Two Symbols--Part 3

Even though I have edited this part I have yet to take Grace up on her very good suggestion of giving Irena a back story. That would involve reworking all the rest of the story---aka much more time. ;)    

       Irena

Irena knew that something had happened up at the GOV’s headquarters because the headmistress was a bundle of firecrackers. No one knew when or where she would explode next. Finally the story began to leak.

A bread train, probably carrying some bread Irena herself had made, had been hijacked by a group of masked people. The one marking they wore was a necklace with a gold pendant. One witness said it looked like it might be a bird.

The bread had been removed from its cars and to the engineers surprise they had each been “forced” to eat one loaf. Then the robbers had vanished.

Posters were soon pasted all over town calling on the people of Gable City to turn in any suspects. The people who would commit such a cruel act like stealing bread from a half starved town deserved death. Irena tried not to noticed they did not mention the train was taking bread from the local bakeries to the capitol. No doubt, she argued to herself, the capitol is passing it on to some other more hungry place. Thanks to being part of the Y.U.S. she was not hungry herself. Much.

Irena put the raids in the back of her mind and tried to focus on her ultimate goal, the bronze eagle pin. To her surprise, she was not as pleased as she had expected to be when she did finally earn the bird. Her best friend was not there to share in her joy.

Then, the masked necklace-wearers struck again. This time they were closer to town. Another happened soon after but this time one of the raiders was caught. Her mask had been removed and the law enforcement had gotten one good look at her face before, with a sudden twist she had broken free and vanished.

Just like she had predicted, her face was plastered all over town. It was Stefania.

                                                            Stefania

She loved her gold phoenix. It was strange to her that she had always loved this mythical creature and here she had fallen in with a group who used it as their symbol. Sometimes at night she will feel afraid of being caught and reaching up with her sensitive but callused fingers she would trace the cold metal. The bird would always rise from the ashes.

When she had been at camp Phoenix for about a month she was woken by Beppo noisily calling her name outside Zeppelin’s tent where she was now a permanent resident. Tossing off her light blanket and grabbing her moccasins she hurried out into the dim morning.

He was leaning against a nearby tree and pulling on his curly black beard. “Your friend is sick.”

“Irena?”

“Yes. The Y.U.S. girl.”

“How badly.” She stood barefoot in the dew her forgotten shoes still dangling in one hand.

“Badly.”

Behind her she heard the soft sound of Zeppelin lifting the heavy tent flap. “I heard what Beppo said, daughter. I used to be a doctor. Tell me Beppo, what are her symptoms.”

Beppo glanced at Stefania and pulled his beard even harder. “Coughing.” He looked down at the ground and then avoiding Stefania’s eye looked straight at the old lady. “Coughing blood.”

Stefania flinched. Surely not, tuberculosis was an age old disease that had nearly been gotten rid of. She had never heard of someone having it within the past 200 years.

Zeppelin sighed. “Is that all? Not much for me to diagnose with.”

Beppo shrugged. “I simply heard it through the grapevine.”  

The lady’s wrinkled hand patted Stefania on the shoulder comfortingly. “I have something for your friend.” She lifted the tent flap again and stepped back inside the dark interior.  She returned with a bottle, “Tell her to take it twice a day with food. It’s not much but maybe it can help some.”

Stefania reached out a hand in which she was unable to conceal the tremble.  “Thank you Ma’m. But how will I get it to her? My face is all over town and she lives in the Y.U.S. dorm!”

Just then Cleon came around the corner of the tent.

“Ah, perfect timing.” Beppo held out his hand for the bundle he was carrying. “I have a disguise in here for you, Stefania.”

Cleon turned his blonde head towards her and his brown eyes twinkled. “What do you think of white leather?”

                                                            Irena

Irena’s fever raged high and in her delirious mind she thought she saw someone bending over her and calling her name. The voice was Stefania’s but she was wearing a white Y.U.S. jacket.

“Drink this.” The voice commanded and she felt a glass pushed against her lips. Obediently she tipped her head back and swallowed. The liquid made her feel a little better.

“Stefania?”

The girl smiled. “Let’s hope you’re the only one who knows me in this disguise!”

Irena struggled to sit up and clear her brain.  Was this a dream?  “Why are you here? You have to go; they will find you and kill you.”

Stefania smiled a bitter smile and putting her hands on Irena’s shoulders tried to gently push her back down, “Last time we spoke you said they would be kind to me. Perhaps being sick has made you think a little differently?”

Irena groaned softly and let herself fall back. “Things have changed. I still don’t see things the way you do but… You have to go!”

 “Irena, if they find me and kill me, that will not be the end.” She paused looking deep into the other’s brown eyes. “I am like the phoenix, even if I burn, and new bird will rise from my ashes. Someone will catch my fire and take my place. I am part of a movement fueled by love.” She paused, and biting her lip looked very hard out the window toward the empty sky. “It cannot be stopped.”

Irena noticed in that look the same contradictory hardening of the jaw and sadness in the droopy blue eyes that Stefania had had since childhood. It was a look the her friend never liked to see because she couldn’t explain it. When it came a sudden chasm seemed to widen between the two, as if those ocean-colored eyes had seen her future and were preparing for it; leaving Irena to guess and worry.

She spoke quickly hoping to break the spell. “A phoenix? That is a good symbol for you. I guess mine is the eagle.”

Stefania looked back and reaching out her finger touched the pin on her best friend’s shirt. “The eagle is a symbol of cruelty. It prey’s on those who are weaker than it’s self. That is not you Irena.”

“Well, at least we are both birds.” Irena sighed, “Why are you here?”

“I brought you medicine. You need to take it twice a day with your food and it will help you to get better.” Stefania put the small bottle under her pillow. “Keep it hidden there.”

“Thank you Stef.” Irena took her hand.

“Of course. You are my friend.”

There was a pause as each girl seemed to be morning the way she found the other.

 “Will you sing to me?” Irena finally broke it.

“Sing! I don’t sing! You’re the singer!”

“Please. I want to hear somebody sing.”

“What if someone hears us?”

“They will think I am delirious.”

Stefania looked hurriedly toward the door. “What do you want me to sing?”

“Anything.”

Irena closed her eyes and waited. Then she heard a voice, it cracked and creaked with nervousness at first but eventually it grew steady.  The notes were certainly not all hit correctly but the melody was soothing and Irena felt a smile coming to her mouth.

“You’re laughing. I told you I couldn’t sing.” Stefania finished.

“You can. Just maybe you could use a little training. When this nasty mess is all over, I’ll show you.”

Stefania smiled and then stood up. “In other words you think I sounded bad too? But I really need to go. You get better quickly now.”

“I will.” Irena opened her eyes and watched the slender figure pad in her black moccasins to the window and swing a long leg over the concrete sill. “Stefania?”

“Yes?”

“You look nice in white.”

                                                            Stefania

Stefania shoved her hand in her jean pockets. “Irena. Why would they target her?” Yes she was worried about her friend but she could hardly believe Ron’s story.

“She knows you.” He pulled on his curly black mustache with an brown hand.

“Not really any more. I haven’t seen her to their knowledge in months!”

“Well, I can’t tell you exactly why they is follow’n her, honey, but I can tell you that they is. She’s tracked everywhere she goes, they read every thing she reads, nothing she does goes unnoticed.”

“And you’re sure that isn’t just because they think I might try to contact her?” She spread her hands, palm up.

“Oh honey. Do the GOV’s store poison pills by her plate for noth’n?” He caught her hands and held them tightly. “Girl, you have to go get her out of this mess! She ain’t gonna make it on her own.”

 “Can’t you come? You’ve done lots of similar things and I never have.”

“Honey.” He patted the hands he still held. “You know I can’t.”

She put his hands away from her, “Alright, I’ll go.”

Going to Kat and Cleon’s tent she peaked in. Kat was inside, laying on a small blanket her eyes closed and her waving red hair streaming all over the pillow.

Several small loaves of fire baked break sat on an oaken stump near by. Stefania new she would be hungry before she arrived in town and she was sure Kat wouldn’t mind her taking some food. She reached out a long arm and picked up a loaf.

 “Why did you take that bread?” Castus’ little voice startled her so that she nearly dropped her prize.

“Because I’m going to town Castus.” She put her finger to her lips and answered in a whisper. “Will you take care of your parents while I am gone?”

Castus looked at her, rebuke in his round face. “I don’t take care of my parents, they take care of me.”

Stefania chuckled. There was no pulling the wool over this four-year-olds’ eyes. “Well, be good while I’m gone then. Maybe when I come back I’ll have a new playmate for you.”

When her feet hit the side walk of Main Street she could feel a change in the town. There was a hush of fear, suspicious looks, and she, in no uniform was avoided by a ten foot pole.

Foolish of her to have not brought even a simple disguise she thought. In less than ten minutes she would be turned over to the GOV’s. Well, that was ten minutes to use for her errand.

At the Y.U.S. building every nerve screamed that something was wrong. She couldn’t say what except that things were too quiet. Irena’s room, as well as the rest of the dorm was empty and the three of her ten minutes were gone.

She was not at the bakery either. Six minutes gone. Stefania began to panic. Was she too late? An idea struck her and she began running towards the GOV headquarters. As she neared she could see through and open window Irena. She was talking to two men dressed in black uniforms. 


Questions:
1. (my biggest) Are my characters consistent? Do you feel like they are realistic in personality/actions?
2. (always! ;) ) More?
3.  Does the scene where Stefania is visiting a sick Irena make sense? It was the hardest one for me because I needed to pack so many things in and still make it move quickly.
4. Stefania has a lot of people she interacts with and that the reader kind-of gets to know. Irena doesn't.Her one friend is Stefania. Should she have some other acquaintances? 

At this point you are probably wondering where all the unusual names are from. When (if you keep telling me you want more) I finish posting the story I'll give an explanation for each name. 

Word Wednesday

In honor of my father whose 60th birthday was yesterday I have decided to make his "name" the subject of my post today.

My fellow blog authors know that  I call my father "Papa". I used to get many strange looks when people overheard and quite often I was asked if he was my grandfather. (He's been gray haired all my life so it's really not that surprising.) The older I get the less people question.

Why "Papa"? I really don't know. He wanted to be called something a little more unique than "Dad" so he chose "Papa". My brother, who is now himself a father, has also followed this pattern.

This word can be traced from many languages (probably because it is a onomatopoeia) but I have often found the French origins of this word interesting and enjoy reverting back to them by pronouncing it Pa`pa. (accent on the last syllable). Fathers were first called this in the courtly circles and it was not until the 18th century that the common people began to use it.

In Latin it is also closely related to another word, "pope". This word started out meaning simply "father" but was eventually taken over by the Catholics and made to mean a more specific person.

"Papa" is also used in code communications to represent the letter P.

This little word has a surprisingly large number of meanings. Another one of which refers to a soft blue-grey clay of marine siltstone or sandstone. This was a most interesting discovery for me...I have played with this type of "Papa" numbers of times and until recently did not know it's real name.

I doubt that you will find this word very useful in your writing but at least you know have a larger vocabulary should you ever wish to appear intelligent. ;)

Tip Tuesday

I don't have a tip for y'all today. Instead I was going to share a recent discovery.

As you may remember from my "New Years Writing Goals" I  planned on making myself edit this year. If you have been reading my other "Tip Tuesdays" you may have noticed they have a tend toward the editing side of writing. So here is another editing based idea:

The Hemmingway App.

Now before you throw up your hands and say you have no tablet or iphone on which to get an app let me assure you it's easily accessible from the computer. (In fact I have yet to see it in app form.) Just click on this link.

http://www.hemingwayapp.com/

To be perfectly honest with you I have yet to try this but it looks very useful. If one of you gets to it before I do let me know the results!

Weekly Newsletter

My laptop is about to die so this is going to be brief:

- Story (Hope)

- Tip Tuesday (Hope)

- Word Wednesday (Hope)

- Who Am I? (Hope) If you want to skip this this week, feel free, Hope, because I'm thinking I'll go ahead and do the next What if part.

- What if... (Grace)

"Cast your burden on the Lord,

and he will sustain you;

he will never permit

 the righteous to be moved."

- Psalm 55:22

What if ...

Here's how we're going to start this: I'm going to write a brief clip from a story. You will be the main character. In other words, it will be written in second person. At the end of my story clip, I will give you three choices. It is your job to vote/discuss which choice you will make. After you all agree on one, I will continue the story from there the next time I post. Here's the catch: one choice every time will be a bad choice. It won't necessarily look bad, but it may lead to the destruction of the mission/adventure. If you choose the wrong one, the story automatically ends and you have to start at the beginning again. Ultimately, your goal is to reach the happy ending and solve the mystery. Sound okay? Any questions? Here we go:

 You stand shivering in two feet of snow, gazing up at the giant house looming over you. The wind catches your hair and whips it across your face. You extract the wispy tendrils from your line of vision and tuck them back into your hood. Having lost its favorite playmate, the wind takes off with your letter instead, ripping it from your hands and dropping it into the snow. You stumble after it, scolding yourself for wearing high heels. Mom had warned you about Kansas weather, but you had forgotten about snow. You're an Arizona girl, after all. Scooping up the paper, You double check the address. Two-twenty-three South 8th St. Yes, this is the place.

It's old, Dad had written. Older than your great uncle Charles. Yeah, right, you had told him, but now you're nodding your head. The white siding is fading and falling, the red brick steps are crumbling, and the painted metal scroll work on the railing is chipping and rusting. This place is old. Older than uncle Charles' great uncle.

You cautiously place a foot on the first step. Your heel digs through the snowdrift on the stair only to discover a thin layer of ice. You slip forward and grab the railing, but it teeters under your weight. Great. You fall onto your forearms, barely saving your face from smacking the next stair. Pain shoots up your arms, but you think you'll be okay. You may have a lovely pattern of bruises on your arms, but at least you still have a face. The last shred of gratefulness you had toward you parents collapsed with the railing. You ask for a nice quiet place to stay for the Christmas Holidays, far away from the city where your troubles started, and they give you this – an ugly old house in an ugly old town. Had you not put enough emphasis on nice? They could have at least let you stay in one of the houses they had partially fixed up. This house is a killer.

“Hey, are you okay?” A young man leans over you, his hands on your shoulders, trying to help you up. You scramble to you feet.

“Yes, yes, thank you. I'm fine.” You feel your cheeks glowing red. “This house – it's um, dangerous.” You twist a strand of hair around your fingers, trying to hide your embarrassment. The amused grin on his clean-shaven face tells you that you're failing, so you bite your lip instead.

He gazes up at the house as if it's an old friend.“Yeah, this place is over a hundred years old.”

“I can't tell,” you mutter. You bend over and reach for the railing, trying to lift it back into position, but your numb, cold hands aren't of much use. It slips from your grasp and clanks against the steps. You hear the man chuckle.

“Don't worry about that. I'll come over and fix it tomorrow.” His brown eyes are twinkling. They remind you of Oren's. You had better get inside.

“Oh, no. It's okay,” you say, practically crawling up the stairs. He looks at me, his dark eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. “Really. It's okay. You don't have to bother,” you assure him. “My parents bought this place. They'll fix it later.”

“Are you sure you don't want it fixed sooner?”

“I'm sure.” you dig through your purse, searching for your keys.

He just watches you, creeping you out. Finally he bends over and scoops something up out of the snow. “Looking for these?”

Of all the nerve... He tosses you the keys. “Thanks,” you catch them out of the air and turn your back to him.

Still he doesn't leave. “Look,” he says. “If you need anything, we live right across the street.”

We? You glance at the amazon green house across the street. Is he married? Your anxiety fades. “Thank you, but I think I'll be fine.”

He doesn't look convinced, and you're trying all your keys in the door for the second time when you remember the key you want is still in your pocket. Now you're really embarrassed. Your neighbor doesn't say a word, but you're sure he's laughing – on the inside – when you finally pull the key out of your jacket and wrench open the door. You strut inside, pretending nothing was ever wrong. 

“Uh, I guess I'll see you later?” He says as you shove the old door closed. You ignore his implied question and lock the door behind you. With a sigh, you slide to the floor. What a day.

A few short seconds later you dare to peek out the window. He's gone, and you finally feel secure. Then you remember you're in a strange dilapidated house that is probably haunted and dusty among other things. Oh well...you definitely are not driving back to Phoenix. A sudden creak and rattling of the windows sends you flying to your feet. You're not sure, but you think you might rather be outside freezing your toes off with your much too friendly neighbor. Taking a few deep breaths, you...

A. Fly out the door and catch up with your neighbor. Maybe he'll check the house for you.

B. Ignore the sound. It's probably just the wind. 

C. Investigate the sound. It's probably nothing, but you like to know for sure.

To be continued....

Word Wednesday - Are You Hungry?

I did sandwich a few times back, so I thought I'd do a few more food words.

Spaghetti comes from the Italian word spago which basically means little cord.

Hamburger actually came from Hamburger steak, which was basically a shorter way of saying "steak in the fashion of Hamburg," which is a city in Germany.

Sundae: I found lots of controversial stuff over this popular summer treat all over the internet. It seems nobody really knows, but it is speculated that it came from the word "Sunday" either because it was ice cream sold only on Sundays or leftover from Sundays and sold cheaper on Monday.

Tip Tuesday - Short & Sweet

Well, did everyone go on vacation or something? I feel like I've been the only one on here. :) I've been rather busy myself, so I'm just going to share a quote:

(Okay, that may be short, but definitely not sweet.)

Help with 1st Chapter, Please?

Since I know I'm not going to complete my other story today, I'm giving into a temptation and posting chapter one of my book here. If you girls don't mind, I'd like a little help with it. Parts of it I really like, and others I'm just not sure. Sorry I didn't take the time to go through and double space between paragraphs. Hopefully it doesn't mess up your reading experience too much.

Family and friends, they make us smile,

...And cry, every once in a while.

“Look, Jessie!” a little voice sang. “It's morning!” My brother's beaming face stared down at mine, his sticky fingers forcing my eyelids open.

“Go away, Joey,” I grumbled, pushing his hands off my face and rolling over.

“But it's morning!” He bounced off the bed and skipped to the window. I heard the curtains fly open and groaned as sunlight flooded the room. “See!” Joey declared.

“No.” I pulled my quilt over my head. “Get out.”

“But it really is!” he pouted.

“So,” came my muffled response.

“You promised to play with me in the morning!”

I moaned. Joey's sigh was barely audible as he dragged his feet towards the door.

“It's time to get up and get dressed for breakfast!” Mom's voice carried up the stairs. I flung my blanket off just in time to see Joey stick his tongue out at me.

“I told you it was morning!” He skipped from the room, slamming the door.

I forced myself into sitting position. If only God had made the night a little longer … Shrugging the fog off my brain, I swung my legs out of bed and sank my toes into the cool carpet. The goosebumps dotting my arms urged me to dive back under my warm quilt, but I yanked open the closet door instead. A symphony of colors, of which the majority was purple, blurred under my morning haze. I reached for a lavender blouse bedecked in butterflies, paused, and remembered that Rachel had ordered me to wear pink today. For reasons I couldn't possibly comprehend, my purple wore her out. I pulled on a pink T-shirt instead. The initials J.K.R. and BFFS were painted across the chest. I traced the lime-green K with my finger. If only Kelsey still lived in Aspen … How I missed her bubbly tomboy attitude! At least I still had Rachel.

Footsteps pounding down the stairway broke me from my reverie. I needed to find some pants and get my backside down there, too. After rummaging through the dresser, I finally settled for my favorite faded-blue jeans and yanked them on. I ran my fingers through my brunette hair, pulled it back with a hot pink ponytail holder, and glanced in the mirror. Good enough.

“Jessica! Where are you? We're all waiting!”

“Coming, Mom!” I flew out the door, down the stairs, and into the dining room where everyone else shifted in their seats.

“Finally!” Joey kicked out my chair with his foot. “What took you so long?”

“It's a girl thing,” Josh explained. “They can't ever decide what to wear.”

“Joshua Daniel Whitman, I'll have you know, I am not -”

“Jessica,” Dad interrupted. “Sit.”

“Yes, Sir,” I muttered, glaring at my twin. I'd give Josh a piece of my mind later.

“Let's pray.” Dad surveyed the table. “Jordan, I believe it's your turn.” We all bowed our heads.

“Jordan?” Mom said after a moment of silence.

“Hmm?” Jordan jerked his head up.

“It's your turn.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Dear Lord, thank you for this food...”

My thoughts wandered to my to-do-list. Dad wanted help planting the garden, and I had a little homework to catch up on. I also needed to have my chores done by 2:00pm when Rachel would arrive; but today was Saturday, which meant extra chores. I almost sighed out loud but remembered Jordan was still praying.

“...and please help Josh and Jessie not to fight. In Jesus' name, Amen.”

“Amen,” Mom echoed. Dad chuckled. Josh's hand flew to his mouth, attempting to hide a monstrous grin. I scowled and kicked him.

“Ouch! What was that for?” He glowered back.

“Can I have the milk, please?” Jordan interrupted, oblivious to the stir he had caused.

Dad passed the milk, giving Josh and I a warning look.

“How is everyone this morning?” Mom asked, breaking the ice.

“Fine,” Josh and I mumbled simultaneously.

“Good!” Joey sang. Jordan just stared at his bowl of cereal, deep in thought. I marveled at his one-track mind.

“Daniel?” Mom looked at Dad.

“I'm wonderful, Dear.” He leaned over and kissed Mom. “And you?”

Joey hid his face in his shirt.

“I'm fine,” Mom poured herself some cereal. “But I had the weirdest dream last night.

Dad reached for the toast. “Oh?”

“Me too!” Joey peeked out of hiding. “Josh and I were fishing and -”

Dad cleared his throat. “Your Mom was speaking.”

“Sorry.” He pulled his face back into his shirt.

“I was saying,” Mom continued. “I had a really odd dream last night. We had triplets.” Dad's head shot up. “They kept screaming and crying, and I couldn't get them to shut up no matter what I did. I finally woke up to the alarm clock buzzing in my ear.”

“Are you saying...” Dad began.

“No.” Mom read his thoughts.

“Hmmm...maybe it's a sign.”

“Of what?”

“Maybe we are supposed to have more kids.”

“I don't think so.” Mom put a spoonful of cereal in her mouth.

“A sister would be nice.” I dropped a hint, which truthfully, I did quite often.

“Nooo,” Josh argued. “We'd have to wait even longer for breakfast.”

Jordan looked up thoughtfully. “It would only be fair, Josh, since there are already three boys.”

“Exactly!” I exclaimed. At least someone was on my side. “Besides, Joey was supposed to have been a girl.”

“I was?” Joey's eyes were as big as saucers.

“The Doctor thought you were a girl at first,” Mom explained. “But don't worry. Your sister wouldn't trade you for the world. You've been her baby since the first day she laid eyes on you.”

Joey looked relieved. His eyes sparkled. “Are you still going to play 'Hunter' with me today?”

I wanted to say no. There was so much to do before Rachel came; but one look at those twinkling brown orbs, and I knew I couldn't possibly break his heart. He was my baby after all. Sometimes I desperately wanted a sister, but other times I was quite content with having three of the most annoying, most obnoxious, and most amazing brothers in the world.

♫♫♪♫♪

I crouched beneath the cedar trees and peered through the spindly branches. Joey crawled to my side, his brown eyes wide and twinkling.

“Is it safe yet?” he whispered.

I barely nodded. “Hunter,” as Joey called it, was a game us Whitman kids had invented since the first time we had seen Bambi. The game was simple: we were the “deer” and the kids playing in the neighborhood park were the “hunters.” Surrounding the park was a multitude of cedar trees, which also served as a border between our parsonage and the park. These trees were our “hideout.” The main objective of the game was to run from the trees, to the monkey bars, and back without being seen by the hunters. Being “seen” was the equivalent of being shot.

“C'mon let's go!” Joey nudged me.

I froze. For the first time ever I wondered what the other kids thought of us. Were we kook-koo? Or scaredy-cats?

“Hurry,” my brother nudged me again. “Before that boy in the blue turns around!”

“Okay, okay,” I whispered back. “I'm going.” Leaping to my feet, I sped toward the monkey-bars, Joey right at my heels. With ease I reached the yellow bars. I let my fingers brush the metal before turning back the way I'd come, but it all went wrong from there. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the blue boy turn around. He nudged his buddy and pointed. Another boy appeared out of nowhere and intercepted my path. I nearly collided into him. He shoved me to the ground.

“Watch where you're going!” He growled.

Joey slid to a stop behind me.

“S-sorry!” I sputtered. I felt my cheeks heat up. Why did I have to run into Owen Howard, the cutest and biggest brat in town? I wished his blond bangs were a couple miles longer to cover up that charming smirk of his. If I had been standing, I would have been a foot taller than him. That's probably why he liked me better on the ground.

“'Sorry' doesn't fix it,” he said. “You're still in my road.” He folded his arms across his t-shirt which read in bright red letters, “I'm cool. Just sayin'.”

Joey scrambled to the side. Normally I would have done the same. Don't get me wrong. I wanted to run, but still being shook up over the ordeal, my brain couldn't get the proper message to my feet. So, I just sat. Owen scowled. I was sure he was about to kick me when the boy in blue and his buddy walked up.

“Knock it off, Owen. Leave the girl alone. Let's go play.” He tossed Owen a basketball. Owen glanced at the basketball, then at me.

Hard choice, I thought. He fired a couple more of those invisible darts from his eyes before he finally decided to let me be. As the boys ambled towards the basketball court, my eyes focused on the boy in blue. I'd never seen him before. Perhaps he had recently moved to Aspen. Sandy-blond waves covered his head, and he towered over both his companions. How on earth did he earn Owen's appreciation? His buddy I knew already hung out in Owen's ring of friends, but this boy seemed too nice for them.

“C'mon!” Joey yanked on my sleeve. I allowed him to drag me back through the cedar trees and into our yard, but my thoughts still spun with the park. Joshua met us half way there.

“Rachel's here.”

“She is?” I snapped back to the present.

“Yeah, she's waiting for you on the porch.”

I broke loose from Joey's grip and darted to the house. Sure enough, the Colley's green minivan idled in the driveway, and Rachel was bouncing up and down on the porch, waving to me. Her red pig-tails bobbed with every hop. She wore a pale pink shirt, knee-length jean skirt, and long, striped socks. On top of that, she had donned here usual blue flats. I grinned. She looked ridiculous, but that's what I loved about her.

Rachel flew into my arms and squeezed the air out of me. “Guess what?” she asked, resuming her hopping.

“Hmmm...” I held my chin. “You finished your book?”

“Nope! Guess again!”

“You finally bought a camera?”

“Nope!”

“Okay, if it's not that, then it must be...” I racked my brain. It usually didn't take this long to figure out what caused her happy spells. “Oh, I know! You've finally been diagnosed with ADHD!”

Rachel stopped bouncing. “You think you're funny.”

I grinned.

“Well, you're wrong again!”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I give up!”

Rachel clapped her hands and leaned in closer to my ear. “I'm going to have a baby brother or sister!” she almost screamed in my ear.

I jumped. “Not fair!”

“Is too fair! You already have two younger brothers and a twin.”

“Yeah, well, I still wish I had a sister.”

“But it's better than having one ol' grumpy big brother!”

“I heard that!” Sammy, car keys in hand, stepped out of the house. Rachel clamped a hand over her mouth and giggled. Her brother gave her a playful punch in the shoulder. “See ya later, Sis!”

“See ya,” Rachel punched him back. Sammy hopped into the mini-van and sped off down the street. Voices caught my attention in the opposite direction. Owen was dribbling the basketball down the road, his friends close behind him.

“Let's go inside” I pushed Rachel towards the door.

“Why? Weren't we going to -”

“Just come on!” As soon as I had stepped inside, I raced up the stairs, Rachel at my heels.

“What's the matter with you?” She asked when we finally reached my room.

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, right.” Rachel planted her hands on her hips.

“Alright, alright! If you must know...” I flung open the curtains. Rachel peeked out.

“I don't see nothin'.”

“Look down the street! No, the other way!”

Rachel smashed her face against the window. “I still don't see anything.”

I sighed. “The boys, Rachel.”

“Oh … The boys?” She shook her head. “You're kidding me, right? You're scared of them?”

“No.”

“Then you must have a crush on one of them.”

“I do not!”

Rachel stepped away from the window and folded her arms across her chest. “Whatever.”

Heat flamed in my cheeks. I didn't know why, but it was no use trying to convince her.

“Most girls have crushes on Owen Howard.” Rachel flopped down onto my bed.

“I'm not like most girls.”

“Then explain to me, Miss Whitman, why you are avoiding him.”

I rolled my eyes. My best friend was impossible. “Owen is mean to me.”

Rachel sat up. “He talked to you?”

“Sort of. I almost ran into him when I was playing with Joey this morning. He pushed me over and told me to watch where I was going.”

“Harrumph!” Rachel obviously wasn't satisfied. I decided to change the the subject.

“So … do you want the baby to be a girl or a boy?”

“Well, that's a no-brainer! A girl of course.”

“I'm so jealous of you!”

“Keep praying. Maybe you won't have to be. In the mean time, I'm starving. Do you suppose your mom would have a snack downstairs?”

I nodded. It was a little early for snack time, but Mom probably wouldn't mind. Rachel headed for the staircase. I glanced out the window one last time. The boys had paused in front of our driveway, talking among themselves. Owen twirled the basketball and spit on the curb. I cringed. If that's what cool was all about, I definitely didn't want to have any part of it. The new boy glanced up at the house. I ducked away. He hadn't seen me, had he?

♫♫♪♫♪

I sat with my legs cross-legged at the coffee-table, my fingers clutching a bright red Stratego piece. Josh sat across from me, grinning over his vast army of blue. He had been knocking out my pieces left and right. My only chance of victory depended on breaking through his lines and finding that flag. I thought I knew exactly where it sat, if only I could get there. Eying the couple of blue pieces that blocked my way, I decided I'd take a risk. My man's number was seven. Surely Josh's ten was still on the other side of the board. I attacked the piece in front of mine. “Seven.” I said confidently.

“Eight!” Josh smirked.

“What! I thought I already killed your eight.” I slammed down my piece with the rest of my fallen men on the sidelines.

“Nope. You got my nine.”

I moaned. “When will you ever give me a chance?”

“Jessie,” Joey nudged my shoulder. “If you play with me I might let you win.”

I eyed the Candy Land game he held in my face. Perhaps his game was a little more my style. “Might?” I asked jokingly.

Joey nodded. “Yeah, if you let me win first.”

“Hey! That's not fair! I've already lost twice today.”

“So.” He pulled the lid off the game and unfolded the board on the table. The corner of the board collided with Josh's blue army. The men fell like dominoes, revealing their numbers.

I spied the flag and snatched it up. “Ha!”

“Joseph Dillon, we weren't finished yet!” Josh pried it from my fingers.

Joey's mouth formed a little “o” as he stood in awe of the disrupted battlefield.

“What's going on in here?” Daddy stood in the doorway. His face looked fatigued, and his eyes were red.

“Joey messed up our -” Josh stopped when Mom walked up behind Dad, her eyes swollen and a tissue in hand. “What's wrong?” my twin asked instead. My stomach sank. Mom and Dad upset was usually related to Church problems. Either members were fighting or someone was getting a divorce. Whatever the case, everyone always piled all their problems on the preacher and his wife, who just so happened to be my parents. Which also meant the happy norm of my family would be interrupted.

“Where's Jordan?” Dad asked, avoiding Josh's question.

“Huh?” Jordan sat up, pulling his nose out of a book.

“We need to talk.” Mom said, sinking down next to him on the couch. Dad sat on her other side. Joey crawled onto his lap.

“Why?” I asked.

Mom looked at me, a fresh set of tears streaming down her cheeks. “Do you kids remember Rachel and Sammy's Grandma?”

I nodded. Yes, of course we did. Back when she lived in Aspen, all of us kids loved to sit by her in Church. We would draw her pictures, and she would feed us candy. At the time, she was like an adopted Grandma to us.

“She has cancer.” Dad teared up now.

Cancer. I had heard that word so many times, it took a while to register. It played the bad guy in books, in movies, and stories the adults told. Hearing the word “cancer” was like hearing someone tell you a dragon ate your grandma. It just didn't seem believable, but when it finally registered, a lump jumped into my throat. If I could have said a word without crying, it would have been a miracle.

Dad picked up where Mom left off. “The Colleys are moving to Sacramento to be with their Grandma. They're leaving next Friday.”

“No!” I jumped to my feet. Rachel couldn't move. I wouldn't let her. She was my last friend left on planet earth, and Sacramento … that was in California! My head spun. Mommy wrapped her arms around me and whispered something in my ear, but I didn't hear a word. I shoved her away and pounded up the stairs. Slamming the door behind me, I collapsed onto my bed and buried my face in the quilt. The purple flowers drank my tears. Moments later I felt Mom by my side. She rubbed my back, and I knew she cried with me.

When my pounding headache finally overpowered the ache in my heart, I sat up and faced my Mom. She gave me a hug and held me a few seconds. Then she swiped the stray locks of hair from my steamy face and forced a smile. “You know, Honey, you can always write to her.”

“It's not the same,” I choked out.

“I know,” Mom whispered. “But it might help.”

I nodded, but I knew part of me didn't agree.

“Why don't you get ready for bed? Things will look brighter in the morning.”

Whatever, I thought. It will only be a day closer til Rachel leaves, but I didn't say so. Instead, I grabbed my pj's from under my pillow and headed for the bathroom.

Questions:

1. Did anything sound too cheesy to you? If so what was it? Do you have any suggestions for changing it?

2. In the last scene when the parents break the news to the kids, did I handle it okay? I wasn't exactly sure how to do it.

3. Did I successfully grab your attention and keep it long enough for you to think my book would be worth reading?

4. Any other suggestions/comments?

Thank you for taking the time to read this. It's been a struggle for me to persevere with this project, and I'm maybe only halfway done with my first draft!

Weekly Newsletter - Happy Easter!

Well, as you probably noticed, I didn't complete my blogging responsibilities last week, and I had planned on posting a special Easter story for today, but .... I'm not finished. I'm going to blame it on having big cake project. So if I don't post everything this week, just assume I'm doing another cake.

Here is what I have planned but may or may not get done :)

- Easter Story (Unnamed so far, Grace)

- Tip Tuesday (Grace)

- Word Wednesday (Grace)

- What if ... (making up for last week, Grace)





"But on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they went to the tomb, taking the spices they had prepared. And they found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they went in they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus. While they were perplexed about this, behold, two men stood by them in dazzling apparel. And as they were frightened and bowed their faces to the ground, the men said to them, “Why do you seek the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen." ~ Luke 24:1-6a (ESV)

Word Wednesday (or shall I say Thursday?)

So it turns out you're not the only one forgetting things this week, Hope, and I'm also stealing from my homework, too. I've been studying Realism in American Literature and ran across this handy-dandy word, which I'd heard/read before but hadn't ever taken the time to actually look up the definition.

verisimilitude

1. the appearance or semblance of truth; likelihood; probability: The play lacked verisimilitude.
2. something, as an assertion, having merely the appearance of truth.

(from dictionary.com)

Sorry that's all I have today. I'll try to do better next week.

Tip Tuesday

Yeah...so I forgot that I needed to write this tip until Sunday when I saw the weekly newsletter. Then...I forgot again. Today something jogged my memory but I didn't have time to write at that point...and I forgot again. It became a cycle of forget, remember, forget, remember. Anyway, the point is, I am currently scrambling around trying to come up with a tip. As usual, I turn to one of my high school writing textbooks.

After searching in for much more time that I really have I came across something about figures of speech. So here's the tip--be careful using common figures of speech too much and be willing to invent some of your own!

Sorry so short.I'll try harder next time to not be as forgetful as a...squirrel. (see? I am following my own tip and creating my own figure of speech!)

Sinister Soup

Okay, here is my belated story for the verse challenge!   Sorry for the odd title; I just came up with it just so I didn't post it without a title! =P

Thaddeus hung his lab coat on the hook and did a quick sweep of the room, making sure everything was in place before leaving.  Satisfied, he swung the door shut behind him and loped down the hallway to the first stairwell.  With a spring in his step, he thudded down the stairs and emerged at the bottom, angling towards 1022 to wait for his sister to get out of class.  At 10:20 on the dot, the bell rang and a rush of students crowded the hallway, eager to escape into the bright sunshine awaiting them outdoors.  Thaddeus intercepted a tall brunette as she brushed by, and she swiveled around in surprise.
    “Thaddie!”
    “You ready?”
    “Ja, my bag’s waiting at the door.  Let’s go!” 
    The two siblings hurried out the door together, waving goodbye to friends as they hit the double doors and their feet touched the sidewalk. 
    In no time, they were cruising down the highway towards home.
    In a few hours, they turned onto a bumpy dirt road and bounced the rest of the way home.

    Once inside, Thaddeus dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and perused the dining room.  A few books lay open on the table, pencils haphazardly thrown aside, erasers in lonely exile on the glistening wood.  Tirzah swung the door open with her foot and dropped her load of luggage in the mudroom. 
    “Where is everybody?”  She asked, sensing the silence.
    “I don’ know; it looks like they were in the middle of school and left all of a sudden,” Thaddeus observed.
    Suddenly, Thaddeus saw something move behind the couch in the living room.  A small sock clad foot wiggled methodically back and forth.  Thaddeus grinned and pointed the foot out to Tirzah.  He motioned for her to stay quiet and then tiptoed over to the couch.  He reached down and gave the little foot a tug, yelling out “Rawr!” At the same time.  He was rewarded with a shrieking yelp and a little boy bounced up.
    “Hey, you weren’t supposed to be able to find me!”  The little boy protested.
    “Haha!  You give yourself away when you can’t stop wiggling, Timothy!”  Thaddeus laughed.  Tirzah joined them and swept Timothy up in a hug. 
    “Now where are all the others?”  She inquired.
    “You’ll have to find them!”  Timothy grinned mischievously.
    “Oh, we’re playin’ that game, eh?”
    “Yup!” Timothy giggled and squirmed to get down.  Tirzah complied and the three siblings set off to find the rest of the clan. 
    Once all five of the rest of the children had been found, the eight children unpacked the car and then dispersed to carry out their respective duties in preparation for supper.

    That night, the children were settling in for bed, which took a considerable amount of time for eight rambunctious children.
    “Thaddie, tell us a story!”  Theophilus begged, bouncing up and down on the bed. 
    “Well...”  Thaddeus paused, grinning mischievously. 
    “Oh come on, Thad, just one.” Titus pleaded.
    “Well, all right.”  Thaddeus consented.
    “Now stop jumping on that bed, Theophilus Epaphroditus!”  Taralah reprimanded, tugging on his arm.  Theophilus sent a scathing glare her way before plopping down on the middle of the bed.
    “Okay, settle down, y’all.”  Tirzah commanded, settling herself in the corner chair with four year old Timothy on her lap.  Titus and Theophilus sprawled across each other on the bed, Tychicus spread out on the floor, and Taralah and Tabitha perched at Tirzah’s feet.
    “All right.  Once upon a time, there lived a great king.  He named his kingdom Benevolence, which was an extravagant misnomer, because his kingdom was anything but benevolent.”
    “What does benevolent mean?”  Timothy interrupted.
    “It means you’re being nice to someone.”  Taralah offered.
    “Oh, like if Tychicus would let me have the last icecream sandwich?”  Timothy asked, looking pointedly at Tychicus.
    “Yeah; if that would ever happen!” Tychicus laughed, rolling away from Timothy’s kicking legs.
    “You tick!” Timothy growled.
    “Hey now, that’s enough.  Thaddeus, you better finish your story so these hooligans will go to sleep.”  Tirzah intervened.
    “Right.  Well, this king had a furious temper.  It was well known that you did not want to cross this king, but no one knew what would happen if you did, for no one had ever been brave enough to try.  One day, the gardener was out weeding the tomatoes when the king’s son marched over.
    ‘Gardener, my father says you must prepare him a meal.  The chef has fallen ill and someone must take his place for tonight.  You are to prepare his favorite dish, at once.’  The king’s son departed, having delivered his message.
    ‘B-but; I’m a gardener, not a chef!’  The gardener cried out in protest.  The king’s son ignored him.  The gardener put down his hoe and looked at his dirt-caked hands. 
    ‘Me?  In the kitchen?  I wouldn’t know the first place to start!’  He wailed to himself.  Resigned, however, to his duty, he scurried inside to fetch a basket.  Within minutes he had filled it to the brim with tomatoes, cherries from the orchard, radishes, and green beans.  He made his way to the kitchen, stopping to pluck stray weeds from the ground as he went.  Once inside, he surveyed his utensils.  Grabbing a large pot, he hung it on the hook over the fireplace.  He filled it a fourth full with water from the spring, and then sat with his head in his hands, trying to think what to fix.
    ‘The king’s favorite dish, eh?  And how am I supposed to know what that is?’  The gardener was by no means on a friendly basis with the king, and was not fond of the chef, either, so he had never heard what the king’s favorite dish was.  After several intense minutes of agonizing thought, the gardener finally sat up straight.
    ‘I’ve had enough of this tyranny!  I’m going to fix whatever I please, and just see if the king dares to punish me!’  The gardener smiled in satisfaction, and set to chopping up tomatoes in a fury.  He threw several cupfuls into the kettle, followed in quick sucession by the radishes, cherries and green beans.  He looked in delight at the concoction swirling about in the kettle.  He knew it would probably taste disgusting.
    ‘The more disgusting, the better!’ He decided, adding various spices from the pantry.  Soon, the mixture in the kettle was heated to a rolling boil, and the gardener breathed in the aroma. 
    ‘Mmmm... Perfect.’  He smiled wickedly and brought a spoonfull to his lips.  He inhaled it and then spat it out quickly.
    ‘Disgusting!’  He breathed, pleased. 
    Soon thereafter, the a bowl of the soup (if you can call it that) sat in front of the king.  He looked at it in distaste.
    ‘What, may I ask, is this?”  The king growled.
    ‘Soup, your highness.’  The gardener said, hiding a smirk.
    ‘Soup!’  The king roared, enraged.  ‘Did I not ask for my favorite dish?  Send him to the gallows, immediately!’  Was the king’s edict.
    That night, the gardener died.”
    “Oh, Thaddeus, how awful!”  Taralah cried.  “How could you tell such a story?”
    “Oh, it just came to me when I read Proverbs 20:2 this morning; ‘The terror of a king is like the growling of a lion; He who provokes him to anger forfeits his own life.’”
    “Ugh; I don’t know how you can stand to tell such a story.  You better tell something else, or the boys will have nightmares.”  Tirzah instructed.
    “Well, when I came up with the story, I thought of how Jesus died for us, so that we don’t have to encounter God’s wrath for our sins, but instead, we get to live in heaven forever with him and enjoy His holiness and love.  That’s where the happy ending comes in.”  Thaddeus smiled.
    “Ah, yes.  Well, I’m glad you had a good reason behind your story, Thad.”  Tirzah smiled back.  “Well, boys, to bed then?” 
    She was answered by a soft snore from Timothy. 

THE END!

Weekly Newsletter

Well for the first time I'm trying posting from my tablet. We'll see if it works.

Here is this week's schedule:

- Story/Post (Josie)

- Tip Tuesday (Hope)

- Word Wednesday (Grace)

- What If ... (New!!! By Grace)

Have a good week! I'm certainly hoping for a less busy one. My sister and I have been super busy making the adoption cake.

"Teach me your way, O Lord, and I will walk in your truth; give me an undivided heart that I may fear your name." ~Psalm 86:11

Who Am I?

Here is this week's Who Am I!  I didn't put very much thought into this one due to extreme busyness.  So...yeah...anyway...    :) 

1)  I am extremely loyal.
2)  Adventures are okay, but I would prefer to be at home.
3)  I have always really wanted to see some elves.

Word Wednesday

Hello everyone!  Today I picked two words that I love to have flow through my mind.  I don't know why, but there is just something fun about them.

Skew [skyoo]:  To turn aside or swerve; take an oblique course.  To look obliquely; squint.   To give an oblique direction to; shape, form, or cut obliquely.  To distort; to depict unfairly.

Waft [wahft]:  To carry lightly and smoothly through the air or over water.  To send or convey lightly, as if in flight.   To signal to, summon, or direct by waving.   To float or be carried, especially through the air.  A sound, odor, etc., faintly perceived.  A wafting movement; light current or gust.

Do y'all have any words that when you read them, you sigh in pleasure?

Another Header

Here's another header I made in two forms. Mainly I like the color theme and scrapbook look. I haven't figured out exactly how we'd put our name it yet. I would have posted it earlier but totally forgot about it.