My parents will go orbital
over seeing my picture in the dollar publication, Slammer. It is
inevitable after the hit and run. I had to get away before they came and
locked me up. My parents will never understand. They take everything so
seriously, family monopoly night isn’t complete until someone cries.

Circling the drain, cloud vapors funnel around that hungry, gaping hole.
Surrounding me, that last strike came from the ground up. Dense fog has
come in magician style and temporarily erased my legs from view.

Flash – a light casts its spider-fine net across the infinity-edged sky
drawing back a catch of cumulus clouds. The light is strangely soothing.
But I could do without the _ BOOM! Hearing is the last thing to go.
Must not be dead yet, no such luck. Running away is a rush. No one knows
I’m here, yet I feel as if I’m being chased. Now a few hours later, my
heart is slower. Inversely my thoughts are racing. Wishing to die is
taking too long, I’m bored.

Thunder is scary especially when it is so close while I am far away from
home. Curled up around a rusty old rhododendron root is my new worst
day. Lightning used to be my heebie-jeebie. Not anymore, facing certain
death from a lightning bolt is better than parents. Impulsive me left
everything behind except for my favorite white powdered doughnut. The
doughnut, my life, everything disintegrated into a gooey pocket mess.

Too quiet, even the drips of rain amplify with each splat. The distant
muffled sound of thunder don’t disturb a spider rush hour darting along
my sit spot. Blowing them off me only creates a temporary spider free
zone. Sensing something, I look up. Surprised to see the towering shape
of a boy in the clothes of a hefty man backlit from the lightning. All
muscles contract, I’m unsure what to do. He stumbles, buts gets back up.
Through the patchy fog he heads straight for me. Head down he picks his
way over the roots. Watching him, holding my breath, I expect him to
find me in less than nine more steps. He stops at two. I don’t want to
give up and come willingly out from behind, not yet. Drawing his head up
he looks directly at me, through me, before he turns away and simply
starts peeing.

Peeking through the gaps in my fingers, I channeled my inner safety
patrol and yelled, “that’s not a toilet don’t you know.”

Jumping back as if snake bit, the lanky boy pinched off the stream and
zipped up the offending source. “I know, but I thought this is in the
middle of nowhere.” He shuffles quickly behind the closest tree.
Moments later he emerges from behind the tree, presentable, “you startled
me,” he accuses.

“Well I didn’t want you to point that thing at me,” avoiding an imagined
downhill stream of yellow, I uncoiled from my fetal position.

“What are you…?”

“I’m a girl, stupid.”

“I know you are a girl, but what are you doing here?”

“I ran away. You found me. But, I’m not going back with you.” My eye
twitched defiantly. This internal lie detector tried to give me away.

“I found a place to pee, not you. You don’t look much like you’re running.”

This apathetic male form did anything but discourage me. Who does he
think he is? Angry with him, a piece of me came back, more alive.

“Don’t you want to know why I’m here?”

“Nope, I’m not interested.” He pulled out a canteen of water drinking in
gulps, spilling most of it.

“I need to tell you why I ran away,” tugging on a vine, my voice cracked
and the vine tumbled down.

“I couldn’t care less. Shush.” His head bobbed from side to side. “I have
enough to worry about.”

And I thought I was the only one so tortured and misunderstood. “I guess
I’ll come with you.”

“I’m not asking. Yeah, I think they are getting closer. You must be their
BOLO.”

“BOLO?”

“Yeah, it is short for Be On the Lookout. You must be their subject. I
heard a pack of yelping dogs a bit back. They can be a little slow, but
their steady once they get your scent. Save your story for the Boiling
Springs Rescue Squad, maybe they care enough to hear why. Stay here and
they’ll find you.”

“What’s your name?”

Darting away he called, “Runaway.”

“Wait.” Take me with you. I thought but did not say. Hiking in the
Appalachian Mountains is like spinning in a Maytag washer with undulating
hills snarled by rhododendron. He slipped around, between to the beyond.
Leaving me, I felt more than alone, lonely.

I wanted to tell him that I’m not the only one, everyone lies. So easy
and it beats getting into trouble.

Only now, perched on this ledge with lightning flashing around me, makes
me change my mind. I’m fixing to be a human spark plug. This wasn’t part
of the plan. Flash! Crash! That one was closer. My hair is standing on
end and that freaky blue glow is coming out of my electrified fingers.
God, please don’t give up on me. Don’t strike me down, not now. I’ll
fix it. BOOM! Blackness splashes over me and I sense someone near.

“Promise?” asked God.

“Pinky-swear promise,” I answered.


Chapter 2

Something was different.

The earth crested, forcing a pulse into my chest rippling with a breath.
Air inflated my lungs once again. My soggy, zippered eye lashes obscured
someone leaning over me, shaking my shoulder.

“_” that boy lip-synced, but nothing came out.

I shook my head and said, “I can’t hear you.”

He pointed to the sky then to me.

“Was I hit by lightning?”

He nodded his head. He pointed to where I had been before waking up – 20
feet away.

“I am alive?” Convulsing with shivers, unable to stop, I felt grateful
drops of tears puddle.

His hand fumbled to grasp mine. He gave me a squeeze, a lifeline pulling
me back in the present. He gestured charade-like that he was going to
get someone to help.

“Do you want me to stay here?”

Nodding, he got up, picking his way around the dense branches. Lumbering
down the mountain, he set out.

This time when he left I didn’t feel lonely. Exuberance percolated
through me. God didn’t, so I wouldn’t, give up on me. Now I have a
chance to fix it. The right side of the truth is not to tell a lie. The
left side is what I will tell you now.

Chapter 3

A thunderstorm will more than likely hover at noon throughout the summer
in Boiling Springs. Just take a pitcher of water and pour it down the
nape of my neck. A raincoat is useless. I’ll either get soaked from the
shower or pour the sweat in the 100% humidity. It begins in April and
ends in August a long five months. Call me Madame Jesse because all I
have to say is “it is fixing to rain,” and it will at some time each day.
Everyone obsesses about the weather – anNoying. Can’t anyone find
something more important to talk about?

“Jesse do you have your raingear with you?”

“Of course mother, whatever, I’ve got to get to school,” I said.

Her questions are more than what they seem. A simple, “How much homework
do you have?” on Friday sets my destiny. “A lot” gets me a pass from
pulling weeds but I best not ask to go to the movies. “Not much” means I
get to go to the movies, but I’m also expected to help until the
housework and gardening are finished.

“It is only 645. Don’t you have plenty of time?” asked mom. See what I mean.

“Melanie’s meeting me early.”

“And why do I see your rain coat hanging up in the mud room,” said mom
nonchalantly ignoring my little white lie.

“I don’t need it.” See I’m a normal teenager with a healthy disrespect.

“Be careful, a storm is coming. Fred from the Weather Channel said we’ve
already had 30 inches of rain this month. It is a little known fact that
we live in a virtual rain forest. In fact Vietnam and Boiling Springs are
similar because,” shouted dad shrouded in his den.

“We share the same weather,” I said simultaneously with dad. How couldn’t
I know that? Surprise – he’s only told me that a million times.

My dad is a weather geek. The Weather Channel is the white noise that
fills up the house. He calls it resting; I call it sleep. Pasty white,
ozone-y smelling dad is winding down after his night shift at the nuclear
plant. He is an isolation experiment; once a year he goes outside during
vacation even if he doesn’t have to. He is all about the weather as long
as he doesn’t have to feel it.

“You don’t have wear it, but you must take it because I said so,” said
mom. “Remember I’m out of town starting next week. I won’t be here to
remind you.”

“Mom …” We were back on the raincoat. She is always telling me what to
do. Nagging is her specialty; she goes orbital over the smallest things.
I’ll get a reprieve while she finishes her thesis. She has to go to some
island and study the local people. I’ll bet she nags them too. I’ll miss
her, but at least I get a break. There was nothing left to say. No one
wins an argument with my mom.

Every day I have to audition to be a member of my family and friends. I
only get to stay if I do what they say. When will I ever get to do what I
want?

First 5 Pages May Workshop - Noser Rev 2

Name: Ann M. Noser
Genre: YA fantasy, 61,000 word count
Title: Desiderata


Prologue – To Find the Perfect Girl

Wesley’s hands trembled as solutions in glass flasks percolated. Yellow, orange, and green fluids coursed through tubing and collected in glass beakers.

Please be a match.

The collected samples of hair from the prince and the maiden in question curled together in a small cauldron upon the tripod. Wesley carefully added the distilled concoctions, turned up the flame underneath, then stepped back.

The cauldron steamed in the sweltering laboratory. As the experiment rose to a boil, Wesley’s heart raced. His unruly hair fell into his eyes. He swiped the damp strands away before extinguishing the flame. He watched the solution cool as sweat ran down his neck.

Please be red. Put an end to this.

The fluid continued to bubble for a long while, turning from purple to pink to...

It’s going to be red! She’s the one! I am saved!

With a loud belch, the solution curdled and turned black. And stayed that way.

Wesley dropped his head in his hands.

I better warn that sweet girl before Duncan gets a hold of her.


Chapter One – The Prince Needs a Wife


Maria heard the front door slam. Her nap interrupted, she rubbed her eyes and glanced around the wood-paneled library. Her younger sister Anna leaned over their father’s shoulder as he sat in his favorite forest green chair. Anna’s finger trailed a great river across the map which lay open on his massive wooden desk.

I love this room. It’s so quiet and peaceful here. Nobody’s yelling at me: “Maria—sit up straight and fix your hair!” or “Maria—tighten your corset before Lady Peafowl tells everyone you’ve gained weight!”.

Maria tensed as footfalls approached the library door. Oh no, here she comes…

A few seconds later, Mother Leon burst into the library. “Oh, my dears—I have such news for you!”

Maria yawned and stretched in the window seat. “What is it, Mother?”

“The prince is coming!” Mother Leon announced.

“Here?” Maria eyed the cluttered bookshelves, worn furniture, and faded tapestries. The prince had been touring Desiderata for the last two years in search of a suitable wife, but Maria had never thought he would come to their home.

Mother Leon sighed. “No, of course not, dear. He’s been invited to the Pekipsies’ estate for their annual Summer Festival.”

Father Leon glanced up from his large book of maps. “They’re the only family around here with enough gold to impress royalty. Your mother almost married into the Pekipsie family. Did you girls know that?”

Mother Leon shook her head. “No need to dig into the past, dear. I’m more concerned about the girls’ future.” She turned to her daughters with a gleam in her eyes. “Anna’s fifteen, the perfect age to be presented! And, Maria, all of the young men have already seen you and…nothing’s come of it.” Mother Leon cleared her throat. “Maria, step forward, please.”

She left the window seat and stood before her mother, trying her best to hide a stain in the back of her dress from where she’d sat in the damp grass earlier that morning.

“What happened to your dress?” Mother Leon shrilled. “You’re more careless now than you were as a child, I swear!”

Maria’s cheeks burned as her mother dismissed her and turned to evaluate Anna, who somehow always looked perfect.

“Anna, my dear, your golden hair glows like the sun and your waist is smaller than mine was at your age.” Mother Leon circled her youngest daughter like a cat. “Let’s see what we can do to make you look your best at the Festival.”

Anna turned frightened eyes towards her older sister. “Help me,” she mouthed.

***


An hour later, Maria crept along the hallway to her parents’ bedroom. She carefully pressed her ear to the door.

“We’re not in the poor house yet,” Mother Leon pleaded. “We still have our pride. This is Anna’s chance at a royal marriage!”

“Where do you think we’ll end up, if you spend the last of our borrowed gold on gowns for the girls?” Father Leon grumbled.

“Then we will only get a new gown for Anna. If she marries Prince Bane, it will put an end to all of our troubles.”

Maria hurried down the hall. She burst into her bedroom, slammed the door shut, and fought back tears. Bright afternoon sunlight fell through the window and caught on the vanity mirror. Maria gazed at her reflection. A tall girl, almost a woman, with long auburn hair and intelligent blue eyes stared back.

She watched herself swipe at the smudge of dirt on her cheek, the leaf stuck in her hair, and the scrape on her elbow. Then Maria frowned and moved away from the vanity. As she passed by the window, she noticed Anna working in the garden.

***


Blue skies cheered Maria’s spirits as she hurried outside, but one glance at her sister’s face told her she didn’t feel the same. “Anna, are you okay? You look like you’re about to cry.”

“Maria…” Anna took a shuddering breath. “I don’t want to go to the Summer Festival.”

“Why not? It was loads of fun last year.”

Anna shrugged. “For you, maybe. But there’s so many people there, all staring at me, and waiting for me to say something clever…but I never know what to say to them.”

“Then stick by me, and I’ll be clever enough for both of us.” Maria grinned.

Anna attempted a weak smile, but faltered. “Besides…I don’t like the way Mother looks at me, like I’m the fattened pig about to be slaughtered.”

Maria chuckled. “It’s better than the way she looks at me—like I’m the spider she forgot to kill before important company came over.”

“That’s not true! Mother loves us both the same!”

“If you say so. Now move over—you over-trimmed that arbor vitae.”

“No, I didn’t.” Anna shook her head. “The deer got in here again.”

Maria sighed. “We’ve gotta fix that gate. Come on and give me a hand. Or two.”

Both girls grappled with the broken gate. Finally, after much sweating and swearing (both on Maria’s part, Anna did nothing of the sort), Maria gave the gate a final heft and slid the bolt back into place.

Maria grinned. “That’ll keep those thieving buggars out!”

“They’re just hungry—you know how that feels.”

“I don’t care. They have to find their meals somewhere else. We’ll be the ones to starve if they don’t.” Maria smeared the newest dirty spot on her gown, making it even worse than before.

“Look at you!” Anna gasped. “You’ve ruined another dress! Mother will have a fit!”

“Don’t I know it! Oh, bother, there’s no point.” Maria stopped fussing with her dress and moved over to examine the sparse arbor vitae. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and brushed her open hands slowly back and forth across the branches. Soon, fresh greenery filled up the gaps.

“Be careful, Maria.” Anna glanced around. “What if someone sees you?”

“Who would see me? There’s no one out here but us.”

“I hope you’re right. You know what they say about us in town.”

Maria snorted. “You worry too much, Anna. What could they possibly say? That it’s a pity to see a noble family reduced to selling berries to get by? That it must be magic we can grow anything in here with our fence in shambles and a broken gate?”

Anna smiled. “At least that much is true.”

“You know what they really say about us, Anna? Nothing. No one even notices us anymore. That’s what comes from being poor. Now come on, we should fix that hole in the fence, too.”

First 5 Pages May Workshop - Campen Rev 2

CAMPEN

Genre: Upper Middle Grade, coming-of-age story

Title: Riding Double



Dad drove slowly through the Malibu hills, ignoring the line of cars bunched up behind us. Our old truck couldn’t go any faster, not while pulling our horse trailer along the steep, curving roadway.

“There!” I pointed at a sign for Creekside Riding Club just as the engine started thudding loudly, a signal it was overheating. Dad turned onto the Club’s gravel driveway and coasted to a stop under a canyon oak that stood beside the main riding arena. I leaned forward and cranked down my window, thankful for the tree’s shade.

Dad opened his door and stretched out his legs. “This pony sounds like a good deal,” he said. “Even better, the seller doesn’t know beans about horses. We can use the dead pony story on him.”

I sighed, thumping back against the seat. Dad looked over and grinned at me. “Aw now, it’s just a little play-acting to get the price down. All part of the horse-trading business—right, partner?”

“Right, partner,” I said, trying to sound game.

In the riding arena six pokey old lesson horses trotted in a dusty circle, ridden by girls my age dressed in stylish riding breeches, clean white shirts, and velvet hunt caps. None of them could ride worth a hoot—they jerked and bounced, their elbows flapping like chicken wings.

I was wearing blue jeans and a pink tee-shirt, with my hair braided in pigtails. Ridiculous, considering I’d turned fourteen last month. But on horse-shopping trips Dad wanted me to look like a child, because sellers got soft-hearted about girls and ponies. A price might drop fifty dollars if I acted sad when Dad said a pony cost too much.

A fancy station wagon with fake wood paneling on the side drove past us. The driver parked and walked toward our truck, stepping carefully around a pile of horse manure in the dirt. Instead of boots, he wore loafers with little tassels on them. “That’s our guy,” Dad said. “Dead pony story, definitely.”

Dad jumped out of the truck, smiling like a goof. “Hi, I’m Joe Coogan. This is my daughter, Sunny.”

“James Smith.” The man shook Dad’s hand. “The pony’s this way. We bought her two years ago but now my daughter’s lost interest. She hasn’t ridden in months.”

Dad started his act. “Heck, I wish Sunny would lose interest. I don’t know much about horses, I grow oranges.” Another part of the act; it was our neighbors, the Frantelli’s, who owned an orange grove. “Still, she wants a pony. She had a great one, a real trooper. He died last week.”

That was my cue. I looked down, dragging my boots in the dirt, pretending to feel sad about a pony who never existed.

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Smith said. He placed his hand briefly on my shoulder as we walked behind the barn to a small dirt paddock. The little mare inside pricked up her ears, watching us. She had knots in her mane and mud caked on her side, but she was cute, a bright chestnut color with four flashy white socks. She stood at least fourteen hands high, a large pony, which was good because I took after Dad in height.

“Here’s Cricket,” Mr. Smith said. He didn’t make a move to open the gate.

“She’s a pretty little thing.” Dad picked up a halter that hung on the fence and handed it to me. “Can Sunny bring her out?”

Cricket acted like a brat, yanking at the lead rope and pawing the ground while I brushed her. She pinned her ears, threatening to bite when I tightened the girth on her saddle. It didn’t bother me. The horses we bought weren’t perfect—that’s why we got them cheap. Some of them had been mistreated, but most had simply been mishandled, allowed to act rude for too long. Horses are geniuses at figuring out who’s the leader. If you don’t act like a leader, they’re happy to take over. It doesn’t mean they’re bad.

I led Cricket as we all walked toward the arena, where the riding class now clustered at one end of the ring, taking turns trotting over a small jump. I heard the clunk of lazy hooves hitting the wooden jump pole as the lesson horses ambled over it. Cricket jerked her head, tugging at the reins, trying to walk faster.

Mr. Smith stopped and leaned on the arena fence while Dad walked inside with me. “This pony is half-wild with boredom,” he said in a low voice. “She’s gonna act up—let her.” He cupped his hands and gave me a leg up.

Cricket zoomed off like her tail was on fire when my butt hit the saddle. I gave her a loose rein—it wasn’t fair to start working her right away, not after she’d been cooped up in her tiny paddock for months. She cantered a half-dozen fast, large circles before stretching her head down and snorting, a sign she was starting to relax. I loved these first moments with a horse, figuring out their personality, finding a way to work together. I stroked her neck and took up the reins; she tossed her head but listened, slowing to a trot. We circled in both directions, halted, backed up, then cantered again.

Dad arched his eyebrows in a silent question when I rode by. I nodded and settled down to the part of my job I hated. I needed to get Cricket to do something bad, something Dad could use to bargain with Mr. Smith. Fooling people was one thing, but fooling a horse seemed downright puny. Horses never lied, or pretended to be something they weren’t.

I asked Cricket to trot, then shortened the reins, making the bit bump her mouth with every stride. I squeezed with my legs. I was asking her to do two different things at once. Pulling on the reins meant stop; my legs said go.

Cricket pranced sideways, trying to figure out what I wanted. Then she got mad. She flattened her ears and did the best thing possible. She bucked. Not a big buck, just a little crow-hop. I could have stayed on, easy, but let myself topple over her shoulder into the soft dirt.

“You OK Sunny?” Dad called.

“Yes,” I yelled. I stood up, making a big show of brushing dirt off my jeans while Cricket trotted toward the other horses. The lesson girls stared at me open-mouthed, like they’d never seen anyone fall before. I hated this part, too, acting like I couldn’t ride. I trudged to the end of the ring and caught Cricket.

Back at the railing, Mr. Smith was apologizing to Dad. “I’ve never seen her do that before.”

“Gosh,” said Dad. “I didn’t realize she bucked. Three hundred dollars seems high—we’d have to find a trainer to work with her. Do you like her, Sunny?”

“Oh yes, Daddy,” I said, stroking Cricket’s nose. That part was true. I just wished she was bigger. I was tired of riding ponies too small for me, ones I knew would be sold as soon as possible.

Mr. Smith frowned. One tasseled loafer tapped in the dirt. I knew what he was thinking—he’d have to keep paying the stable bill until Cricket sold, whether or not his daughter rode. A fancy stable like Creekside probably cost a hundred dollars a month, at least.

First 5 Pages May Workshop - McTavish Rev 2

Dayna McTavish
YA Fantasy
Supergeek

The second week of school it becomes obvious PE is going to be my downfall. Coach Marshall, evil fiend in tiny man shorts, is out to get me, for reasons that aren’t yet clear.

Marshall has all thirty of us lined up at the beginning of class, ready and waiting for our next stupid assignment.

“Alright kids.” Marshall blows sharply on his whistle, a volleyball cradled against his hip. For the last two days we’ve been practicing how to set, serve and bump. I’ve spent most of my time avoiding the ball as much as possible. “We’re scrimmaging today, everyone get on your courts.”

Coach starts directing people and I automatically head over to my usual PE group—my asthmatic friend Jane, Weird Cape Billy and the kid who wears a helmet. My people.

“Talis, you’re over there today.” Coach points to the last court, where all the BP (Beautiful People) are congregated.

“But I’m always over here.” There’s no way in hell I’m going over there.

“Not today.” He looks at me but I don’t move. “NOW!” Tiny flecks of spittle shot out his mouth so I know he’s serious.

I walk over slowly, finding a place to stand on the outer edge of the group. Everyone else is ignoring me, they’re talking or looking at their nails or throwing volleyballs at each other. Jake Buchanan runs around acting like he’s going to depants everyone. This isn’t so bad. I can handle this.

“Are you lost little girl?” Shawna Soto is staring at me, a sickly sweet smile on her face that no one would mistake for nice. Shawna, tyrant of the sophomore class, master of the well-timed slut bomb, purveyor of eating disorders, is talking to me.

“I. . .” Can’t talk. My tongue is frozen in my mouth.

“That’s a cute shirt.” She points to my t-shirt, which is plain and gray and nondescript, except for a little bunny on the lower corner of the shirt that I thought was cute. “Did you find that in the children’s section?”

Okay, here’s the thing. Puberty has not been kind to me. Still waiting for it to get in touch. I can’t help it if I look like an underfed sixth grader.

“Shawna, how bout you dial back the bitch a little?” Cole says. Shawna and I both turn to stare at him in shock. Cole and I have been neighbors since elementary school but we don’t exactly get together now to braid each other’s hair. Except for an occasional hi in the hall last year he’s pretty much ignored me since jr. high. Shawna laughs, like it was all just a joke. Cole’s kind of got that untouchable sex god thing going. Even Shawna wouldn’t mess with him. Cole smiles at me but I’m too stunned to be grateful.

“Okay, people.” Marshall blows his whistle and motions us onto our volleyball courts.

I somehow end up between Jake and Cole, which is good because Jake is more than happy to field all the balls that come into our area. Shawna’s up to serve and when she hits the ball into my territory, Jake steps back to take it. I get out of his way, veering sideways and accidentally knocking into Cole. He grabs my waist to steady me.

“Dude, watch out,” he says to Jake. “You’re forcing ladies to run me over.” He leans in, his breath tickling my ear. “Nice work, Skee Mee. Way to get in the mix there.” He pats me on the hip before letting me go.

I stumble away, unhappy to hear a nickname I hoped died in elementary school. I concentrate on staring ahead, like my life depends on paying attention to volleyball.

“Skee Mee,” Cole says. Ugh, there it is again, that nickname. Cole has been my neighbor since elementary school, when his dad gave me the nickname “Skinny Minny.” Cole adapted it, calling me a lot of things—Skinny, Skin Min, Skins, Skee, Skeezy Breezy, until finally settling on Skee Mee as the winner.

“Skee,” he singsongs. Even though I don’t look at him, I can hear it in his voice, like he thinks he’s doing me a favor by talking to me. Giving me something to write about in my diary when I go home tonight. “Oh, silly Skee.”

I can’t hear you.

“Come on, Skins.” He stretches his arm out, halfheartedly trying to reach my shoulder. “We’re about two feet from each other. I know you can hear me.”

I freeze in place, like if I don’t move he’ll go away. What’s up with him? All of a sudden he defends me from Shawna and we’re best friends or something?

“Talis.” He drops the teasing tone.

“What—” I turn to look at him and a volleyball smacks me in the side of the face.

Everyone on our court bursts out laughing. For a second, I’m not really sure what happened. I look down at the floor, where the offending volleyball is lying at my feet. Jake stops laughing long enough to scoop it up and send it back under the net to Shawna.

The first assault might have been an accident, but because it’s greeted with such enthusiasm Shawna serves it to me again. And again. And again.

The next time she serves, I deflect so it only hits me in the arm. And the third time I try to avoid it completely. It turns into a sadistic game. No matter where I move on the court to hide, she’s there to find me. It’s like she’s possessed with the demon of incredible aim. This is exactly why I stick to my court. It would be hard for the helmet kid to do this to me.

No way is anyone going to help me hit the ball back, considering all the humorous times we’re having watching me get pummeled. When Coach finally notices what’s happening, he becomes enraged. At me.

“Hit it, Brooks!” he screams. He’s acting like this is the final round of the volleyball Olympics and because of me the US is going to lose the gold to Russia. I miss the next serve completely, swinging at air. The crowd titters. This almost sends Coach over the edge.

“Again!” He waves at Shawna to serve.

I look around, and everyone is staring, most of them smirking.

“Just try to hit it back,” Cole says, which irritates me. What does he think I’ve been doing?

Shawna makes a big show of bouncing the ball on the floor, picking it up and palming it in her hand. A few people giggle nervously. When she’s ready, she throws it and gives it a good whack, sending it hurtling over the net.

Please, please, just let me hit it. I silently pray to the god of sports or socially humiliating moments. Really, I’ll take whoever’s listening.

I close my eyes and swing, and like one of those kids in a sports movie who comes through at the last minute, connect with the ball. My eyes pop open as I feel the ball hit my arms. For a second I can almost hear the inspirational music. Until the volleyball shoots off my arm and hits Coach in the face.

First 5 Pages May Workshop - Lambert Rev 2

Jeannie Lambert

Young Adult

LEFT SIDE OF THE TRUTH


Chapter 1

And five-thousand. KaBOOM! Lightning is one mile too close. “Missed
me.” Rolling my eyes and waggling my tongue is a bold move, habit,
considering I’m a teenager caught on top of Devil’s Cellar. This craggy
cliff has a hole reputed for consuming anyone close to the edge. I could
almost hear God say, “This time.”

Before today my biggest hike was cutting across the empty lot. Getting
away was my purpose, but I didn’t have a destination. Running away was
the easy part. But I lacked an exit strategy leaving everyone behind who
could tell me what to do next. I purposely punish myself by hiking up,
scrambling, falling and here I am with yoda versions of spindly pines.
The weathered, scrappy trees were clinging to any crevice. I too
continued to cling, hoping for a do over. My parents will go orbital
over seeing my picture in the dollar publication, Slammer. It is
inevitable after the hit and run. I had to get away before they came and
locked me up. My parents will never understand. They take everything so
seriously, family monopoly night isn’t complete until someone cries.

Circling the drain, cloud vapors funnel around that hungry, gaping hole.
Surrounding me, that last strike came from the ground up. Dense fog has
come in magician style and temporarily erased my legs from view.

Flash – a light casts its spider-fine net across the infinity-edged sky
drawing back a catch of cumulus clouds. The light is strangely soothing.
But I could do without the _ BOOM! Hearing is the last thing to go.
Must not be dead yet, no such luck. Running away is a rush. No one knows
I’m here, yet I feel as if I’m being chased. Now a few hours later, my
heart is slower. Inversely my thoughts are racing. Wishing to die is
taking too long, I’m bored.

Thunder is scary especially when it is so close while I am far away from
home. Curled up around a rusty old rhododendron root is my new worst
day. Lightning used to be my heebie-jeebie. Not anymore, facing certain
death from a lightning bolt is better than parents. Impulsive me left
everything behind except for my favorite white powdered doughnut. The
doughnut, my life, everything disintegrated into a gooey pocket mess.

Too quiet, even the drips of rain amplify with each splat. The distant
muffled sound of thunder don’t disturb a spider rush hour darting along
my sit spot. Blowing them off me only creates a temporary spider free
zone. Sensing something, I look up. Surprised to see the towering shape
of a boy in the clothes of a hefty man backlit from the lightning. All
muscles contract, I’m unsure what to do. He stumbles, buts gets back up.
Through the patchy fog he heads straight for me. Head down he picks his
way over the roots. Watching him, holding my breath, I expect him to
find me in less than nine more steps. He stops at two. I don’t want to
give up and come willingly out from behind, not yet. Drawing his head up
he looks directly at me, through me, before he turns away and simply
starts peeing.

Peeking through the gaps in my fingers, I channeled my inner safety
patrol and yelled, “that’s not a toilet don’t you know.”

Jumping back as if snake bit, the lanky boy pinched off the stream and
zipped up the offending source. “I know, but I thought this is in the
middle of nowhere.” He shuffles quickly behind the closest tree.
Moments later he emerges from behind the tree, presentable, “you startled
me,” he accuses.

“Well I didn’t want you to point that thing at me,” avoiding an imagined
downhill stream of yellow, I uncoiled from my fetal position.

“What are you…?”

“I’m a girl, stupid.”

“I know you are a girl, but what are you doing here?”

“I ran away. You found me. But, I’m not going back with you.” My eye
twitched defiantly. This internal lie detector tried to give me away.

“I found a place to pee, not you. You don’t look much like you’re running.”

This apathetic male form did anything but discourage me. Who does he
think he is? Angry with him, a piece of me came back, more alive.

“Don’t you want to know why I’m here?”

“Nope, I’m not interested.” He pulled out a canteen of water drinking in
gulps, spilling most of it.

“I need to tell you why I ran away,” tugging on a vine, my voice cracked
and the vine tumbled down.

“I couldn’t care less. Shush.” His head bobbed from side to side. “I have
enough to worry about.”

And I thought I was the only one so tortured and misunderstood. “I guess
I’ll come with you.”

“I’m not asking. Yeah, I think they are getting closer. You must be their
BOLO.”

“BOLO?”

“Yeah, it is short for Be On the Lookout. You must be their subject. I
heard a pack of yelping dogs a bit back. They can be a little slow, but
their steady once they get your scent. Save your story for the Boiling
Springs Rescue Squad, maybe they care enough to hear why. Stay here and
they’ll find you.”

“What’s your name?”

Darting away he called, “Runaway.”

“Wait.” Take me with you. I thought but did not say. Hiking in the
Appalachian Mountains is like spinning in a Maytag washer with undulating
hills snarled by rhododendron. He slipped around, between to the beyond.
Leaving me, I felt more than alone, lonely.

I wanted to tell him that I’m not the only one, everyone lies. So easy
and it beats getting into trouble.

Only now, perched on this ledge with lightning flashing around me, makes
me change my mind. I’m fixing to be a human spark plug. This wasn’t part
of the plan. Flash! Crash! That one was closer. My hair is standing on
end and that freaky blue glow is coming out of my electrified fingers.
God, please don’t give up on me. Don’t strike me down, not now. I’ll
fix it. BOOM! Blackness splashes over me and I sense someone near.

“Promise?” asked God.

“Pinky-swear promise,” I answered.


Chapter 2

Something was different.

The earth crested, forcing a pulse into my chest rippling with a breath.
Air inflated my lungs once again. My soggy, zippered eye lashes obscured
someone leaning over me, shaking my shoulder.

“_” that boy lip-synced, but nothing came out.

I shook my head and said, “I can’t hear you.”

He pointed to the sky then to me.

“Was I hit by lightning?”

He nodded his head. He pointed to where I had been before waking up – 20
feet away.

“I am alive?” Convulsing with shivers, unable to stop, I felt grateful
drops of tears puddle.

His hand fumbled to grasp mine. He gave me a squeeze, a lifeline pulling
me back in the present. He gestured charade-like that he was going to
get someone to help.

“Do you want me to stay here?”

Nodding, he got up, picking his way around the dense branches. Lumbering
down the mountain, he set out.

This time when he left I didn’t feel lonely. Exuberance percolated
through me. God didn’t, so I wouldn’t, give up on me. Now I have a
chance to fix it. The right side of the truth is not to tell a lie. The
left side is what I will tell you now.

Chapter 3

A thunderstorm will more than likely hover at noon throughout the summer
in Boiling Springs. Just take a pitcher of water and pour it down the
nape of my neck. A raincoat is useless. I’ll either get soaked from the
shower or pour the sweat in the 100% humidity. It begins in April and
ends in August a long five months. Call me Madame Jesse because all I
have to say is “it is fixing to rain,” and it will at some time each day.
Everyone obsesses about the weather – anNoying. Can’t anyone find
something more important to talk about?

“Jesse do you have your raingear with you?”

“Of course mother, whatever, I’ve got to get to school,” I said.

Her questions are more than what they seem. A simple, “How much homework
do you have?” on Friday sets my destiny. “A lot” gets me a pass from
pulling weeds but I best not ask to go to the movies. “Not much” means I
get to go to the movies, but I’m also expected to help until the
housework and gardening are finished.

“It is only 645. Don’t you have plenty of time?” asked mom. See what I mean.

“Melanie’s meeting me early.”

“And why do I see your rain coat hanging up in the mud room,” said mom
nonchalantly ignoring my little white lie.

“I don’t need it.” See I’m a normal teenager with a healthy disrespect.

“Be careful, a storm is coming. Fred from the Weather Channel said we’ve
already had 30 inches of rain this month. It is a little known fact that
we live in a virtual rain forest. In fact Vietnam and Boiling Springs are
similar because,” shouted dad shrouded in his den.

“We share the same weather,” I said simultaneously with dad. How couldn’t
I know that? Surprise – he’s only told me that a million times.

My dad is a weather geek. The Weather Channel is the white noise that
fills up the house. He calls it resting; I call it sleep. Pasty white,
ozone-y smelling dad is winding down after his night shift at the nuclear
plant. He is an isolation experiment; once a year he goes outside during
vacation even if he doesn’t have to. He is all about the weather as long
as he doesn’t have to feel it.

“You don’t have wear it, but you must take it because I said so,” said
mom. “Remember I’m out of town starting next week. I won’t be here to
remind you.”

“Mom …” We were back on the raincoat. She is always telling me what to
do. Nagging is her specialty; she goes orbital over the smallest things.
I’ll get a reprieve while she finishes her thesis. She has to go to some
island and study the local people. I’ll bet she nags them too. I’ll miss
her, but at least I get a break. There was nothing left to say. No one
wins an argument with my mom.

Every day I have to audition to be a member of my family and friends. I
only get to stay if I do what they say. When will I ever get to do what I
want?

1st 5 Pages May Workshop - Roy Rev 1

Name: Soumi Roy

Genre: Young Adult Fantasy

Title: Shattering Vengeance



Prologue: 4 years ago

THE time had arrived, the onset of darkness.

The illumination of a striking thunderstorm enriched the feel of a dead end in the earth or a new beginning. Whichever it was, her trembling heart feared the worst.

Catherine Clayworth watched the raindrops sliding down the windowpanes. Outside the window the eerie night seemed darker than ever, enshrouded in cold gloominess, like the dirge of a dead soul. Raging torrents of rain struck down with lightning bolts, piercing through the turbulent night sky down to the desiccated earth. And the macabre view simply frightened Catherine more.

“Are you sure you will be going to the Council? I don’t think we can trust anyone anymore.” Her voice broke the silent ambience that previously hovered over their dining table, as she patiently watched her husband Victor tap his fork on his plate. He wasn't surprised to see that his wife already knew about the secret core committee meeting he had convened for the following day at the Keepers Council, the assembly that was engaged in ruling the city of Neo Predris with an iron fist.

Victor Clayworth sighed, and dropped the fork on his plate. He had barely touched his food.

“Catherine, darling,” Victor replied in a grave voice, as if preparing for the chance of a storm whose direction was still unknown, “we still have some trusted friends left who are willing to help.”

“The League? I don’t trust them either,” Catherine said dryly.

“Yet, we must give our best to protect our last hope of survival.”

“That may indeed be the City’s future. But…” she paused and shivered a little, “think about Nate, and his future. What if we endanger our son’s life?”

“Nothing will happen to him. We will send him back to the institute tomorrow morning. He will be alright,” Victor tried to reassure his wife with a deep breath, noticing the anxiety written over her beautiful face, and softly squeezed her hand. Unconvinced, Catherine looked away.

Victor pushed aside his plate and walked to the staircase. “Nathaniel, come here,” he called for his son, who was taking a nap in his bedroom upstairs. “I know you are feeling sick, but a little food will make you feel better, son.”

Nathaniel, the only heir to the house of Clayworth, had taken a holiday at home from Predris Institute of Young Apprentices; the royal academy where young boys were sent to be trained as future Keepers. A mild headache and low fever had weakened him enough to take leave from the Institute.

“I’m going to see how he’s feeling,” Catherine hushed her husband.

She gathered her long dress and headed upstairs. She was about to knock when she found the door to Nate’s room was slightly open. She swiftly passed into the room and sat beside Nate.

“Have some food, dear, else you will be weaker,” Catherine gently said to her son.

“No, Mom. I’m not feeling well,” Nate answered in a husky voice.

Catherine gently stroked his hair as he rested his head on her lap, and her affectionate eyes gazed upon his sun kissed face, which was the most handsome in his mother's eyes. And indeed he was. His raven black hair and stormy blue eyes with a slender build would shame any other human beauty. He inherited both his mother’s elegance and kindness, and his father’s intelligence and dexterity, to become a maven of weaponry at his very young age of fifteen.

Then there was the sound of an explosion, which tore their attention away. The noisy rapping over the main entrance intruded into the room. Catherine jerked upright and gripped Nate’s hand with fear, her palm sweating in his hand.

“Nate, dear, I must go. Do not come downstairs, okay? Goodnight.” Catherine kissed his forehead and stormed out of the door, closing the door behind her.

Closing his eyes, Nate curled inside his blanket, but was unable to sleep, anxious and worried over the suddenness of his mother’s changed behavior The uneasiness in her voice really scared him.

Then he heard rasping voices, harsh words, as if someone was arguing with his father furiously. The argument was slowly heating up. His father was a man of dignity and he would never allow someone to talk to him in such an unpleasant way without reason. Nate sat up on his bed, trying hard to better hear every word from downstairs.

A very sharp scream pierced through every wall of their house. Someone thumped on the ground, falling heavily. Nate clearly heard his heart storming against his chest, felt it ready to jump out of his throat. Quickly guessing what could have happened, he jumped down from his bed and instinctively picked up his dagger from the nightstand drawer.

Suddenly, the door burst open with Catherine’s intrusion. Horrified and drenched in blood, her face had taken on the color of crimson red. Her whole body was trembling in unutterable terror and her sobbing started to echo through Nate’s ears. She immediately locked the door behind her and before Nate could ask anything, she held his face in her shivering palms and uttered haltingly, “They…they…killed your father. They are coming up for me, but I…I…won’t let them touch you.” Though she stuttered, a fierce protectiveness rose in her voice. “They don’t even know you are home. Just hide under your bed and whatever happens and don’t come out.”

They murdered his father? He couldn’t believe his own two ears, the ground slipping away beneath his feet and he stood frightened, too shocked to even cry.

Someone banged on the bedroom door with full force, again and again.

“I don’t have much time left, Nate…” She gripped his shoulder. “Just remember, protect the Last Mage and don’t trust anyone. Do you understand?” She turned her face to the door, her blue eyes wide with terror.

Mage???

The long lost name was just a scribbled word of ancient Predris mythology. Nate only nodded in response, though he didn’t understand why his mother was talking about such an absurd topic now, at this very moment when both of their lives were at stake.

Nate wanted to ask what was happening, who were these people? But his mother pushed him under the bed and hushed, “Promise me you won’t come out.”

Terror ran down through his body, paralyzing his thoughts and movements. The door exploded violently and he heard footsteps, loud as they invaded the room. The group seemed bigger than he anticipated. His eyes squinted and his gaze darted in the direction of where his mother stood. He could only see the hem of her nightgown, once white and now swamped in blood.

“You think killing us will pave your way?” Nate heard his mother’s shaking laughter, rather unnatural in fear. “I doubt if you even know who or what the Last Mage is, yet you are stretching your dirty hands into the darkness in search of a myth that doesn’t even exist!”

One of them cut her off with his hoarse voice. “You think you are so smart Catherine, and we are a bunch of fools?” The voice was known, much known but he was too afraid to think clearly. “You Clayworths have distracted us much in this matter and now we have enough reasons for support. Your lies won’t work anymore.”

“What a shame,” Catherine said in a nervous voice, struggling to keep it firm. “Keepers, protectors of innocents, hailed as heroes. Where’s your honour now?”

“Pity,” replied the same voice that was speaking before, “we are not heroes to those who betray the Council. Your husband should have thought about that before he decided to go against us.”

“My husband only did what was right. He was holding onto his Keeper’s honour, unlike you,” Catharine spit the words at them.

“Enough,” another man roared. “Enough of your games. We know the truth of the blood running through your dark veins. Clayworths’ bloodline should end now with the Last Mage.”

1st 5 Pages May Workshop - Noser Rev 1

Name: Ann M. Noser
Genre: YA fantasy
Title: Desiderata

Prologue – To Find the Perfect Girl

Wesley’s hands trembled as solutions in glass flasks percolated. Yellow, orange, and green fluids coursed through tubing and collected in glass beakers.

Please be a match.

The collected samples of hair from the prince and the maiden in question curled together in a small cauldron upon the tripod. Wesley carefully added the distilled concoctions, turned up the flame underneath, then stepped back.

The cauldron steamed in the sweltering laboratory. As the experiment rose to a boil, Wesley’s heart raced. His unruly hair fell into his eyes. He swiped the damp strands away before extinguishing the flame. He watched the solution cool as sweat ran down his neck.

Please be red. Put an end to this.

The fluid continued to bubble for a long while, turning from purple to pink to...

It’s going to be red! She’s the one! I am saved!

With a loud belch, the solution curdled and turned black. And stayed that way.

Wesley dropped his head in his hands.

I better warn that sweet girl before Duncan gets a hold of her.



Chapter One – The Prince Needs a Wife

“Oh, my dears,” gasped red-faced Mother Leon as she burst into the library. “I have such news for you!”

Her nap interrupted, Maria rubbed her eyes and glanced around the wood-paneled library. Her younger sister Anna leaned over their father’s shoulder as he sat in his favorite forest green chair. She giggled and pointed towards the book of maps which lay open on his massive wooden desk.

“Girls?!” Mother Leon’s eyes bulged as she flapped her hands.

Maria yawned and stretched in the window seat. “Yes, Mother?”

“The prince is coming!” Mother Leon gasped.

“Here?” Maria eyed the cluttered bookshelves, worn furniture, and faded tapestries. The prince had been touring Desiderata for the last two years in search of a suitable wife, but Maria had never thought he would come to their home.

Mother Leon sighed. “No, of course not, dear. He’s been invited to the Pekipsies’ estate for their annual Summer Festival.”

Father Leon glanced up from his large book of maps. “They’re the only family around here with enough gold to impress royalty. Your mother almost married into the Pekipsie family. Did you girls know that?”

Mother Leon shook her head. “No need to dig into the past, dear. I’m more concerned about the girls’ future.” She turned to her daughters with a gleam in her eyes. “Anna’s fifteen, the perfect age to be presented! And Maria…well, you’ve already attended several functions, and everybody’s seen you already…” Mother Leon cleared her throat. “Maria, step forward, please.”

She left the window seat and stood before her mother, trying her best to hide a stain in the back of her dress from where she’d sat in the damp grass earlier that morning.

“What on earth happened to your dress?” Mother Leon shrilled. “You’re more careless now than you were as a child, I swear!”

Maria’s cheeks burned as her mother dismissed her and turned to evaluate Anna, who somehow always looked perfect.

“Anna, my dear, your hair glows like the sun and your waist is smaller than mine was at your age.” Mother Leon circled her youngest daughter like a cat. “Let’s see what we can do to make you look your best at the Festival.”

Anna turned frightened eyes towards her older sister. “Help me,” she mouthed.

***


An hour later, Maria crept along the hallway to her parents’ bedroom. She carefully pressed her ear to the door.

“We’re not in the poor house yet,” Mother Leon pleaded. “We still have our pride. This is Anna’s chance at a royal marriage!”

“Where do you think we’ll end up, if you spend the last of our borrowed gold on gowns for the girls?” Father Leon grumbled.

“Then we shall only get a new gown for Anna. If she marries Prince Bane, it will put an end to all of our troubles.”

Maria hurried down the hall. She burst into her bedroom, slammed the door shut, and fought back tears. Bright afternoon sunlight fell through the window to catch on the vanity mirror. Maria moved towards her reflection and took a deep breath. In the mirror stood a girl, almost a woman, with long auburn hair and intelligent blue eyes.

But all Maria noticed was the smudge of dirt on her cheek, the leaf stuck in her hair, and the scrape on her elbow. She frowned and moved away from the vanity. As she passed by the window, she noticed Anna working in the garden.

***

The blue skies cheered her spirits as she hurried outside, but one glance at her sister’s face told her she didn’t feel the same. “Anna, are you okay? You look like you’re about to cry.”

“Maria…” Anna took a shuddering breath. “I don’t want to go to the Summer Festival.”

“Why not? It was loads of fun last year.”

Anna shrugged. “For you, maybe. But there’s so many people there, all staring at me and expecting me to say something clever. I never know what to say to them.”

“Then stick by me, and I’ll be clever enough for both of us.” Maria grinned.

Anna attempted a weak smile, but she faltered. “Besides…I don’t like the way Mother looks at me, like I’m the fattened pig about to be slaughtered.”

Maria chuckled. “It’s better than the way she looks at me—like I’m the spider she forgot to kill before important company came over.”

“That’s not true! Mother loves us both the same!”

“Believe what you will. Now move over—you over-trimmed that arbor vitae.”

“No, I didn’t.” Anna shook her head. “The deer got in here again.”

Maria sighed. “We’ve gotta fix that gate. Come on and give me a hand. Or two.”

Both girls grappled with the broken gate. Finally, after much sweating and swearing (both on Maria’s part, Anna did nothing of the sort), Maria gave the gate a final heft and slid the bolt back into place.

Maria grinned. “That’ll keep those thieving buggars out!”

“They’re just hungry—you know how that feels.”

“I don’t care. They have to find their meals somewhere else. We’ll be the ones to starve if they don’t.” Maria swiped at the newest dirty spot on her gown.

“Look at you!” Anna gasped. “You’ve ruined another dress! Mother will have a fit!”

“Don’t I know it! Oh, bother, there’s no point.” Maria stopped fussing with her dress and moved over to examine the sparse arbor vitae. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and brushed her open hands slowly back and forth across the branches. Soon, fresh greenery filled up the gaps.

“Stop showing off, Maria.” Anna glanced around. “What if someone sees you?”

“Who would see me? We can’t afford gardeners or stable help anymore. There’s no one out here but you and me.”

“I hope you’re right. You know what they say about us in town.”

Maria snorted. “You worry too much, Anna. What could they possibly say? That it’s a pity to see a noble family reduced to selling berries to get by? That it must be magic we can grow anything in here with our fence in shambles and a broken gate?”

Anna smiled. “At least that much is true.”

“You know what they say about us, Anna? Absolutely nothing. No one even notices us anymore. That’s what comes from being poor. Now come on, we’ve got work to do.”

***

1st 5 Pages May Workshop - McTavish Rev 1

Dayna McTavish
YA Fantasy
Supergeek

I just don’t want to die. Of humiliation. Besides getting straight A’s, that’s pretty much my only goal this year.

Coach Marshall, evil fiend in tiny man shorts, is out to thwart my plans. When he divides us up for volleyball, he puts me with the people voted “Much Cooler Than You.” This is not where I belong.

Marshall busts me sneaking onto my usual court—the one with my asthmatic friend Jane, Weird Cape Billy and the kid wearing a back brace. My people. He waves me over to the last court. “Talis, I told you, you’re over there today.”

“Coach—” I say, but he’s already moved on, yelling at two freshmen beating each other with the soft baseball bats.

Last year, when I was a freshman, I didn’t really see my other classmates because most of my classes were advanced, all of my math and science classes were with the juniors. I was just that smart girl, viewed from a distance. I wasn’t even the smart girl, my best friend Jane is a certified genius and gets all the academic attention.

Basically my social interaction was limited to Jane and Ethan, my only two friends. The juniors ignored me or treated me like a cute little pet. But this year I’ve been forced into a class with the social sharks of sophomore year. And not just any class, the class I’ve been dreading since I started high school. Physical Education.

Obviously whoever made PE mandatory isn’t an easy bleeder with little to no physical coordination. I put it off until sophomore year, hoping I’d get breasts before having to engage in the horror of group showers. Unfortunately, puberty is eluding me.

I take my time walking over. Standing on the edge of the group, I try to look busy, pretending to read the safety guidelines listed on the wall. I firmly knot my shoes. I pull up my gym shorts, which are always sliding down, even with the top rolled.

When I look up the Trifecta are only a few feet away. I try not to stare but it’s hard; it’s like being able to study exotic animals in their natural habitat. Shawna, Sloane and Staci are like some mythic, flawlessly manicured three-headed creature. Even though they’re all different—a variety of hair colors, differing skin tones, various sizes—there’s a sameness about them, as if popularity has homogenized them. Maybe it’s the matching, perfectly made-up mouths or how all their clothes look expensive, even in gym, or their shared expressions, a mixture of boredom and superiority.

Shawna turns around. For a second I seize up in fear. Her gaze briefly drifts over me before landing on Gina. Gina was a minor celebrity last year when she did some local modeling and a few of the stock photos she took were used in magazines. One of her pics wound up in a teen mag above the headline “My Boyfriend Gave Me an STD.” People stuffed condoms in her locker and everyone started calling her Gina Gonorrhea. That’s what happens around here. One wrong move and you end up being nicknamed a venereal disease until graduation.

“Gina.” Shawna has a smile on her face that only the mentally challenged would mistake for nice. “Are you sure you’re allowed to touch the balls in this class? I don’t want to catch anything.”

I edge back, trying to hide behind a tall guy I recognize from the marching band. Gina just stares straight ahead like she doesn’t hear.

Apparently bored with Gina’s shaming, Sloane tunes out Shawna and studies her nails. Tall and beautiful, like some strange, corporal alien, Sloane’s skinny, with thin wrists and a long neck but in a way that seems graceful, unlike my awkward skinniness, which makes me look like an underfed fifth grader. With her angular cut hair and dead eyes, she looks like a French model or a lounge singer. The definition of cutting edge for Milbank, Wisconsin.

“Are you ignoring me?” Shawna stares Gina down with naked aggression. “How rude is that?” Shawna is the only person I know who can be completely horrible to someone and accuse them of being rude. She looks around for confirmation, and Staci is right beside her, nodding vigorously in agreement.

Staci is the oddity, the anomaly. Lumped with the others she almost fits, with her expanse of whitened teeth and perfectly streaked blond highlights. But under her orangish tan and heavy eyeliner, her face is a little rat-like, her teeth slightly bucktoothed. Despite her push-up bras, her baby fat belly is still noticeable. Sometimes her desperation is obvious, her laugh shrieky, her eagerness to share gossip, the way she jumps to do whatever Shawna says. Staci yelps in fake surprise when a volleyball narrowly misses hitting her, landing at her feet.

“Fore!” Jake Buchanan shouts, running in to retrieve the ball. He’s like a puppy, one that might pee all over everything when your back is turned.

“Jesus, Jake.” Shawna is irritated, but he ignores her.

Cole comes up behind Jake, and Shawna immediately realigns herself. I’m sure most of the girls and a few of the guys in drama club have allowed some Cole fantasies to play out in their heads. It’s not just that he’s Abercrombie and Fitch pretty, but he also has a confident ease, like there isn’t anything in life he can’t have or conquer. It’s annoying really.

Jake is also a feast for the eyes, but once he opens his mouth all previous goodwill gained by his abs is lost. “Sorry, ladies. Didn’t mean to startle you with my balls,” he says. “Although I can certainly arrange a private showing for you, Sloaner.”

Without looking up from her nails, Sloane extends her other hand, raising her middle finger in response. Jake puts his arms around her, trying to give her a sloppy kiss. Laughing, she ducks her head, pushing him away. They make it seem so easy to be one of them. So sure they belong.

“Okay, people.” Marshall blows his whistle and motions us onto our volleyball courts.

For the first few rounds I try to stay alert, pretend like I’m involved in the game. I relax a little when it becomes obvious that Jake, whose testosterone levels are spiking, is more than happy to field all the balls that come into our area. Shawna’s up to serve and when she hits the ball into my territory, Jake steps back to take it. I get out of his way, veering sideways and accidentally knocking into Cole. He grabs my waist to steady me.

“Dude, watch out,” he says to Jake. “You’re forcing ladies to run me over.” He leans in, his breath tickling my ear. “Nice work, Skee Mee. Way to get in the mix there.” He pats me on the hip before letting me go.

I stumble away, unsure what’s worse, that Cole Howard is talking to me or that he’s using a nickname I hoped died in elementary school. I concentrate on staring ahead, like my life depends on paying attention to volleyball. Stupid PE and

“Skee Mee,” Cole says. Ugh, there it is again, that nickname. Cole has been my neighbor since elementary school, when his dad gave me the nickname “Skinny Minny.” Cole adapted it, calling me a lot of things—Skinny, Skin Min, Skins, Skee, Skeezy Breezy, until finally settling on Skee Mee as the winner.

“Skee,” he singsongs. Even though I don’t look at him, I can hear it in his voice, like he thinks he’s doing me a favor by talking to me. Giving me something to write about in my diary when I go home tonight. Dear Diary, Cole Howard honored me by talking to me today. Every once in a while he’ll pretend he’s being benevolent by saying hi to me in the hall. “Oh, silly Skee.”

I can’t hear you.

“Come on, Skins.” He stretches his arm out, halfheartedly trying to reach my shoulder. “We’re about two feet from each other. I know you can hear me.”

I freeze in place, like if I don’t move he’ll go away.

“Talis.” He drops the teasing tone.

“What—” I’ve just turned to look at him when the volleyball smacks me in the face.