All Will be Well

All Will be Well is a YA vignette that is set during the time of the People’s Crusade. It is a story/series that I’m weaving into the fabric of my Crusades and Crusaders blog.

15 February 1096

The moment Adele saw Peter approaching, sitting on top of his mule, her eyes filled with tears. Adele had heard all about Peter’s teachings; of all the kindness and generosity he bestowed upon the people of this land. Many of the villagers likened him to Saint Peter–even though they had not yet met him. Father Marc even said that Christ had sent Peter to preach unity, good will, humanity and…Holy War. That was why Father Marc had wrote to Peter; He wanted him to preach here in the town of Rochefort. Adele suspected he wanted to hear more about this Holy War; she wanted to learn more about it herself. But she had other pressing concerns, and she needed to Peter. Desperately.

She could already tell that Peter was not alone. He was accompanied by several travelers. Few of them were knights, clad in a full suite of armor. They all chanted, “God wills it,” over and over again.

Adele hiked up her skirts and ran towards the procession, her vision nearly blinded by tears.

When Peter saw her, he brought his mule and the entire procession to an immediate halt. “My dear child. What is the matter?”

Adele fell to her knees. The rain soaked ground seeped quickly through her skirts, sending deep chills throughout her body. “Father…I am so glad you have come to Rochefort. I have…I have…”

“Come, child, take my hand and tell me of your troubles. The good Lord knows everything, and he has a grand plan for you; for us all,” Peter said, looking up towards Heaven.

Adele slipped her hand in his. It was cold, rough and caked in dirt, but she did not care. She was holding the hand of the great Peter the Hermit. That was all that mattered. She dabbed at her eyes and nose with her space hand. “Oh, dear Father. My mother is all I have left, but she is very ill. She wishes to see you.”

Peter gave her hand a squeeze. “Of course. I shall see her right away.”

Hand in hand, Adele and Peter led the procession of travelers into the village. A feeling of calm washed over Adele as she guided Peter to the tiny cottage where she lived with her mother and sisters. Children, who had been playing in the street, stopped what they were doing and ran towards Peter, their arms outstretched and smiles plastered on their pale little faces. Everywhere, curious villagers left their homes and coalesced upon her cottage. Caring not for the audience they have gathered, Adele pushed open the wooden door and guided Peter inside.

Father Marc was kneeling beside the cot where Mother lay. Elle was stoking the fire while little Josie played with her rag doll, Celeste nearby.

The moment Father Marc saw Peter, he bowed reverently and said; “Father Peter, you have come at last.”

Adele watched as Peter embraced Father Marc. “Yes, dear brother. My heart is rejoicing, for I have wanted to meet you ever since I received your letter. And now I finally have.”

Adele rushed to her mother’s side, took her hand and kissed it. Despite the fact that Mother’s cot was beside the fire pit, her hand was ice cold. Fresh tears stung Adele’s eyes. “He is here, Mother. All will be well.”

A weak smile spread across Mother’s face. “Adele…My girls…”

At the mention of ‘girls’, Elle and Josie rushed to Mother’s bedside.

“I don’t…have much time. Christ is calling me home,” Mother whispered.

Tears poured down Adele’s face. “What are we going to do? Where will we go? We have very little money.”

“Adele. Take my rosary and…listen to what Father Peter and Father Marc tell you. Do as they say. They will take good care of you girls.” Mother tried to lift the rosary over her head, but she couldn’t move her arms, so Adele took it from her.

“I will, Mother,” was all she could say.

“Mama! Please don’t go. Don’t go. Please,” Josie wailed.

“Come on, children. Let Father Peter pray over your mother,” Father Marc intervened.

Without another word, the three girls shuffled over to the door where Father Marc stood.

Adele watched her dear mother slip away right after she confessed her sins to Father Peter. Her face was white and marked with years of suffering, yet her expression was of content. She was glad to be in heaven, far away from here. Adele felt strangely happy for Mother and relieved to know that she would suffer no more.

“Your mother has repented. She is with God now,” Father Peter said after he finished praying over her.

Adele made the sign of the Cross. So too did Father Marc and her sisters.

“My dear children; your home is no longer here. It is in Jerusalem. It is God’s will, as your mother’s, that you take up the Cross and fight the enemy,” Peter said.

Adele was not surprised to hear this, yet she could not stop her heart from racing. “But Father, I am only sixteen and I do not know how to fight.” She felt a strong hand on her shoulder; Father Marc’s hand.

“God will protect us. He is on our side. He will smite the very enemy who desecrated the Holy Sepulcher.” Father Marc’s voice was so loud, it rang in Adele’s ear.

Adele turned and cast him a blank look. “Pardon my ignorance, Father Marc, but I do not know who this enemy is.”

Peter’s face flushed a deep red. He looked at her as if she has just uttered a blasphemous word. So did Father Marc.

“They are Muslims; a race of barbarians,” Peter yelled. “These filthy heathens, who proclaim a lowly man, Muhammad, as God, base their religion on rape, murder and incest.” His lips began to tremble. “These infidels continue to desecrate the place where our Lord suffered; they persecute and torture the Christians living under their rule, and now they threaten to destroy Romania.* These Muslims are the Antichrist, I tell you.” He paused and took a deep breath. “But the good Lord has heard the cry of his people for deliverance. That is why he has called us to save his Holy City and defend our Eastern Brethren from the infidel.”

Adele exchanged looks with her younger sisters. She could easily tell, by the looks on their faces, they were just as horrified by this news as was she. So, this is what the Holy War is all about.

Adele suddenly felt Peter’s hand on her shoulder and she smelt his putrid breath. She fought the urge to grimace and back away. The last thing she wanted was to offend him and Father Marc, especially since she had promised her mother that she would do as they told her.

“Jesus does not care that you are a young peasant girl, and he does not care that you are poor. He is calling you to take up the Cross and defend His people. The Holy Land belongs to Him. I promise, you and your sisters will be safe. We will all travel together, and there will be many Christian warriors who will accompany us.”

Peter’s eyes filled with tears. “All your sins will be absolved. Every one of you.” His gaze danced from Adele to her sisters, to Father Marc, then back to Adele. “The road to Jerusalem is long and treacherous, but that does not compare to the Heavenly award Christ has for you; for us. If God spares your life, He will bless you, for the Holy Land is full of treasure. Even the lowliest of peasants shall live a comfortable life.”

Josie squealed. “Oooh, treasure! I cannot wait to find out what it is.”

Father Marc cupped a hand over her mouth. “That is not God’s intention, child.”

Adele’s gaze shifted from Peter to her mother. “You are right. This is no longer our home. We no longer belong here. God has a plan for us elsewhere and He has sent you to us. I…we…will take up the Cross and, with God’s help, we will fight the infidel.”

“Bless you, child,” Peter said, bowing reverently. “You will have eternal salvation, I promise.”

Tears gathered in the corners of Adele’s eyes. “I wish only to be with my mother in Heaven, and it makes my heart glad to know I will see her again one day.”

Father Marc pulled a knife out of his cloak, then carefully cut out four crosses from Mother’s blanket. He handed one to Adele, one to Elle, one to Josie and kept the last for himself.

“Take this cross,” he said, holding up the piece of cloth, “and sew it onto your clothes, over your right breast.” He then made the sign of the Cross with his spare hand. “God wills it!”

“God Wills it,” they all yelled in unison.

Adele felt a strange tingling sensation all over. She did not know what lie ahead, but she was more than happy and prepared to leave her dismal life behind forever.

*The Byzantine Empire was commonly referred to as Romania (Eastern Roman Empire) in the Middle Ages.

Crusades and Crusades is mostly a non-fiction blog that follows the crusades (1095-1291), hence the title. The fiction vignettes that I’m including on this blog are intended to take the E.E.I.I. module (Educate, Engage, Inform, Inspire) to a whole new level.

To be a Star

This is a short story I wrote earlier this year. It’s actually a vignette from a (potential) idea for a novel I had brewing in my mind.

*****

Jessica considers herself a sensible person in that she’s cautious around other people. She wants friends, but she doesn’t want to be friends with everyone. That’s why Jessica can’t understand why she wants to be accepted by Minnie. No, it’s not because Minnie is popular; it’s not because Minnie is drop-dead-gorgeous, and it’s not because she happens to come from a very well-to-do family; it is because Minnie is an amazing actress. Minnie has starred as the lead character in every school play since the eighth grade. She even played the role of Clara in The Nutcracker last Christmas, a play produced by the Okanagan Arts Club, the most reputable and prestigious theatre company in the Okanagan Valley.

Jessica emerges from the bathroom stall, then walks over to the sinks. When she peers at her reflection in the mirror, she frowns. I wish I was as pretty as Minnie. I wish my hair was as thick and as long as hers, and I wish I had her hour-glass figure. Jessica’s stomach is not protruding, but it’s not flat either: it is round enough to make Jessica feel self-conscious of her appearance. Her hips and thighs aren’t so bad, but still, she avoids wearing yoga pants, tights; anything that reveals her husky figure.

Jessica could work out at the gym two days a week. Three days a week. No, she’s going to work out every day, for one solid hour. Hopefully, once I’m all toned, I’ll have a better chance at landing a part in an Okanagan Arts Club play. Maybe then, Annie, the director, will admit me into her theatre school.

Jessica rakes her fingers through her straight, fine, blond hair. Forget it, Jessica. Beauty alone isn’t going to get you a star role in a big production. And it’s not going to ensure you a place in the Okanagan Arts Club theatre school for teens.

            Jessica gives her reflection a determined look. “I need Minnie to help me improve on my acting skills,” she whispers.

The door flings open suddenly and voices fill the air around her.

“Where did Adam, of all people, come up with the idea for story theatre?”

That voice belongs to Sarah, Minnie’s best friend.

Jessica’s eyes widen. Story theatre?

“His imagination of course. I don’t know where else he would have found an idea like that,” Minnie says.

Jessica spins on her heels. “What’s story theatre all about?”

Sarah’s face darkens into a scowl. “Of course, of all people, you have to be here.”

Minnie flashes Jessica a tight smile. “Hi, Jessica, aren’t you supposed to be in whatever class you have now?”

Jessica can feel the red creep up her neck and over her face. “Um–yeah. English.”

“Then, you shouldn’t be fooling around in here, Jessica,” Sarah says.

“Minnie, what is story theatre about?” Jessica says, ignoring Sarah’s snide remark.

“Uh–it’s kinda like–street theatre.”

“Really? It totally sounds like a lot of fun,” Jessica says.

Sarah gives Jessica a chilled look. “Yeah, but it’s for experienced actors only. Isn’t it, Minnie?”

“I wasn’t talking to you, Sarah,” Jessica says, glaring at her.

“Whatever, Jessican’t.”

“Leave her alone, Sarah,” Minnie says with a sigh.

Jessica keeps her eyes fixed on Minnie. Today, Minnie’s hair is down; it tumbles over one shoulder and down almost to her waist in one mass of perfectly shaped waves. She is clad in a long, pale green tunic, black tights and ballet flats. A pang of envy beats against Jessica’s chest. I wish I could dress like that and look stunning. She shakes her head. Oh, snap out of it, Jessica. You want to know more about story theatre. That’s all that matters to you. Nothing else.

“I want to be a part of this troupe.”

Sarah snickers.

Minnie’s eyebrows snap up. “Really?”

“She’s joking. Isn’t that right, Jessica?” Sarah says. “Don’t you remember the time back in seventh grade when Mrs. Simmons told you to never audition for another play?”

Jessica bites down hard on her lower lip. That had been the worst day of her life, and Mrs. Simmons–the drama teacher–didn’t have the decency to tell Jessica that in privacy: she had to let Jessica know in front of the entire class, in front of Minnie and Sarah. Jessica doesn’t cry much, she never has. But after she got home from school that afternoon, she sobbed for hours.

She didn’t give up, though. With a lot of support and encouragement from her family, Jessica managed to rebuild her confidence, enough to try again.

She had been in eighth grade and in her first year at Rock Hill Secondary School when she auditioned for a minor role in Greece, a production put on by the school drama club. Jessica thought her audition went well–despite the fact that she had been nervous–and believed that she got the part. But she never received a call back. Only that time, the drama teacher told her that she needed to improve on her acting skills. Quite dramatically. What the teacher really meant to tell Jessica was that she had raw, natural talent. It just needed to be refined. That’s how Jessica interpreted that critique anyway.

Jessica has spent the last three years working on improving her acting skills. She even wrote her own monologues, then had Jenny, her best friend, film her acting them. Jessica posted some of those videos on YouTube, but very few people have viewed them. And no one left any good comments. Jessica, though, never took that as a negative; Jenny even told her that she’s a good actress. Jessica just needs one professional actor to take a chance on her. She has hoped that Annie would be that one special person, but Annie has made every lame excuse under the sun to not give Jessica a chance. Regardless, Jessica is not going to give up.

Jessica shoots Sarah a scathing look. “That’s in the past now, Sarahdumbbitch, so why don’t you leave it there?”

Sarah gives her an even more menacing look, but Minnie holds up her hand in a gesture that stops Sarah from unleashing a hail of razor-sharp words.

“Forget it, Sarah. This is so not worth our time. We’re not joining Adam’s story theatre troupe because the only people who are going to sign up for it are the geeks, losers and the people who’d like to think they are star actors, but in reality, they can’t act worth crap,” Minnie says.

“Like Jessica,” Sarah says. “You’re never going to get a part in any play, so give it up, wannabe.”

Minnie nods her head up and down, then tosses her hair over one shoulder.

Jessica’s lips tremble and her eyes fill up with tears. It feels as if Minnie has just thrust a sword through her abdomen, then twisted it. Jessica has hoped that Minnie would have warmed up to her by now, but obviously, that hasn’t happened.

Jessica walks past the two girls, keeping her eyes peeled on the door. Once she steps out into the hallway, she crumbles. The tears flow down her face, obscuring her vision. Ahead, at the end of the hallway, near the foyer, the words, STORY THEATRE WORKSHOPS appear as a blur before her eyes.

Jessica stops in her tracks, wipes her eyes dry, gets her emotions under control, then looks again at the words. They inhabit almost the entire billboard and they are written in bright red ink. Jessica walks up to the billboard, studying the words as if she has never seen them before. So, that’s what Sarah and Minnie were talking about. How could I have missed this? Her eyes fall to the information below. It reads:

Workshops will be held in the cafeteria, Tuesday and Wednesday, February 21st and 22nd.

          Times: 3-6pm. Anyone who would like to be involved in acting, music and back stage management (outside of school) can come to the workshops.

          For more information, call Adam McAllister at 250-490-0896.

Jessica chews on her lower lip. Last August, the drama club had been cut from the school program because of a lack of funding, and because of a lack of interest on behalf of the teachers.  They had been more interested in starting up and funding an astronomy club and geology club. The people who had anticipated joining the drama club this year either auditioned to get into the theatre school, took acting classes elsewhere, or put theatre on hold for another year.

Jessica knows at least fifteen people in Rock Hill High who attend the theatre school, Minnie and Sarah included. She wonders how Adam is going to compete with an organization that has been around for five years; one that’s quite successful. Are people going to join his story theatre troupe, and is he going to capture the interest of everyone in this school? In this town? Oh, whatever! I don’t care how many people show up to his workshops. This is my opportunity to get my foot in the theatre door, and I’m not going to let anyone stop me or tell me that I can’t do it. I am going to be a star.

Welcome to Peach Valley, Maria

This is a continuation from Who is That Girl?

“Welcome, Historians,” Mr. Wimple says, completely oblivious to all the comments, snickers and sneers that are being made by his new group of students. “I’d like to introduce you to our new student, Maria Hernandez.”

“Maria. That name is music to my ears,” Anya hears Jose–Matt’s best friend–say.

“Get a freakin life,” she hears Melody say through gritted teeth.

Ignoring Melody and the others, Anya continues to study this Maria girl; she continues to stand there, calm and collected as if she hasn’t heard a single comment. Surely she hears all the nasty comments Melody and Cassidy are saying about her.

I really want to be just like her.

            “Tell us a little bit about yourself, Maria,” Mr. Wimple says.

“Oh my God. This is so elementary school,” Cassidy whispers loudly.

“Yeah, and he can’t keep his eyes off her chest,” Melody whispers back.

A strong feeling of relief washes over Anya. Man, it feels good to know I’m not the only one who gets picked on in this school.

“I’m from Madrid,” Maria says. Her voice carries a prominent Spanish accent, yet her diction of the English language is clear and easy to understand. At least Anya thinks it is.

“That’s wonderful,” Mr. Wimple says with a clap of his hands. “I might just get you to do a presentation on the Spanish Civil War.”

Anya can detect the tiniest form of a smirk on Maria’s face.

“Well, welcome to Peach Valley, Maria,” he says, gesturing to the rows of seats. That’s when Anya becomes aware of the empty seat on her right side, and of the other one against the wall, at the far end of the classroom. Her heart begins to race when she sees Maria walking towards her.

“Oh. My. God. Don’t tell me she’s going to sit beside Anya,” Shondra says.

Anya’s face prickles with heat.

“Seriously. There is another empty seat in this room,” Jose says.

“She’s way too cool for Anya, and way prettier,” says one of Jose’s friends.

Anya bites down hard on her lower lip and inhales deeply at the same time. One…two…three. I’m not going to cry.

            “Miss Poverty meets Miss Townslut. An interesting match indeed,” Melody says just as Maria settles into the seat beside Anya.

Anya meets Maria’s eyes, but only for a second. Maria swivels her body and shoots Melody dagger eyes.

“It takes one to know one, bitch,” Maria says loud enough for the teacher– everyone– in the classroom to hear.

Anya’s jaw drops and her eyes bulge open. That was an incredibly gutsy thing to say, especially within Mr. Wimple’s hearing. Whether luck is on Maria’s side or Mr. Wimple is lost in the realm of History, he doesn’t reprimand Maria for that comment.

Notes on The Billboard

Here’s a continuation from Paper + Felt Pen = Shame.

Each girl writes a short message on a piece of paper. Once they are done, Alejandra and Maya flush what is left of their cigarettes down a toilet, then walk out of the washroom with Maria. They walk past the staircase–the one that leads up to the Latin class that they are supposed to be attending–and over to the billboard. That is where they are going to post the three notes.

The billboard is located in the juncture of two crucial places in this school: beside the cafeteria and in the foyer, across from the entrance doors. Most important, though, is that this billboard contains notices that everyone wants to read: auditions for the school play, start dates and meet-up times for social clubs, intellectual clubs, sports clubs and hobby clubs, and notifications of upcoming parties and school events.

Maria flashes her friends a tight grin, but she cannot calm her racing heart. Sure, most people in this school are going to read these three notes. But will they believe Maria? Will they finally see Alice for what she really is, or will this back fire on Maria?

Maria breathes in and out deeply as she posts the notes high on the billboard. Thank God we’re the only ones in this hallway.

Once the deed is done, Maria turns, then strides out of the building with Alejandra and Maya by her side. Maria really hopes that the latter does not occur: that this does not blow up in her face.

****

This is what they wrote:

Sheet 1:

Alice Balatize-Castillo is a SLUT!!

Sheet 2:

She went out with my boyfriend, Ricardo and then slept with him. Behind my back!

Sheet 3:

Girls. Better watch your back and your boyfriends. Or else, you will become Alice’s next victim.

 

Paper + Felt Pen = Shame

Here’s a continuation from Enter Alice: Star Gymnast and Avid Boyfriend Stealer.

Alice tries to back away, but Alejandra and Maya corner her.

“I could plant this in your pretty little face right now and I will if you don’t promise us that you won’t rat on us to the principle, and to your stupid friends.”

Maria can see the beads of sweat form on Alice’s forehead.

“Okay, I won’t, I won’t. I promise,” Alice says.

Maria shoots her an icy look. “You promise?”

“Yes, I promise. I won’t tell the principle, and I’ll tell my friends to keep it a secret. Okay?” Alice says, her voice small and shaky.

Maria walks over to the nearest toilet, drops the cigarette remains into the bowl, then flushes it. The loud, swishing, gurgling noise penetrates the tension, but only for a brief moment. Maria and her friends are not going to let Alice go now. No way.

She walks up to Alice until only a space of three inches separates their faces. “You can jump into any guy’s pants and think it’s okay because you’re the star gymnast of Spain. No one is going to judge you because you are Alice the invencible,” Maria says. “Well, guess again. You’re nothing but a two-bit whore, a worthless slut.”

Maria can see the tears glistening in Alice’s blue eyes. That very sight makes her feel triumphant. “I’m done with you, so you can mosey on out of here and do your thing in the other washroom. But if we find out you rattled on us, you’ll regret it for the rest of your high school days. Big time!”

“We’ll find you and then we will beat the crap out of you,” Maya says.

Maria and Alejandra both nod their heads in agreement.

“Do you understand what we are telling you?” Maria says.

Alice nods her head rapidly. A couple of tears trickle down her face.

“Good. Now get lost,” Maria says with an angry wave of her hand.

“Hah! It sure didn’t take much for her to crumble,” Alejandra says once she assumes Alice is out of earshot.

“Yeah, I thought she was going to fight you,” Maya says.

Maria clenches her teeth. “She would have if I was alone. Regardless, I’m not done with her.”

Maya flashes Maria a devious grin. “I’ve got an idea,” she says, pulling the felt marker out of her purse for the second time. “Do you have paper?”

Maria gives her a blank look. “No. Why?”

“Because we’re going to shame Alice.”

“Maya, you clever little woman. That is such a good idea,” Alejandra says.

Maria, though, does not quite understand what Maya is getting at. “Why would we need paper for that?”

“To write the notes on. Duh,” Maya says.

“I’ve got some paper,” Alejandra says, pulling three blank pieces of lined paper out of her purse.

A malevolent smile spreads across Maria’s face. “Okay, I get it now. This is a good idea, and I know just the thing to write too.”

Smoking in The Washroom

These vignettes are from another, larger pre-To be Maria vignette–Notes on The Billboard–I wrote earlier this year. For the purpose of this blog, I have broken down Notes on The Billboard into a number of small vignettes.

So I present you with part 1: Smoking in The Washroom.

Maria leans nonchalantly against the back wall inside the washroom, puffing on a cigarette while chatting away with her two best friends, Alejandra and Maya. Alejandra also puffs on a cigarette while Maya pulls a red, felt marker from her purse.

They don’t care that the smoke from their cigarettes forms a thin, white cloud around them or that the washroom is inside of El Sid Secondary School, the three-story building that, most days, feels more like a prison than a place to learn and develop intellectually.

Smoking is taboo in almost every public restroom, but it’s especially so here. In the past, students have been expelled for doing this very thing, but Maria just doesn’t give a damn. She is not going to let a group of prissy, stuffy, know-it-all educators tell her what she can and cannot do.

The things Maria loves most about Alejandra and Maya is that they are just like her: they detest school, but love parties and boys, and they too wear tight jeans, high-heeled boots and extremely low-cut tops. But they don’t wear a lot of makeup. The last thing they want or need is for people to label them as prostitutes. Thankfully, that hasn’t happened yet.

“We’re going to have to make ourselves more elusive somehow,” Alejandra says, breaking the momentary silence.

Maria cocks one eyebrow. “Why? We’ve smoked in here, like, five times already, and we haven’t been caught yet.”

A troubled look clouds Alejandra’s face. “This morning, I heard Alice whisper to Tibby, something about girls smoking in the washroom. I was pretty sure she was talking about us because they both kept glaring at me.”

Maria’s jaw drops. “How the hell did she find out?”

“Yeah, how?” Maya echoes.

“I think she came in here after we left and smelt the smoke,” Alejandra says.

Maria’s jaw stiffens. “And of course she would accuse us. The perra.”

“Oh, mierda. This really sucks,” Maya says.

Maria balls her spare hand into a fist. “First, Alice steals my boyfriend–”

“Maria, we all know that Ricardo is a good-for-nothing player,” Maya says.

“Yeah, we’ve gone over this numerous times. He’s the scum of the earth; he’s lower than the lowest human being on this planet. You don’t deserve him, Maria. You deserve way better than that,” Alejandra says.

Tears prick Maria’s eyes. “But I did love him, and I still do. That’s the problem. He’s a lying, cheating, son-of-a-bitch, but I just can’t get over my feelings for him. The person I do hate is Alice.”

Have Sympathy For Me, Pease!

Here is another pre-To be Maria vignette, one that is followed by Life’s Not Fair.

The phone wakes Anya from her thoughts. “Good thing it’s in my room,” she mutters as she reaches over her nightstand to grab it.

“Hello?” she says slowly, hoping the person on the other line isn’t one of her little sister’s bitchy friends.

“Anya, where are you? I haven’t seen you in school all day,” Patrick says. His voice carries a strong hint of worry.

“I’m sick,” Anya whispers.

There is a pause on the other end; it is followed by a sigh. “You were fine this morning. Come on. What’s wrong?”

Anya breaks down and tells him everything, from beginning to end.

“I’m really sorry, Anya. My music teacher came by Mr. Hawthorne’s studio right after my audition and wanted to talk to me about something, so I couldn’t say no.”

Anya bites the inside of her bottom lip. “Yeah, you could have said no. Easily,” she almost says.

“Anya, you seriously have to stop this.”

“Stop what?”

“Carly and her friends. You can’t keep letting them get to you. It’s not worth it, and it’s only making things worse.”

Anya’s face flushes red. “But every time I’m happy, they have to ruin everything!”

“That’s because you let them.”

Anya narrows her eyes. “I was expecting sympathy from you, Patrick. Not a lecture.”

“Earth to Anya Preschnikov. This is your best friend speaking; not the school counselor.”

Anya snorts.

“They’re so nasty to you because they know how badly you react to them,” Patrick says.

Anya tugs on a thick strand of hair, unable to respond to that comment. Funny thing is, she can candle Carly’s malicious comments when no one else is around to hear them. But when it’s several people against her, it’s pure torture. It’s degradation at its worst, and it’s something Anya won’t ever be able to handle well.

Lucky for Patrick, Carly, Matt and their groupies have stopped gang-bullying him back in tenth grade.

“I can see this conversation is going nowhere,” she says.

Patrick breathes heavily into the receiver. “Well, if you need a place to stay, you know, somewhere where you can–”

“Yes, I know. I’ll come stay with you. I have to get out of here before my sister sees me this way. When can you pick me up?”

“When my parents get home from work. Shouldn’t be too long now.”

A faint smile flickers across Anya’s face. “Great. I’ll see you then.”

Haven’t read the other vignettes? Click on the links below.

The Audition
Carly The Mega Bitch
Life’s Not Fair

Life’s Not Fair

A continuation from The Audition and Carly The Mega Bitch.

Anya walks into the nearest Starbucks and finds an empty table nestled between the serving counter and the terracotta walls. She plops herself on one of the chairs, then pulls the hood of her jacket tight over her head.

Anya breathes in and out deeply as she flips through her journal.
January 15, 2003, she writes in the top left corner of a blank page.

This day was off to a great start. My audition was fantastic. Mr. Hawthorne was incredibly impressed. But then Carly and her damn friends had to ruin EVERYTHING! Every time something good happens to me, they have to destroy the moment…my moment. They don’t want me to be happy. Why, I really don’t know. I’ve never done anything to make them hate me, so they have no right to be nasty. I just wish they would all disappear; vanish into thin air. It sure as hell would make my life a LOT easier.

And what’s up with Mrs. Shenkle? I was her favorite student and she was one of my favorite teachers. But she didn’t even speak in my defense. Couldn’t even tell Matt to grow up. Surely, she heard him call me a loser.

I thought Patrick would meet me after my audition, he said he would. But he was nowhere in sight, and I had to deal with the jerks on my own.

Some days, like today, I feel so alone. Nobody seems to care for me. I don’t understand why some people have no problem making lots of friends. But I just can’t fit in no matter how hard I try. God, it sucks to have such a shitty life.

Anya glances up and studies her surroundings. Soft jazz music is playing in the background, and the sounds of lively chatter fill the air. Employees and customers alike seem to lead socially active lives, judging by the upbeat tone in their voices. No freaking fair.

Anya refocuses her attention on her journal.

I wish I could wave a magic wand and boom! I’d be rich; I’d have a family who loves me, and I’d be popular. If only it could be that easy.

Carly The Mega Bitch (A Pre-To be Maria Vignette)

I’ve decided to write a series of vignettes that lead up to the actual story, To be Maria. The first one I wrote was The Audition, which I’ve since expanded on, leading into a new story, Carly The Mega Bitch. So if you haven’t read The Audition, you’ll want to read it before you read this current vignette. Also, Carly The Mega Bitch is kind of long, so for the purpose of this blog, I’m going to break it into 2 parts.

Carly The Mega Bitch (today’s story) and Life’s Not Fair.

Here is the link to The Audition.

Now I present you with Carly The Mega Bitch.

Anya scans the hallway. Despite the fact that first period break isn’t for another half hour, the hallway is teaming with students, those likely auditioning for Mr. Hawthorne’s advanced acting class. Patrick isn’t among them. Anya realizes that he auditioned fifteen minutes before her, but why wouldn’t he wait for her?

“Hey, Anya!”

Anya spins on her heels upon hearing the all-too familiar high-pitched voice.

As usual, Carly is flanked by her boyfriend, Matt and Shondra, one of her best friends. Carly has literally everything going for her; she’s tall and beautiful, she comes from a very wealthy family–which explains the super-tight, revealing, fashion designer clothing–and she’s the most popular girl in school. This is a huge bummer for two reasons: Carly is a mega bitch and Anya doesn’t have what Carly has.

Almost every teen in the hallway is looking at Carly, silently competing for her attention, as if she’s the Queen of England.

The only person who gives Anya the time of day in this school is Patrick.

“So, you’re just going to ignore me?” Carly says, glaring at Anya.

“Yeah, like, how rude,” Shondra echoes.

Matt snickers and so does everyone else.

Anya’s face becomes hot and her eyes fill up with tears, yet she’s not going to back down and run away. No way.

She stares at Carly through narrowed eyes and says, “Well, why shouldn’t I when you’re such a bitch to me all the time.”

A chorus of “ooohs” echo throughout the hallway.

Matt’s face twists into a sneer. “The loser has spoken.”

Fortunately his comment is loud enough for Mrs. Shenkle–the Earth Science teacher–to march out of her classroom and into the hallway. Anya can tell, by the stormy expression on her face, Mrs. Shenkle is not happy. At all. For the first time in her life, Anya is comforted by the presence of a stern teacher.

“What’s all this noise about, Matt?” Mrs. Shenkle demands.

Anya feels a stab of pain. Noise? Didn’t you just hear what he called me?

“Uh–nothing, Mrs. Shenkle. Just on my way to Mr. Hawthorne’s studio. That’s all,”

Matt says with a shrug of one shoulder.

“Well then, why can’t you carry on without disrupting everyone in the process?” Mrs. Shenkle says, glaring at him.

“I–uh–don’t know.”

Several people chuckle at Matt’s cavalier response. Everyone except for Anya and, of course, Mrs. Shenkle. Anya takes this moment to leave the situation before Mrs. Shenkle decides to let Matt and everyone else off the hook. She walks quickly down the hallway and over to her locker. Anya should head back to French class, but instead, she grabs her journal, slams the locker door shut, then slips out the back exit door, making sure there is no teacher looking in her direction.