Spoiler again!!!

This is just a short part in one of my stories that I (strangely) was really proud of. It's from one of the stories that's all connected to most everything else I write.


Atara had enjoyed dinner, seeing all the little children, learning their names, but something felt strange. It hadn’t even been a full day since the fire, and she was suddenly acting like she had stepped into a paradise. She felt comforted, but that comfort was shrouded with guilt. It was almost as if she was glad her parents were dead. The thought sickened her. Soon she hadn’t been able to spoon another portion of her stew into her mouth, and then she’d excused herself early. Now she sat here, on the bed of her new and unfamiliar bedroom, feeling strange, awkward, guilty; she thought that she would become diseased because of it. And then something came to her mind that seemed to punch her in the stomach, stick a lump in her throat, give her a headache—no, a heartache.
Lord Verdisis and Lady Maiream were her parents, and they were dead.
Atara’s home was gone.
Nothing could bring anything back.
And she couldn’t do anything about any of it.
Atara put her hand over her aching heart and began to hyperventilate. Her breathing felt hard and slow, but she knew it was coming fast, terrifyingly fast. She was paying so much attention to her alarming breathing that she couldn’t feel the large, burning tears that spilled, cascaded down her cheeks until she had fallen onto her pillow and begun sobbing loudly, as if she would cry her heart out through her throat and die with tears never dry on her face. She wanted to die; it didn’t seem so scary and final anymore. It felt so appropriate! She didn’t even think of how Jaren would feel if she did die. All that was happening to her now was her tears, not even simply tears but more a waterfall made out of sorrow, stinging on her cheeks, and the pillow that was becoming ever wetter. Atara didn’t even know her own voice when it let out a pitiful, wrenching wail, and how it moaned of its own accord. She began hiccoughing and gasping for breath in a strange, distressed manner.
This—this horror, this nightmare was consuming her; Atara was falling into a pit of despair. It was as if she looked down upon herself, inside a dark, wet hole, looking thin, pale, sullen, gaunt, and even aged. The vision showed her writhing and thrashing around dangerously in pain. Atara didn’t know herself; she just wanted to forget it, forget everything, and maybe even forget what had happened and who she was.
Suddenly the vision simply went away, and everything became dark. Atara felt exhausted and lost, and then her thoughts and feelings became mixed in a pot of nothing.
She slept soundly and heavily all night.
Atara didn’t leave her bed when she woke in the morning, neither did she leave it at noon. She ate nothing and fell asleep crying again. That night she had a dream, or at least something she had seen during the night.
She was walking through a hall that was very simple and plain, the floor, walls, and ceiling made of wood, small sconces lit with drooping, mostly melted candles. She smelled something that must have been old, maybe even dead, and she looked for a room it must have been coming from. Then she realized, there were no doors lined along the corridor, only the sconces that held the melting candles, which she noticed, were red. A whisper seemed to tap her shoulder, and say, “Atara, we love you,” and it echoed through the hallway. The voice repeated the same words, and this time Atara could tell that it was a woman’s voice speaking. All the candles then flared for a sudden second, before returning to their normal sizes. Atara stared at them, for they each began dripping wax, and as it dropped onto the floor, she had expected it to hiss and smolder, but it did not. As the woman’s voice repeated the same loving words, it began to sound familiar. Atara put her hand under one of the candles and let the wax drip into her hand. To her surprise, it did not burn. Lifting her hand to see the wax in the candlelight, she suddenly screamed. It wasn’t wax. It was blood.
“Atara, we love you,” her mother whispered.

Video!

Okay, YouTube is being stupid, so I'm just going to attach it an e-mail if you want it and you guys can see it from there. It has basically everything I told you about in it, so enjoy. Oh, and a note: My camera can take video, but it doesn't have a microphone for some reason, so the marching band in the parade isn't really playing the theme to the Olympics. It just was good enough to play it and the theme was the best music I had that would go with it. Anyhow, tell me if you want it.

Aloha!

Alright, now that I'm finally onto giving you all the details of my trip to Hawaii, I have to say I'm glad I went, but I'm glad to be back! Thankfully, I've made a video of most of the pictures that I took so you can get a glimpse of what I saw. I'll note about some of the pictures while telling you about it, so be prepared. So, to start, our flight was early in the morning on Friday, so my parents wanted us all to get up at five (Eden and I thought "We'll just pretend we're getting ready for seminary!"), right? Well, it turns out that somehow Eden and I missed our alarm and got up at 5:30. Thankfully that wasn't a problem. So then we went to out cousins house, my aunt took us to the airport and then drove our car home, and we fly over to Los Angeles because my grandpa could only get us tickets that included a couple layovers. We had a six hour layover, so my parents decided we'd go out for lunch. Let me tell you that traveling on a bus in LA is TAXING! I'll tell you that it took us 2 hours to travel 7 miles to the pier. But we enjoyed our time eating at Bubba Gump Restaurant. Yummy shrimp!!! On our way back to the airport, we rode in a taxi...all seven of us. The only people who didn't have anyone sitting on their laps were the driver and my dad. Funny thing, our driver was from Armenia. He had a cool accent. It took us twenty minutes to get back to the airport. Yeah, buses don't really work.
So then we flew overnight to Kona (we got there at 10:00 there, but like midnight in Washington). We met our grandparents, drove to the condo we were staying in, unpacked a few things, and then bushed. We spent the day going to beaches and just planning out what we wanted to do on Hawaii. And the first thing that happens at the last beach we go to, my sister Reagan gets bitten by an eel. We'd been at the beach for 10 minutes and he gets bitten by a moray eel! Their called puhi in Hawaiian. So that night she gets to the condo and all these medical people come in and look at it, tell my parents she should go to the hospital, she could possibly get stitches, and blah blah blah. Just Reagan, my parents, and my grandpa went, while the rest of us stayed at the condo watching Shrek The Third (HECK YES!). She came back fine, and no stitches.
So then we went shopping in Kona and I got this really pretty necklace at a market and a pair of sunglasses that actually work for me! Oh, funny story: There are fruit stands at a market right? Well, my grandpa gets a bag of seven papayas because my mom didn't want anymore than that. But on the other side of the market, my grandma gets 14 papayas. That's 21 papayas! and we had to finish those in less than 5 days before we went to Oahu! so every morning my grandparents would try to stuff two of three papayas in all of our faces so they'd disappear. Oh! we went to the temple too and got some pretty shots!
On Sunday, it happened to be regional conference, which included ALL of the Polynesian islands. So we went to a ward and watched half of it and then left to go on a hike down to a black sand beach (and I got an amazing picture there!) where it was really warm. For the rest of the day we enjoyed beaching and taking pictures.
Monday we went to Hilo, the only real city on Hawaii, and we just took a good look at the gardens on the beach and then looked at the waterfalls. Tuesday we went snorkeling on a catamaran. It was awesome!!! On the way back we came across a hunting pod of dolphins and they started to swim along with the boat as if they were getting a free ride. It was SO COOL! And one of the guys on the crew of the boat actually came from Lakewood. Small world. On Wednesday we went to this ice cream social that included all the people staying in the condos (They were Hiltons, you know) and they had a band playing outside. Thursday we just window shopped at the small outlet and then flew to Oahu.
And Oahu had all the interesting things! I'll tell you, you heard someplace playing Brown-Eyed Girl every day. We basically stayed in a small apartment in Waikiki (7 people in an apartment! I know, isn't that crazy?) because even though my mom had asked for two rooms, the lady running the place didn't give it to us for some reason (the place was basically empty except for us) but she still charged us for the same price of getting both rooms. Rip off! Both of my parents were ticked and the lady got a talk before we left.
For dinner we at at Duke's, which was really good, and then we to this big market that sells everything! Reagan got this coupon from these guys who sold pearl jewelery that basically got her whatever came out of the clam for $5! And what does she get? Two pink pearls out of one clamshell. Call that LUCKY! I would have gotten this pretty pair of earrings that looked like it had a nice Celtic design, but I learned that it was embeded with blue coral and it was $70! I only had $30, so no, it didn't work. It was funny when people asked us how long we'd been there. When we said that we'd just gotten there that day everyone would say "Oh, cool! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!" That night there was a holiday parade that we all watched (it was less than half a block from our "hotel room") and it was really cool. It had bands, Pearl Harbor survivors, dance groups, military vehicles, and Santa Claus!
The next day my parents took us to a free continental breakfast buffet before they had this big talk thing with this really nice lady about hotel rooms in this really awesome place (we got a mini-tour of it) that had hotel rooms that had up to four bedrooms! Hecka exspensive! But most of the time, all us kids did homework and watched Happy Feet :D Then we went shopping for groceries and I got the pair of earrings my mom had been begging me to find throughout the whole trip.
Saturday was the best part. Saturday we went to watch a surfing competition and the Polynesian Cultural Center. We watched the Canoe Pageant, went to all of the 'islands' and saw all of the different cultures. The dancing was awesome! And those drummer guys were really funny, especially the Japanese guy. And the belt that this one lady had on was awesome. I'm jealous! You'll see it on a lady talking into a microphone in the video. At this one place, this guy was demonstrating how to use different parts of a palm tree, and he made toys, a dish (which we got to keep), a headband (which I got to keep. He even smoothed my hair out when he stuck it on my head), and he had some ready-made baskests to show us, and tons of other things that can be made out of just a palm tree. We ate dinner at the restaurant that is there, where they showed a luau. They had cooked this pig, and it was huge! I didn't get the best picture of it because even with the flash my camera was too far away to get it clearly, and it was pointless to take a picture after it had been cut up. Then we went to the temple on that island, but I didn't take any pictures (i don't know why, it looked really cool at night) before we saw the dance show at the PCC called Horizons. Oh, it was just amazing!
Sunday was half laze-around and do homework day and half visit Pearl Harbor day. It was really laid back, but we were happy to rest. Monday we prepared to to leave, my mom gave away all of our bus passes to people while we waited for our shuttle to come. So at the airport (and this is funny) I happened to notice this family with a kid that looked like someone in my band class, but they were in a different part of the terminal. But as we're boarding, I see them getting on the plane, so apparently they had been waiting in the wrong area. In the morning we land in LA again, but we only have a 2 hour layover this time. So while waiting for our flight, who happens to be continuing onto Seattle? This guy and his family are going to Seattle, just like us. I just thought it was crazy that they were going from Hawaii to Seattle just my family, so I had to get a picture. The kid in the green jacket looks like the person in my band class.
So, we got home and spent Tuesday sleeping and finishing homework. And now I'm back at school, everyone says I'm tan even though I don't think I am, and all of my friends enjoyed a souvenir of chocolate covered macadamia nuts. I hope you didn't fall asleep. I'll post the video later. But as for now, I'm finishing homework and getting to bed. Goodbye!

Sorry Danielle, I really liked this one!

Another Spoiler!

Alright. this one actually has a chapter heading! But this isn't the full chapter this time. This is just the beginning. But I proofread it a little bit and I think that for starting this in fifth grade, it's really good (even though I've had chances to enhance it). Enjoy!


Chapter 2:
Tyrants of the Forest



The girl was hurt, poor thing. She wondered why she had to suffer the pain and why no one seemed to care for her. She guessed that she was probably the only one who knew her own name, Maritire. Tucking her waving red hair behind her ears, she clutched her ankle, holding it as delicately as if it were a valuable glass object. Maritire sat on the forest floor, wishing she were somewhere different, somewhere wonderful, instead of being this nomad orphan stuck in a great wood. She was lucky to be caring for her foot at the moment, having been nearly killed numerous times in her life. She thought of all the memories, all the things she had gone through. Several thoughts came to mind.
She squeezed her eyes to shut everything out. Maritire knew she was a complete wreck, feeling selfish at her own spoiled thoughts. She had thought she could outrun that thrice cursed dark person, but then the rock had come out of nowhere, and set her foot turning at a weird angle. Barefoot, too, which meant that all the cuts around the wound could become infected, and there would be no one to tend to them. Why didn’t a bear as well make her his dinner now? Her only question was why the person had run on and left her alone after chasing her for so long.
Oh, she could just picture the bear lumbering to her, sniffing the air and breathing heavily in its brutish way. And then he’d smell everything; the blood, the meat on her bones, her human scent, the stench she had gained since she last came to a deeper part of the stream and bathed. It would be two seconds, a simple blow on the head, and she would be over. Maritire didn’t see the point of her wandering anymore either because it had gotten her nowhere, and everywhere it took her chased her away quickly. She’d liked it when there had been a home for her, a bed, and a family. The bear image suddenly shifted into something about the same size, but several times more menacing.
Shutting her eyes again, Maritire hoped that she didn’t have to remember, that she didn’t need to think of it now. But her memory groped for it, against her own will, clawing at her eyelids so they would stay open to the past. These moments were the times that kept her vigilant because of what they reminded her of. Maritire had to keep the horrid memory intact, only so that she kept the will to live and again knew her mission. The heat in her chest grew, all the images swirling to get in order, to where everything had begun. To the beginning, when she’d had all that she needed, now all vanished. The cursed klethimobix.
Her mother, lying in bed, called her name with a hoarse voice, saying,
“Maritire, I want you to take care of your father the best you can. I know your so young, but do what you know.” Maritire’s high-pitched six-year-old voice sobbed,
“You’re not going to die Momma. Poppa can take care of himself. Why am I taking care of him?” A small chuckle was followed with,
“Because he’ll lament my death. And yes, I know it’s sad, but I am dying.” Tears flowed down both of her cheeks. She was gasping now. “Try—you m-must t-try to b-be good, p-please?” All Maritire could do was nod yes and leave the room while her mother fell into a soft slumber.

Maritire was seven now. Her mother lay in bed, coughing in a horrible manner. Her father held her shoulder tightly, hoping for his wife’s survival.
“Maritire,” he said. “Go into your room and do anything you are able to do in there that will occupy yourself, alright?” His voice shook slightly. Maritire didn’t hesitate, but she ran through the house, tears flowing all over her face, wishing her mother would either die now or be cured forever. She hated klethimobix. Hate was the best she could do for it. So Maritire let her wrath wring out until she couldn’t cry anymore. By then she was asleep and she could let the years pass until she saw the day her mother left.
She woke in the morning and rushed to her mother’s room. Thank heaven she was still alive, but the klethimobix had now taken her mother’s voice along with the hearing that had been gone for months. All Maritire could think of was how much she pitied the sight of her invalid mother, too sick to speak, hear, and soon she wouldn’t have the right to see her pretty daughter’s face. She hated klethimobix.

Maritire was now eight, glad that she could have at least a couple weeks with her mother before she died. The sad part was that her mother couldn’t speak, hear, see, or feel things physically. She was frail and whiter than a ghost, with an exception of the yellow blisters that had been all over her skin since the beginning of it.
During supper, Maritire had a feeling that something, or someone, was coming to her home. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling at all; she was afraid of what might happen. Her mother could die any moment, and people would take her away to be buried, or Maritire would be taken away herself because her father would also die because of the pain. She didn’t speak to her father during the whole meal, but regretted it. A knock sounded heavily on the door, as if the person wished to break the door down.
“Enter.” her father said solemnly. With a loud boom, the door slammed wide open and in marched five large men in dark cloaks and hoods that covered their faces and an assortment of things on their belts.
“Your daughter is to come with us,” One of them addressed her father in a determined tone. It was almost frightening. “You may not make any disagreements, sir.” Maritire looked at her father apprehensively. They would not take her away, even if he did die out of a broken heart! At the man’s words, her father looked at them seriously and told them,
“My daughter has no importance to you whatsoever.” The one who had spoken shifted onto another foot.
“I believe you are mistaken.” He took a strong hold of Maritire’s arm.
“No!” her father cried. “You will not take my daughter away; do you hear me! “ the men began pulling her toward the door. “She has a mother to tend to and a family. You will—” He stopped. The lead man was dragging her out the door roughly, and another stood outside ready to take her up into his arms. Raising his voice, her father cried, “If you ever knock at my home again, there will be no mercy!” Maritire was frightened at her father’s words, for these men were twice his size, and her father also had no weapon with him. What scared her worse was that these men wanted her for something she was sure had to be dreadful, but she didn’t know what it was. The one holding her fingered the hilt of a sword at his side with the other hand.
“You shall not hinder us, man!” said another of the men. “I swear by our master, we will take your daughter with us or your family will die before we do!” And with that he drew a sword and advanced on Maritire’s father. The first let go of her and followed suit as all five of the men came toward her father. Maritire stared at her father fearfully, unable to move. Closing her eyes tightly, and then opening them again, she turned and ran before she could see the rest of the horror that had been wrought.
Crying, dashing blindly, she prayed to her god, wishing—hoping—that her parents would be all right, knowing that her efforts were fruitless. After many hours, she was so exhausted that she fell on her face into the winter snow and cried herself to sleep, curling into fetal position. Later she woke and crawled into a hollow at the bottom of a great tree and there she fell asleep until she would run again.
Maritire brought herself back to senses and shivered hard and long. That day had been not only the worst, but the devil owned it himself. She knew those men still awaited her somewhere, to take her life for the reason she didn’t know. Whatever master they served knew her, and Maritire was sure that whatever purpose she had was powerful enough to stir someone evil, even though she didn’t know what it was herself. The thought of her mother drove her mad, the idea of her father was loathsome, but thinking of herself and the way she had managed to stay alive was truly enough to curdle the world. She wanted to face those men someday, no longer a small eight-year-old, strong and wise, and defeat them all, though it seemed highly unlikely that would ever happen.
Then she remembered the darkly dressed person who had been chasing her before. The temperature seemed to drop as she thought of what his purpose might have been. Or maybe she was trapped in this forest! He’d chased her just to get her scared, and then when she stopped believing that she’s was in pursuit, strangers would come up all over and try to take her away to the master one of those men had spoken of. But Maritire thought, it still could all be ridiculous anyhow and the man had mistaken her for someone else. He could possibly have been someone who was thrown out of a city because he had a dangerous mental condition. But what were the odds of that?
Quieting her unhappy thoughts, Maritire listened carefully, and heard a trickle from somewhere far off. Oh, why did she have to smash her foot on that stupid rock? Slowly scooting towards the sound, she made her way over to a small stream, which didn’t look pleasing. Taking a handful of the muddy water, she splashed it onto her scratched up face, then she washed her foot, which was throbbing with pain.
The wood was filled with grand trees that looked down on her in a condescending way. Their boughs sat as if on hips, their hollows glaring at her in shame. Maritire almost told them to quit staring at her, and then reminded herself they were only trees. Yet she believed trees had great power. They housed hundreds of creatures, whispered messages in the wind, and sheltered the ground from the rain. But because they sheltered the rain, they held it all to themselves. This made the trees tyrants of the forest. Her washing ritual continued for a while, as she sat watching the wood, and then Maritire retired to sleep.
Restlessness ran in her brain, as if the slight paranoia that she’d gained could wake though she herself slept. It drove her far from where she lay, far from the wood and the stream, but no further from pain.
She was standing on a tall hill, seeing a vast valley before her eyes, with a war raging below. It was dark in that valley, yet moonlight shone on her hill. The cries from below were anguished and desperate. Horses fell, men fell, flags fell. Fire flew from the hands of a group of men all garbed in black, their faces grinning maliciously. Looking to the east, Maritire saw a light flare in a tent as a young man helped a young woman inside. As they entered, their silhouettes told that the woman had been lain down. Had she been wounded? Two hands joined together above her face; she was still conscious. Maritire turned back to the battle out in the field.
She seemed to be getting sick by the sight of bloodshed when a darkness came over her. The white dress she wore seemed to glow, and was the only source of light throughout the area. The noise of the battle ceased, leaving her clueless of direction. A breath sounded behind her, and with a turn she faced something she couldn’t see. It was someone, or something, her size; it must have been human. Hearing a whistling noise in the air around her, the hilt of a sword collided with her head, leaving Maritire to fall unconscious to the ground, blood blending in with her hair.
Seeing her fallen figure, Maritire woke and sat upright, nearly hyperventilating with shock. A dream about war didn’t feel good. It added to all the other ideas that she so hated. Looking all around her, Maritire gasped.
The place where she had fallen asleep wasn’t the same. It was elevated, so it felt like a round top. She couldn’t see anything very well, it was dark. Shaking with terror, she pulled herself into a more comfortable sitting position. After a while she adjusted to the darkness and she saw her dream hill. Nothing was raging around it; she was glad of that. She was also fortunate not to be wearing white, but a plain brown. Maritire felt her forehead, hoping she was seeing things. Something had dried there; she felt it all down her face and over the scalp. Was the dream real? That was impossible. And she was not a victim of near death—again.
Maritire shifted her weight so that she didn’t disturb her ankle as much. Her dream was really frightening to her, for one who had been nearly killed probably thousands of times. It reminded her of when she’d had to watch her parents get killed, though that was far different from the dream. In the dream many people had been dying, and Maritire might have been witnessing the last moments of a very young woman.
She felt at her bodice, and finally grabbed hold of the picture she’d drawn of her parents when she was younger. The lines were perfect, the shading exact. She fingered the hair she had done on her mother, as if trying to stroke it vicariously through the drawing. A teardrop fell on her finger, thankfully missing the paper so that it didn’t spoil the picture. Her only talent seemed to be art. It was a work that she knew deserved a frame. Before she could spoil the picture, she tucked it back into her bodice and wiped her eyes. Maritire could make herself seem so strong, but inside everything was weak, like rubber. She hated showing weakness because she knew it would be disgraceful. At least, it would be if it were shown before someone she cared about or before people who looked up to her. Thankfully, there were none of those categories.
Well, she had to sleep the night out now, strange place or not. No more thoughts, no more worries, let the head stay down. Maritire tried hard to simply listen to the gentle breeze around her. Soon her mind calmed and she laid herself back down.

Hello!

I really don't feel like saying much, so whatever comes out goes out in here. I've been pretty fine lately, and I guess I have no reason to feel unenthusiastic because I'm leaving for Hawaii on Friday. Tonight at church we're making movies--I think. that's what I heard at least, and I'm sticking with it untl I get there and my idea is changed. Actually, I think we are because people were talking about using cameras and stuff, so yup, we're making movies. I don't know anything more specific than that. I'll take pictures to give you all an idea of what really went on. You know what? I'm going to put in a spoiler before I leave on Friday. That'll keep you readers busy. Just what story I'll use will be the issue. but it's my issue, not yours, so why bother you with it? I'm a little tired today. Okay, no I'm really tired. I scared someone in science because I got sick of them telling me what answers to certain questions were. Usually I don't bite their head off, but I think I did today. Oh well. We all have those days. Mine was just today. At least I have something to look forward to. Ta ta for now. Boing. Bounce. T-I-Double-Guh-ER. TIGGER. TTFN.

Miss Me?

I've been gone, I know, and I really don't have that much time now, but for all of you who haven't heard much from me, this is for you. I've been doing pit orchestra fror the musical at school every school night except Fridays, and somehow Friday still doesn't end up being open. My Halloween was aweome though!!! Once I get pictures from my mom you'll get to see what i mean, and I'll tell you about it later. But, I had planned to be a minstrel (even though I couldn't exactly carry an instrument around all night through the neighborhood) just to find something that modified my costume. But then some kid who was in the musical camde looking for someone to take his awesome staff away because his mom thought Halloween was evil and if he came home with it he'd be dead, and I took the opportunity. I became a good sorceress instead. That's the summary for now, but I'll be back later!

PICTURES!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, I've been slacking on the nature side of the picture portion, and man do I have good ones now!
These are in no order at all, and therefore the titles (which few of them have) Will be found nowhere execpt on caedes.net, and only 6 of my photos are on there yet (they only allow you to upload one a day). Just search for celticsoul, you'll find me. Enjoy the view!

Albi The Racist Dragon

I wasn't recommended to any other things by these guys, but this one is good. It's Puff The Magic Dragon all over again!

You Are 70% Boyish and 30% Girlish

You are pretty evenly split down the middle - a total eunuch. Okay, kidding about the eunuch part. But you do get along with both sexes. You reject traditional gender roles. However, you don't actively fight them. You're just you. You don't try to be what people expect you to be.

How Boyish or Girlish Are You?

What Fantasy Archetype are you? Your Result: The Hero   You are the ultimate defender of justice, freedom, and purity. The hordes of evil quail before you. Nothing can stand in your way due to your combat skills, keen intellect, gorgeous looks, and sheer luck. Plus, you usually end up happily wed.
The Damsel in Distress
The Hapless Extra
The Mentor
The Prime Evil
What Fantasy Archetype are you? Take More Quizzes

You scored as Mysterious, You wish to hide who you are from all those around you. You find it very hard to trust people. You also may enjoy the fun that comes from playing mind games with others around you.My advice Get out there and reveal the true you if only to one person! Mysterious 58% Eyes full of Pain 58% Anger 58% Diamond Eyes 42% Passion 42% What do your eyes reveal about you?(PICS!)Updated created with QuizFarm.com

Car Wash and School!

Okay, I got a little happy with my camera last Friday before the game. Molly didn't want her picture taken but I took it anyway. Then she wouldn't talk to me for the rest of lunch. The lamp above seemed interested in posing so I got him instead.




Isn't he ADORABLE!!!!!!

Isn't he CUTE!!!!!!

So, then Saturday the band had a car wash. Well, to be correct the band Boosters had a car wash, but we did all the work and we were raising money for our own cause so we should get the credit anyhow. I had no clue which station was the the one I was really supposed to be at when I got there, and I didn't even look at the names of the people I would be with when i switched shifts, so I ended up with some pretty okay people. Alex Howard talked a whole ton, and he likes hugging people more than I do. Even more than Jordan Tanguay. Wow.
I felt kind of funny wearing my dad's sweatshirt, which went down to my knees and my arms got clammy after it got wet, and that felt pretty weird. After we finished I brought out my camera once again for the memories.


Kenny Krueger, the biggest goof I know. I'm still not over his whole joke on Latin in seventh grade. (apparently the plural of circus would be circi. 'And that's how you speak Latinus.') I wouldn't take a picture of his butt, so I got his face. Cute smile. :)



Ah, Melody. I met her at a birthday party about 2 years ago. I could swear her face is cuter than Hello Kitty herself.



Me and Melody. Aren't we cute! My eyes look extra bright, and more blue than gray in that picture. Lately I've had trouble deciding which color they are. Melody can take a self portrait way better than I can. I guess I like pics of nature too much.


Funny face!!!!
There it is. Living proof that the Scrunch-Faced Puckered Fairy exists! HAHA! I found it!!!!


Marissa's older brother. Marissa is only my best friend from school. Well, I guess, one of them, but she's the one I see most often during the day. I wish I could see all the rest. Belle, Ryann, Karoline, Danielle. Oh well.


And here you have it: The Ultimately Famous G!
Mr. Grabowski the band dirctor himself ladies and gentleman. He does not like candid pictures of himself, as it appears. If he does, I just caught him in a bad picture.

Well, that's all for tonight folks, enjoy the rest of your day!

He! He! He! Ha! Ha!

Okay! I'm not tired today, yay me! (had to put a little London Tipton in there. She's so cute!). So, just as I promised, I have something new for you all to read. I don't reveal too much in this one, so you get to think for yourselves what is going on. And trust me; you have no idea what's being plotted in this sly world of mine.













I glanced over my shoulder as I mounted my horse. Daza was cleaning the stalls on the far end of the stables, whistling the same nonsense song my brother had sung earlier this morning. Suppressing a snort, I ran through the obstacle course again, trying hard to focus. I needed to really improve before the race next week.

She went over her lines again and again, seriously trying to catch that accent. It was her fault that she was stuck with this traveling theater troupe. As the wagon jostled hard, the girl looked out to see the large rock they had just passed over. As she was about to turn back to her lines, the corner of her eye raised an eyebrow as she caught Tezho getting out from the wagon behind and hauling it over to the side of the road. He was a stuck up show-off.

Oh, it was beautiful to watch. Every movement was so graceful, he couldn’t take his eyes away from the girl on the stallion. Funny, her brother had never told him her name; really no one called her by any name. But maybe there wasn’t a name to describe the wonderfully indescribable. With a head filled with the yellow of the sunset, and the heavenly white of the horse, nothing else looked more worth making a picture of than that.
Watching over his shoulder, Daza turned to get the oats from the barn. He was excited to be taking her to the race so soon, with no one else but Kjanne, Swege, and Vioti. Shirewin Faire was one of the most famous celebrations in Thayes Cein. It was a party full of wonderful events, like the horse races, dramas, fire shows, musicians, dueling, tournaments, and feasts. Daza surely hoped to catch her name on the journey.
It irked him that he knew so little about someone that he had seen around the barn for over a year. He was also displeased that he was too cowardly to confront her. Daza wondered if she even noticed him. But then, he also wondered about all the things that she might like, or might not like; what would impress her; if she was tomboyish; if she were patient enough to teach him how to read; oh, just about everything. All he knew was that she looked beautiful on a horse and she had a pretty laugh.
Daza scratched his head and pulled his fingers through his red curls, noticing how long the hair had gotten. Goodness, down to his shoulders! He set the bag of oats down and leaned over the watering trough and looked at his reflection. Staring back into his dark, dull green eyes, Daza tried to wipe the dirt off the ridge of his nose. The natural bump in the middle of it peeved him. He didn’t like his square jaw either; it made his head look unbalanced on his shoulders.
Pulling up his sleeve, Daza traced the thick scar that ran over the shoulder and over the muscles of his upper arm. His right arm was the only thing he owned that he was proud of. Just like his left arm, it was ripped with muscle, but the long scar made it unique, special. He didn’t fancy the memory of receiving it, but he thought that it showed how tough he was, how experienced he could be in certain situations. And just about anyone was fascinated by a battle scar or a memento of the troubles one had seen. Rolling the sleeve down, Daza splashed his face with water and picked up the oats again. Pouring them into a bowl, he mixed them with water.
“You’re still up here, Daza?” A voice chuckled in surprise from behind. Daza looked back as he reentered the stables. Aburyfmi had returned from the village. “Of course I’m still here,” Daza answered. “Your sister doesn’t have the time to take care of the horses right now; I do.”
“Funny you mention my sister before yourself,” Aburyfmi joked, getting a consequential sock in the shoulder. Daza smiled anyway, knowing how best friends tended to be. Aburyfmi peeked out of the barn to see the course. “Talented, huh?” he mused with his eyebrows raised, turning back to Daza.
“Phenomenal. I think the wind is trying to catch up to her.”
“Naw, you daydreamer!” Daza leaned away as his friend mussed up his hair. “And, lo and behold, the enchanting rider cometh!” Aburyfmi pointed at the dismounted girl about a hundred yards away.
Leading Rifar by his bridle, I saw my brother pointing toward me as I walked closer to the barn.
“What’s the indication for? I’m coming.” I called to him. When I neared the two, Aburyfmi smiled mischievously. “What?” I cowered at his knowing expression.
“Daza, here, bets five tobs that you’ll lose the race.” Daza looked like he wanted to punch my brother, but when he saw my glare he changed attitudes.
“Ten. Five and ten tobs is what I said. I think he might be hard of hearing.” He jabbed his finger at my brother. This time he stared proudly back at my glare. Fifteen tobs was not a bet I wanted on myself. I turned to Aburyfmi.
“And what do you suppose?” I inquired, raising an eyebrow.
“I say seven on your winning.”
“Only seven?” Where was my brother’s support?
“I figure if I lose the bet, he gets only seven tobs, but if he loses, then I gain my good fifteen and keep my seven, with which I can do anything I want.” Logical and clever enough. “And we already shook on it; neither of us can back on his word now.” I straightened my back and set my shoulders down in a proud posture as I walked Rifar into the stables.
“Well,” I said to Daza. “At least someone knows how to use logic. I would wish you luck on winning your bet, but you look like you have enough.” I looked pointedly at his long red curls. He turned even redder but remained expressionless while I passed him. Aburyfmi gained a jokingly ridiculing face as he exchanged silent words between him and Daza. They shoved, punched, and eventually began a playful wrestling match as I unsaddled Rifar and put away all of the riding gear.
“Alright, Abur, everyone will be worried at home if we don’t make it back before dark.” I said as they pulled each other apart and stood up. Well, Aburyfmi more like scuttled up to his feet; Daza was somewhat more graceful.
“You know, I never asked,” Daza said. “How far out do you two live?”
“From here?” Aburyfmi questioned.
“Mm hm.”
“Say, about four miles away. Why?”
“Just a curious thought. I’m still trying to get to know the country and most other people.” At this, Aburyfmi piped up.
“Well, if you like you could come eat dinner with us.” I was about to protest; I must have begun to turn red because when my brother glanced at me he made double takes. “Are you alright?” I cleared my throat.
“It’s still a little warm outside.” I lied. Shaking his head n confusion because it was obviously fairly chilly by now, Aburyfmi turned back to Daza.
“You could meet the rest of our family,” he urged. Daza considered it a moment, and then confirmed his answer.
“I’d be much obliged. It’s about time I got out for a night.” He left to get his horse. Aburyfmi turned to me.
“Where’s Rifar?”
“In the stables; why?”
“How are we getting home, then?” I groaned and burned my cheeks even redder as I went back to saddle Rifar up again.
When I came back, the first sight I saw was the most amazing horse I’d laid eyes on. A Frisian! Goodness, Daza was lucky; he had a Frisian! The horse must have been a female; Rifar was getting excited. If he were a human, he would have whistled. The two men were in conversation when Aburyfmi stopped and looked at me.
“Could I ride in front today?” I was no mood for arguing, so I consented and mounted behind him. He smirked at Daza before kicking Rifar into a walk.

“Whoa!” Momentum slowly pulled Triah back as the wagon came to a stop. It was tradition that the drivers of the wagons helped the women of the one in front of them out. Glancing up, she saw all of the other girls flock to the back of the wagon as Tezho approached to lift them down. Folding her arms, she reminded herself that it was her fault that she was stuck here. Triah waited until he had lifted the rest of the girls down to give him a straight, dark look in the eyes. He timidly raised his hands to indicate he was helping.
“I can climb down my self,” she said stubbornly. Tezho dropped his arms, rolled his eyes, and sighed.
“Look, I understand that you’re new, and you may not trust me, but it’s just a simple tradition.”
“I am very independent of getting out of a wagon.” He sighed again.
“Please?” he begged.
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“If you don’t let me get you out, then—what are you doing?” Triah had swung her leg over the backboard.
“I told you I could climb out myself.” He was not grabbing her waist now.
“Then pull your dress over your leg, please.” He said, turning away. Giving him an aggravated look that he couldn’t see, she pulled her skirt down over her foot. Alright, he was really just trying to show off his modesty. Swinging her other leg over, her foot got caught inside the skirt, making Triah slip. Tezho took the liberty of catching her in time, nearly hugging her.
“That easy, isn’t it?” he said sarcastically.
“Get off!” She cried, pushing away from his chest. He staggered back in amazement.
“For someone as light as you, you’re strong.” He complimented. She just turned away, growling at his artificial charm, walking as quick as she could. “Supper’s the other way!” All Triah could imagine right now was ripping every dark brown hair from his perfect scalp.
Everyone all sat and sipped stew around a fire, sitting on rocks, or logs, or an object substituting for a seat. We had settled near a great meadow that stretched for and wide beside the road where the wood had ended. The grass was nearly two feet high, with spots of moist earth scattered within the meadow everyone where. Daaenya flounced over to Triah in her perky way and sat, still nearly bouncing in her seat. “I heard you made a fit for Tezho. What did he do?” Triah moaned.
“I’ve seen too much of his pretend courtesy. So, I decided I could get out of the wagon on my own and he could leave.”
“So you did something?” Daaenya’s eyes widened.
“I don’t know. But I don’t like Tezho. He isn’t trustworthy.” And for her, that was almost a gospel truth.
“Oh, you just don’t know ‘im yet. He does like to show off sometimes, but he doesn’t boast. And besides, for someone like us, ‘e looks a-jizzy.” Huh?
“Daaenya, please try to translate your slang before saying it. A month is not long enough to pick up a lingo.”
“Oh. Me apologies. I meant he’s ‘andsome. Don’t you agree?”
“A little. But he’s too perfect for it all to be true. And why is it tradition to have the men help the women from the wagons?” It was so silly!
“It teaches the boys at young ages how to be polite. But Tezho’s the only one who actually is nice.” She sipped her stew.
“Rubbish.” Triah sipped her own stew in turn. Daaenya licked her lips before speaking again.
“No. Someday you’ll see. I mean, he likes you, I don’t see—“
“What?!” Triah nearly choked on a potato.
“Oh, come on. Tezho likes everyone the same. You should try that, too.” Putting her spoon in the now empty bowl, Daaenya sauntered away in a less perky manner. Triah stood also and went to dispose of her bowl in the wagon with the scullery girls attending to it.
“Triah.” She jumped at the voice behind her. Turning, she saw Vindoah hovering over her. “Yes?” she replied.
“How are your lines coming?” he asked in his deep, round tones.
“I’m fine with my lines; why?”
“That’s splendid. I’ve finally chosen someone for the part of Martifreyo.” Triah had to stop herself from snorting at the name. The most outrageous name for the man she was pretending to love. “Only a week is left until the Faire, so I would like you to practice with him every day when we stop to rest and eat.”
“And who is my partner?”
“Tezho.”

The cutlery clanged against the plates and bowls as the family and Daza peacefully ate.
“So, when do you plan on leaving to the Faire, Daza?” my father asked.
“We’ll be here one more day and the group leaves in the morning.” Daza answered.
“That soon?” Father turned to me. “Then I believe the riding is coming along well?”
“Very well, Da.” I said. He was so talented at conversing with me without calling me by my name. I was glad of that. “Even Abur believes I’ll do great.” I had to keep from glaring at Daza. Sneaking a glance, I noticed that he looked perturbed, also.
“Wonderful!” he cried. Aburyfmi blushed at my father’s joy of having the two of us getting along.
“M’ma, could you pass me the butter?” Lili peeped. She was so small for an eight-year-old girl, and so frail. It frightened my parents.
“Here you go, love,” my mother said, reaching to set the butter across the table. “Mm…. Freshly made this morning. Finally something yellower than our hair.” Lili and Groy, my other younger brother, giggled in their sweet childish way. My mother chuckled and then pulled back the few thin gray wisps that had escaped her knot on top.
“So will you be able to do chores before you leave in the morning, dear?” she asked me.
“Yes, mum.” I answered.
“Are you sure?” This came from Daza.
“Daza,” I said. “If I’m to wake before sunrise to do chores and we’re to leave at mid-morning, wouldn’t you think that I would have plenty of time?” he gave a small nod and a nervous smile and silenced himself. In refrain from looking smug I took a bite of bread.
“So Daza, what else do you do?” my mother asked. “Are you looking to be a cobbler, or a carpenter, or a smith of some sort?”
“Uh, no, ma’am. Just horses,” he said.
“Really? But you must have some interests other than that. You’ve never had a wish to be a scholar, or a warrior, or maybe even an artist?” she continued. Mother liked to hear the tales of dreamers. Daza looked like a disappointment. He also looked like he wanted to tell her something but thought better of it.
“No. I just want to take care of my horses and be a simple merchant. I’ve no need for importance,” he said humbly. I wondered how he could say that. Didn’t he want to be known by people; didn’t he want a name; didn’t he want friends? To feel no oblige to have a little pride was somewhat alien to me. Until now it seemed that no one could live a fulfilled life without enjoying one moment of pride and glory. Mother looked slightly put out.
“Well, that’s very interesting. Aburyfmi, here, plans to be a sailor.” She indicated towards him as he gave a fleeting sheepish look towards Daza. Apparently my brother was aware that our family’s pride might make him feel unaccepted. “And my daughter here would be a jeweler if it weren’t for horses.” I was turning red again and so I bent over my food, trying to hide my face. I blushed because I was glad that Mother hadn’t spoken more than that, but I also fumed somewhat that she had said so in the first place. She knew that jewels easily diverted me and I would gladly recite my knowledge of them to anyone I trusted, but it must have been clear to Daza that I cared nothing for the career and everything for the animals we both so loved.
As supper closed, Father looked out the window and saw how dark the sky had become and at once I knew what he would say next and I dreaded it.
“I do believe that it will be too dark for you to travel tonight, Daza. If we could make a space for you, I don’t think it would do any harm to let you spend the night here and ride with my eldest two to the stables tomorrow. We have room for your horse here.” To my disappointment, Daza said,
“That’s very kind, sir. If it weren’t the dark of fall, I would ask to leave, but thank you for your kindness.” Mother began clearing the dishes while I helped and as she did so, she began spouting off suggestions of where he should sleep. I wondered why my parents showed these actions when it had at first seemed that he was disappointing to their expectations? They were kind, yes, but to invite him to stay? Only three other people had been given the privilege to board in our home that were like him, and they were all close relations. I remembered when my second cousin had lost all of his fortune and had stayed with us for over two years before windfall struck him at last and he landed a good home. Daza wasn’t quite so poor, but I knew that he never seemed to leave the stables as everyone else did, so I knew that his only payment was the low payment of a stable hand. To me it was certainly lowly enough, though. I would have guessed that he slept in the barn! My mother tapped my arm as I was carrying more dishes to the washtub.
“You wouldn’t mind if you shared space with Aburyfmi tonight, so that Daza could use your room, would you?” I was amazed at how I didn’t lose my constant vigil over my temper, but somehow the smile stretched on my lips and the words escaped my mouth.
“No, I don’t mind at all.” In shock at my self, I hurried to the washtub and the smile was gone completely.

Triah stared at Vindoah for a second too long, for he asked if she was feeling well. Shaking her head, she flustered.
“Oh, no, I’m fine. It’s just that I don’t know him very well and this is a very—um—different way of getting to know him. And I’m getting drowsy; my head feels light as it always does at this time of day—night. Or maybe I ate too much…” She felt as if she were going to be sick! Putting her hand on her forehead to see if she really wasn’t feeling well, she suddenly reeled over and hit something hard.
Triah. Triah, wake up. How’s your head?
“Triah, are you feeling all right? Triah, get up!” Someone shook her gently and she finally came to. If she weren’t just waking from a strange moment of faintness, she would have moaned in annoyance. The light from the candles sitting nearby fell upon Tezho’s perfectly loathsome face, which was creased with worry, and out of the corner of Triah’s eye she could see Daaenya fiddling with something.
“You’re not my partner,” she groaned at him, meaning to tell him that he wasn’t to come within a fifty-mile radius of her. He looked at her strangely.
“Yes, I am.” He said plainly, in confusion. “It seems you hit your head hard when you fainted,”
“I what?” Triah exclaimed as loud as her exhausted voice allowed her.
“When Vindoah told you that I was your partner, he told me that you had become nervous and then suddenly fainted and hit your head on the wheel of a wagon behind you. Maybe you’re getting sick, Triah. It would probably be best if you didn’t act in the play. Who is your understudy?” Even though she knew that she would be playing the main part with this artificial angel, Triah did not want to give up her part.
“No!” she cried, suddenly awake and alert. “I’m fine. I’m just not used to all of this yet. I’ve only been here a month; leave me alone!” She kicked from under the blankets that were laid on her and Tezho was pushed to the side with some force. Daaenya then set down her matchbox, which was what she had been messing with because she had spilled the matches after lighting the candles, and held Triah. Looking to Tezho, she explained:
“She doesn’t trust you very much, so it’s best that you leave us alone while I watch her.” Tezho looked hurt and defeated, but he came down out of the great wagon that they were in and through the dark, as it was now late at night, the two girls heard his footsteps retreat. Daaenya turned back to Triah again.
“You shouldn’t have said that. He did most of the tending to you; all I was good at doing was lighting the candles, and I made a mess of it anyway! Why do you hate him so much?” Triah swooned a bit before answering.
“He’s shows off for everyone, and he’s doing things extra special just for me. And there some look in his eyes every time he does something kind to me, as if he were thinking of something, hoping, planning. I’ve known too many men like him and I owe it to the ones who are not so polite that I’m still alive. I’ve learned that one month isn’t enough to get to know someone once they’ve instilled a suspicion.” Daaenya listened, sighing and rolling her eyes the entire time.
“Alright. Then what exactly do you see in his eyes, what plot is behind that face?” Triah thought a moment before answering, for she was unsure what it was completely, she only had ideas.
“It’s like he’s telling me that he’s doing this for a reason. That I’m just supposed to trust him and all will be well, but something extra shines in there. A look I know very well means that if I just succumbed to him, I would be taken away and all horrors are open to me.” Again, Daaenya refused to take everything seriously.
“You know, there may as well be something in his eyes that’s trying to say something more than ‘Trust me,’ but to what you’re making it, I’ve known him to long to even fathom him thinking that way. Triah, he’s very different from most other men, and he finds good in everyone. How can you find evil in that?”
“I think it’s all an act, just a display for me. I’ve gotten it several times. He is an actor anyhow.”
“Well, it must be a serious act, because he’s been displaying since before he was handsome, I think since he was eleven years old. Eight years of acting like someone you’re not would make someone crack, don’t you agree?” Triah didn’t answer. She only huffed and laid back down, just then realizing the throbbing pain in her head that seemed to enhance the feeling of her heartbeat. She held her head and screwed up her face in pain, feeling stupid about herself fainting. That was what a princess did when she learned she was betrothed to a man she’d never met. Only higher people did those silly things, not Triah. To her it felt like she’d done something very silly, something lower than she was expected. Triah liked to think of her self as a strong girl; weakness was an insult.
“Do you think you’ll sleep all right, Triah?” Daaenya asked. “It looks like your head is still hurting. Should I get someone to give you medicine?”
“No, I’ve slept with worse things with headaches before. If I can sleep with broken ribs I can sleep with small headache.” With those words, she grabbed the nearest candles and blew them out, Daaenya doing the same, so that the wagon’s light disappeared and they couldn’t see each other.
“Goodnight, Triah. Good luck with your practicing tomorrow.” Daaenya whispered. Triah groaned to herself and muttered, “Goodnight, Daa,” and closed her eyes tightly as if she could blink away the vision of she and Tezho acting together.

The girl’s room was very different from a stall in the barn. The floor wasn’t packed down with straw or dirt, and it hardly smelled of horses, though it had an essence of them. Daza simply gazed at the bed. It had a mattress, it had a pillow, even a frame! He’d never slept in a real bed before; this room was worth a palace suite to him. The blankets were folded neatly at the edge of the bed, and a chest lay at the foot of it. A table that seemed ridiculously small was set by the head of the bed, with only room for the pitcher and bowl that stood upon it. Daza stamped his foot on the floor: the boards were sturdy. Looking up, he saw a door that opened, and when he’d opened it, he almost hit himself in the face with a ladder that unfolded itself. He’s guessed that the girl was going to sleep up there. Pulling off his boots, he unfolded the blankets and lay on his back, staring at the dust waltzing in the light coming through the window above.
Daza suddenly nearly wanted to curse. He still didn’t know her name! That thought alone drove him insane. Her family hadn’t even spoken it during dinner, which surprised him, because it should have been mentioned at least once during the nice conversation at the table. He wondered if they were purposely avoiding it, but why would they be? If they didn’t trust him enough, how were they letting him stay in their house, in her room? And only her name had been omitted from the talk; he now knew her parents’ names and her younger siblings’ names.
Oh well, Daza thought to himself, rolling over onto his side. He would need to wait until their ride to the Faire and see if he could get it out of her. Maybe she just never went by her name because she seemed to easily answer to any other common summoning. Whatever the reason was, Daza was determined to learn about her as much as he could. They could even become friends on the way; he would have to tell her that the bet he and Abur had made wasn’t actually on.
Turning back to his original position, Daza kept thinking and pondering about what would happen on their journey until his mind got tired of working and he fell asleep. When the girl made her way into the loft, he was dreaming too much to notice.

Sleeping above my bedroom in the loft felt very different; and I still didn’t understand why I had agreed to let Daza sleep in my room. He had kicked the blankets off and was hugging the pillow as if it were a stuffed toy just like a child would. I pictured him with his thumb sticking out of his mouth and chuckled quietly to myself. But I still couldn’t understand what I saw when I had looked at his face. It was like he was in a paradise, or a palace, or near enough to sleeping in heaven. And then there was a trace of strangeness. Oh, I just saw a million different faces in one; sorrow, ecstasy, determination, and possibly fear.
I heard a strange thump from under me; I thought maybe Daza had fallen off the bed. It seemed he really wasn’t used to beds after I had seen the blankets kicked away. My mind pricked the thought that Daza actually did sleep in the stables. Aburyfmi sighed in his slumber, making a strange moaning sound following it. I had almost forgotten he was there because for a young man he slept so quietly. The scent of the thick layer of straw came to my nose, and, simply by reflex, I inhaled it and smiled.
I guessed the loft wasn’t such a problem, if it reminded me of the barn and how much I loved all the horses. Sometime that night I fell asleep, but I never completely remembered when or how. I’d heard one more funny sound from under, but otherwise there was peaceful silence and the smell of sweet straw.

I swear the blonde is fake!

You know, there are just those times when you wonder where you've grown up and why you don't have a more open mind (not meaning you don't have an imagination, but meaning sometimes you think of possibilities and don't think further than just those). It is just plain humbling to be told you can go to Tolo even if you don't have a date. I'm a hopeless romantic obsessed freak, for heaven's sake! I'm full of more energy today (or at least right now) than I was yesterday, thank goodness. I did feel sleepy towards the end of the school day, and then I found out that there's a Switchfoot and Relient K concert in Everett on my birthday.... EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Eden will be happy to find out too. That's the forst choice for my birthday party (even though it would be hard.) I mean $25 a ticket is good compared to $135 for Celtic Woman. Seats aren't really specified, but hey, I saw the musical Wicked from nosebleed seats in the very back row and it was still absolutely amazing! Okay, I've gone long enough. I'll came back later.
Maddi

Thud.

That's what I felt like saying today. THUD. I'm leaving for the Everett Youth Symphony in about half an hour (even though we'll get there a half hour early. My mom is nuts. We're either too early or too late on her watch). Man, my energy spurt is gone. Fooooooooshhhhhhhhhh. I don't know. I'm kind of sad that I can't go to Tolo (even though finding a guy who would be good to go with would a little difficult) and it's only because all my friends will be going and Eden is going to two! Maybe I'm bugged because this one kid in my science class won't admit he's hitting on me when I ask him to stop. It is so crazy!!!! Ever since I became a freshman I suddenly get all these stares and honks and sometimes very suggestive comments. Some guys are nice about it, but the rest aren't. Just for the sake of other people, I won't give names, but holy cow! Only one out of the several guys is modest about it, and I feel bad that I can't ask him to Tolo because I have no reason not to like him. But I've promised myself and my parents that I won't date until I'm sixteen, and when I'm sixteen, then I'll welcome those who are welcome. Okay, I feel a little better after my pointless rant, so I say if not today, tomorrow I'll post a new spoiler. I love you all who are willing to read this, even if I am tired and nervous and bugged.
Maddi

New spoiler! (SHHH!!!)

Okay, this a more of something else that I've been writing. And this time, it's not the very beginning. But even though you can't see how, this story is related to the one excerpt you read before. And this is a whole chapter, so don't begin reading if you don't have the time. Wait until you do. Once again, there's a BIIIIG spoiler in this, so don't just talk about it anywhere.

“So, where do you shop?” Peter overheard Lisa and her clique interrogating Jewelia across the hallway. He watched as the poor girl shifted uncomfortably, knowing that whatever she said would make her look below Lisa’s status.
“Well, I don’t go to any store in particular, mostly thrift stores, Target sometimes.” She got what she knew was coming. A patch of giggles from a superior attitude. Lisa flipped her hair over her shoulder in the way Peter disliked so much.
“Have you ever tried the mall?” she asked as if Jewelia were hard of hearing. This time Jewelia made a face of distaste.
“You know, I really don’t like the clothes that they sell there. I mean, it’s almost like the girls who wear those clothes have no integrity. I wouldn’t feel comfortable walking around in a skirt that would show my underwear each time I bent over. And the necklines are so low! How can you stand wearing what you have on right now?” Lisa’s group of girls oohed. All right, Peter knew Jewelia had gone too far. Lisa was looking at her, and there should have been steam coming out of her ears, but there wasn’t. Peter watched as she looked Jewelia down, then looked herself up, and then tutted. He had to intervene; he didn’t like it when Lisa got mad.
“Hey, Lisa!” he called, stepping over to the other side of the hallway and putting a hand on Lisa’s shoulder. “You look great today; where in the world to you shop?” Of course Lisa instantly blushed and began acting sheepish.
“Really?” she goggled at him. “At least someone knows how to wear clothes.” She shot a deathly dark look at Jewelia. Peter pretended to agree.
“Yeah, Jewels, you should try the mall. Khakis aren’t working.” He moved away as Jewelia looked down incredulously at her pants and went on to class.
“I’d like you all to listen, please,” Mr. Jones was trying to get the class silent, which was turning out to be futile. The old man was too much of a turtle to get anyone’s attention, particularly a loud high school class full of students excited about the upcoming track events. A loud whistle interrupted all conversation and everyone’s eyes turned in the direction of the noise. Jewelia smiled and silently sat in her seat and folded her hands, looking very smug. Everyone followed suit in an awkward manner, unhappy that their fun was over.
“Thank you, ah…?” Mr. Jones began.
“Jewelia.” She answered.
“Right. Now, if you would all pay attention, I will remind you of that assignment that you all handed in about a week ago.” All except Jewelia groaned. “And I won’t say anything further than what I am about to say now. You will each be paired up with the person who wrote at about the same level as you did, and between the two of you, I want you to analyze and go over what these poems mean and why they are important. That is all for the rest of the period. When I give you your paper, the name of your partner will be at the top. I haven’t graded them, but I will be grading the analysis that you hand in to me at the end of class.” He began to go throughout the room handing each student their work, and Peter watched as some frowned and others got excited expressions. His heart fell when he saw Andy and Brycen turn to each other and clasp hands with their success of being partners.
“Mr. Parkinson,” Jones mumbled as Peter’s paper drifted onto his desk. Peter didn’t want to look at the name that was written at the top of his paper; he knew it meant certain doom. But he knew he had to. First he looked around at the others who were just receiving their papers. One pair of girls stared darkly at each other as they found a place to go discuss their poems. Jewelia had a happy, expectant grin on her face, but when she looked down, it was slapped right off, and a frown slapped back in its place. Peter finally looked down at his own paper.

Jewelia Manning

What?! No, there had to be a mistake. Either Jewelia had done really bad or he had done really good. Jones had read her stuff out loud before, and she was above any standards made in this school district. He stayed in his seat, unwilling to move. His fingers nervously tapped the edge of the desk, or played with the zipper on his binder.
“Hey,” a voice said hovering over him. “Why don’t we go out in the hallway, where it’s quieter?” He simply stood and followed her out into the locker bay. As they sat down beside each other, Jewelia looked at him wearily.
“Um…why don’t we switch papers and read each other’s poems first?” she said in a shaky voice.
“Any plan of yours is going to be better than mine,” Peter murmured. She gave him a fleeting glance as they traded papers and then instantly began running her eyes over his lines. Peter looked down at hers. It was all typed out in a neat font and had cute little pictures around it and her name, the only hand-written thing, was penned in a flourish.

Rainbows fly in the river of the dryads’ messages
A giggle from the wind
My spirit sang a song today, of roses.
The sun pours over the land, all around
I, queen, wealthy of life, of heart
Laugh like a bird, a dawning bird.
As the hour was struck by the deer call
Shadow left yesterday
Peace visited for tea, I say.
Come in, the weary are welcome
Where I reside I can fix your dreams
An apple house is no place for you.

What in the world…? He looked over at her. She was still engrossed in his poem. Peter thought that he had a strange poem; hers didn’t make any sense at all. He looked to Jewelia again and found her turned away, silent as no one had been before.
“H—hey, are you okay?” he asked, tapping her shoulder.
“I’m still reading. You wrote a long poem.” She said in a low-pitched, distracted voice.
“Well could you hurry up, then?” Peter was so impatient.
“Could you wait? I’m almost done.” It was in a strange low pitch. Suddenly she stood up, still not turning to him. “I’ll be back. Just a sec.” She began walking away with his paper still in her hand.
“Hey!” he called. She didn’t turn. “Hey! We still have some analysis to do!” She began walking faster and turned the corner. Peter didn’t want to chase her; he knew that would be futile. He folded his arms and tried reading the poem and getting the idea of what it meant, feeling completely inferior of intelligence and in wonder about her reaction to his writing.
It was about ten minutes before Jewelia came back, and she was continually rubbing her nose, as if it were cold.
“Here,” she said, sticking his poem in his face. “I thought it was really good. I never expected you to be a poet.” He stared.
“Frankly, I’m not. But you obviously are.”
“Well, duh, but you have to be a poet. I couldn’t have written something like that, even if I seriously tried. That’s the most insightful written work I’ve ever seen. Even above Emily Dickinson.” He kept staring. Finally, he got down to business.
“Well, I just don’t get where you’re coming from in this thing. All about rainbows and roses and peace and apple houses? To tell you the truth it sounds completely hippie.”
“I didn’t try to make it sound that way. Does it really sound that dumb?”
“No, it’s not dumb, but for me it’s just too happy to be real.”
“Oh, so you’re saying I’m creating an image of artificial happiness?”
“Uh, no. Look, can we just get on with the analysis? We only have about a half hour left.”
“Yeah, good idea.” Jewelia agreed. “Okay, so what do you think my poem means?” Blank. Peter was suddenly a deer two feet in front of headlights. He did not want to answer. The few things that he’d mustered up while she was gone certainly weren’t good enough.
“Well, it’s about happiness, obviously, but a certain kind of happiness. I was thinking relief?” She nodded, a gesture for him to go on. He held up the paper and pointed to a line. “Like right here, where it says, “Shadow left yesterday, Peace visited for tea,” that’s like saying ‘all my troubles are far away’—ha, sounds like a Beatles’ song—and ‘the rain is gone’.” Peter gave Jewelia a hopeful gaze.
“You get one of the ideas. That’s pretty good so far. Anything else?” Darn it.
“Um…the poem describes a place, like somewhere you would go to for healing, and it’s very welcoming and warm. This place is supposed to be beautiful and plentiful.” Something then came to mind. “Oh, I know!” Peter said. “It’s like the rainbow after rain. You know; the shadow is from the clouds and all of the rain, and after the rain left everything is shiny and new full of life. And anyone who is stuck in the rain is welcome to come and become whole again. Dude, you might have just written a new version of ‘Bright Sun-shiny Day’.” Jewelia just stared at him. And stared. And stared. And stared. Then she burst out laughing.
“You have the funniest way of analyzing!” she said. “Now you have to write that all down.” He assumed a mock look of defeat in his face and said “Aw, dang it!” as he pulled out a piece of paper and began writing.
“Here,” he said. “When I’m done writing all of this down, you and I could talk about my poem. It’s hard for me to concentrate on talking when I’m writing things down.”
“Okay.” She said. He began penning down his thoughts, surprised that he was meeting her satisfaction. He didn’t want to, but it made him feel like he was actually smart, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. How could this annoying girl make him feel guilty, full of wonder, and smart?
“…anyone… who is stuck…in the…rain…” He mumbled as he wrote the words down. Jewelia began laughing again.
“You might as well just tell Mr. Jones your analysis, if you’re going to say everything out loud.” He looked up.
“What?”
“You’ve been mumbling every single word as you write it down. And you told me it’s hard for you to concentrate on talking while you write. Do you always do that?”
“All the time; wouldn’t you?” Peter inquired. Jewelia shifted on her feet.
“Well, I don’t know….” The classroom door opened.
“It’s about time you two came inside now.” Mr. Jones said as he quickly stuck his head back through the door.
“We—we didn’t get to discuss his poem.” Jewelia said timidly, knowing he wouldn’t hear. “I’ll just have to write it down. We’ve got about ten more minutes until the bell actually rings.” They headed inside. Peter sat down in his seat and just sat there and wondered. He was amazed that he had actually done work in class. Way to go, Pete, he thought to himself.
When the bell rang he stood and stretched, trying to stall. Then he grabbed his books and walked through the isle between the desks, stopping behind Jewelia as she picked up her own things.
“Hey,” he said. She didn’t turn. “Uh…good job.” She nodded distractedly and said “Yeah, thanks. You too,” as he passed her.
After practice Peter found her sitting on the curb, leaning over a fat chemistry book and looking intense.
“Okay, Miss Dickinson, get in the car,” he joked. Jewelia looked up.
“I thought you were the one who wrote the poem that was worth Emily Dickinson. And besides, I’m almost finished.” She told him.
“Aw, come on. Your poem was great and you can finish reading before I take you home. My mom doesn’t need much help on Fridays. Remember?”
“Oh, that’s right. It’s Friday. I totally forgot, thanks to Mr. Svenorsen.” She said ruefully, climbing inside as Peter started the car.
“Oh, you got him? I’m sorry. You never told me that. Are you taking his AP class or something?”
“Yeah, somehow. I mean, I’ve been home schooled by my mom forever and suddenly she dropped out and my dad can’t teach diddly-squat and I’m landed in all of these advanced programs that are a breeze but absolutely boring. Should I just skip to college?”
“I don’t know. It depends on if you really want to. I think it would be better if you had friends in there with you. Otherwise school will really drive you nuts.” Jewelia rolled her eyes.
“If it hasn’t already. And besides, I don’t really have any friends at all. As far as that goes, the person I know most is you, and—well, I’m not so sure.” Peter stared forward at that comment. He wasn’t sure what to think of her yet; she still got annoying and talkative, but after the brilliance he’d seen today, things were given a confusing turn.
“Well, you’ve proven to me that you can write poems, keep a house clean, and be so talkative it literally drives me insane. I think my opinion will have to roost a while longer.”
“Oh, so that’s how it goes?” she said skeptically. It wasn’t mean; it was a joke. They laughed a little and left the conversation to sit until later as Peter pulled in to park. He hated that he couldn’t just pull into a garage and walked into a house like most other kids did. It was why he never had friends over and never had parties, beside the fact that his bedroom was off limits to all but him. Walking through the front door and making his way to the apartment, Peter pulled the door open.
Dead silence.
“Mom?” he called. Jewelia looked around worriedly. Peter went into his mom’s office. No one was in there. No sounds were coming from Rusty’s room; Mike wasn’t at the fridge like usual.
The phone began to ring. Jewelia gripped his arm. He didn’t dare pick it up, or check the caller id. It seemed to ring forever, loud and long and almost echoing. It felt like minutes before a beep made both Peter and Jewelia jump and Peter’s mom began to speak.
“Hey, Peter, this is Mom. I just wanted to tell you that I’m meeting your dad at the airport; he decided to come over and visit for a while. Tell Jewelia that there’s a small load of laundry in the wash closet, and she just needs to vacuum the floor, okay? I’ll be home in a couple of hours, so just do your homework and we’ll all be home soon. Bye sweetie.” Beep. Peter and Jewelia sighed heavily in unison, relieved that nothing bad had happened. Then Jewelia began laughing.
“That really scared me for a moment. I thought that someone had, like, kidnapped your family and was calling you for a ransom!” she sighed again among giggles as she went to the wash closet. Peter just stood there.
The message didn’t make him feel much better. He was glad that everyone was okay, but what his mom had just told him was unreal and unwanted. Something bumped him. Jewelia had the laundry basket set on her hip and was looking at him, concerned.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” He said. “I was just—stunned—for a moment.”
“Oh, all right.” Peter groaned as he went to his bedroom. It would have been better if she hadn’t asked how he was. Of course he wasn’t okay! He didn’t want his dad to come over and he didn’t like the idea that his mom sounded a little happy about it. Jack was a jerk and he knew he was. Every time he visited he constantly talked about his good fortune and how well off he was.
Peter didn’t care that a great business owner was coming to his house; he wanted Jack out and he wanted him gone. It was the stupid man’s fault that his parents broke up anyhow. Just because Jack couldn’t handle three young children, he decided that the family life wasn’t good enough and he just walked out. He had better things to do than to teach Peter how to play ball and take Mom on dates every once in a while and actually have fun. No, Jack had to have money to have fun, because his kind of fun cost that much. Yeah, to Jack, he had to travel halfway around the world to go skiing, or get the best rock climbing gear; he had to go on fancy cruises that cost a million dollars. He had to have the best and busiest job, so that everybody liked him, and he was always number one, and he had all the power. He needed to go to award ceremonies and galas, see the president; be a celebrity.
Peter hated him; Peter loathed him; Peter wanted to gouge his eyes out. Because Peter knew that that man could never be a real father, and would never want to come back and be a real person. Peter knew that Jack was too high above him and Russell and Michael and Mom. Peter knew that if someone put Mom’s wedding ring, and Jack’s money on a scale, Jack’s money would weigh more. Jack wasn’t his dad. Nothing could make him that way either, unless someone really knew how to tamper with brains.
Heaving a sigh, Peter pulled up one of his notebooks and stared at the unfinished pages, and he soon found himself tapping his pencil. His mom’s news had completely jarred his train of thought and concentration and definitely his good mood. Peter looked at the clock. He’d wasted a half hour seething about Jack and trying to put unmade words on paper. A soft knock echoed from the door. Peter knew what it was, but he was in no mood to answer.
“Peter,” Jewelia said, “I know I’m not supposed to come in, but I’m done with everything, so it would be nice if you gave me a ride home.” He continued to remain quiet, and noticed something in her tone, as if she didn’t exactly want to go home, but she knew it wouldn’t serve her well to stay here.
“Peter? Peter? Are you awake?” she began rapping on the door again. Tired of her voice, he opened the door and simply stared at her surprised face. She suddenly looked concerned.
“Um…are you alright? You look really mad.” Pushing past her Peter muttered, “It’s none of your business.” The poor girl simply shrugged, though the look of concern stayed.
As they got into the car, the sky began to drizzle, setting a mist over the road. The two both stared out the window, though Jewelia gave Peter worried glances every once in a while. Peter couldn’t stand the silence, so he turned on the radio just to hear noise, no mater what it was or how much Jewelia liked it.
“Oh, this is a good song,” she said in a happy, hushed tone.
“If you like it, then you can be quiet and listen to it.” Peter told her, not trying at all to keep the surliness out of his voice. Her frown instantly made him feel bad for speaking.
“I would say something but you’d probably get mad at me,” she said to him.
“I’m already mad; go ahead and say it anyway.”
“Fine,” she said cautiously. “Would you mind telling me what’s wrong? It’s obvious you have a big problem.” In a strange way, he felt better about her request and afraid at the same time. Why should she care about his dad? She was just a person he knew from school that worked for his mom, and she probably had enough of things to worry in her life than him and his dad. But somehow the words spouted in a clumsy way.
“I hate my mom’s phone call.”
Peter realized what he’d said and slapped his forehead before remembering to keep his eyes on the road.
“What do you mean?” she was absolutely confused.
“I mean—I hate my dad. My mom said he was coming over and he just isn’t very welcome to me. The only reason he divorced my mom was because he couldn’t handle three kids and she couldn’t handle him going for the most time consuming jobs that deprived him of being part of the family. And now every time Jack comes he prances around like the king of the world because he always has a new girlfriend and always gets the best income and shows off how far he’s gone compared to my mom, whom he’s never helped and never complimented.” Peter ended with his knuckles white on the steering wheel and the rain pounding. Jewelia stayed silent. “I mean, why should you care? You have plenty of things to worry about and you don’t have to act like you need to help me.”
“That’s exactly what I have to do.” She told him. Her face looked annoyingly determined. Peter decided he should get her home faster, and pressed a little further on the pedals. He didn’t want her help.
“Turn right!” Jewelia cried. Peter swerved to the right, causing the breaks to scream in fear and pain. He stopped and looked back at the newly made skid marks.
“What in the world are you trying to do? Get me in an accident?” he yelled.
“Either you let me drive or I’ll continue to give you directions. We’re going somewhere else.” Jewelia told him firmly, not answering his questions.
“Oh no, we’re not going anywhere but to your house.” Peter started to turn to car around but Jewelia grabbed the wheel and began to pull it in the opposite direction.
“I am not going home!” she said with a frightening conviction. Peter glared at her.
“Do you not understand that I am the driver? Now let go of the wheel before someone hits us!” Peter pressed the gas a little bit further, and Jewelia pulled the wheel back in her course until Peter found himself traveling away from the route to Jewelia’s house. He braked again and this time he turned off the ignition, too.
“Get out of the car, right now,” he demanded. Jewelia rolled her eyes and scowled at him as she opened the door to the onslaught of rain. As soon as he got out, Peter almost lashed out at her. But instead, he was curious.
“Okay,” he said in a heated tone, folding his arms. “Fine, take the wheel and let’s go to this place. But if you make any more trouble, I’m serious I will not take you home.” He moved into the passenger's seat and didn’t care to turn as she revved the truck up again. They stayed silent and in intense moods for the rest of the ride until Jewelia stopped at the side of the road that seemed to Peter very random.
“We have to walk from here,” she stated. Peter didn’t want to ask, but was relieved when she headed toward the trees that would mostly shelter him from more rain. In the brush there was only a mist above the ground that immediately dampened his jeans. The way the air seemed steamy and thankfully warmer made Peter feel like he had stepped into a rainforest. Jewelia didn’t take time to say anything about what she was doing, but moved steadily onward and allowed him to follow in silence.
It wasn’t until they entered an open glade that was covered several feet above with tree branches while the center was amassed by a great tree that almost looked like a natural tree house. Peter wasn’t very good at identifying trees, so he didn’t care to try to decide which type of tree this was. He simply looked up and listened to the bullets of rain try to break through the roof of trees.
“And you brought me here because…?” he asked, giving Jewelia a questioning look.
“Now I just want you to imagine yourself somewhere, anywhere,” Jewelia called. She’d nimbly climbed up the tree and was looking down upon him.
“Where?” Peter said in disbelief.
“You pick! That’s why you’re imagining yourself there. It doesn’t even have to be known by the rest of the world. It can be all your own place. An entire world all for you.” Peter thought, but still wasn’t in the mood for whatever she was trying to do. Even the faintest thought of Gandrieltia made him want to leave.
“Fine, I’m thinking of it. Can we go now?” he called up, folding his arms.
“Are you imagining it, or just thinking of it. I told you to imagine it. Feel it, smell it, taste it around you. That’s what you’re supposed to do.”
“Jewelia, I don’t have time for this. I have homework that I could be doing right now.” Peter was getting very impatient.
“As if you would actually be doing it,” she retorted.
“Hey!” Peter bellowed. “I’m not here to be teased, and ‘m most definitely not in the mood for it either. Now get this thing over with and let me go home.”
“You don’t want to go home any more than I do. If you hate your dad that much, why would you want to go back?”
“Maybe it’s because I’ve made it very clear that he stay away from me or I’ll strike him with a hatchet. I’ll be perfectly fine at home; I just won’t like the fact that he’s here. Besides, who said you didn’t want to go home?”
“I did, smart one. And what I’m doing isn’t just something to ‘get over with.’ Okay? Now imagine your world or I’ll infest it with strange beings that look suspiciously like your dad. And quit letting your bad mood rub off on me. I don’t like being in a bad mood.”
“Oh, so all of this is my fault?” Peter scoffed. “The world is null and I’m to blame? Who was the one who nearly got both of us into a car accident?”
“There was nobody around, and I’m not the who one screeched on the breaks. They’re going to smell weird after that.”
“And I should care more about how bad some car breaks smell than about my own life. Well, my priorities are straight now.”
“Imagine your world, okay!” Jewelia sounded angrier than Peter thought capable of her. He glared at her as she made her way back down the tree and came up to him with a finger ready to jab him in the chest. “This is why I need to help you!” she hissed.
“You can’t have conversation with anyone without turning it into an argument or something very negative. I can’t stand people like that. Now I’m trying to give you as much sympathy as I can pull and right now I don’t think I can pull anymore!”
Peter stared coolly back into her angry face and simply made her read his lips.
“Well, then you don’t have to do it now. I’m leaving you here.” Her look of horror almost made him laugh, but Peter instantly shifted into gear and ran like sound. It was a treasure to his ears to hear that she had fallen behind him at one point and he just had to jog to his truck before she could climb in. Pulling the car door open and shut he turned on the ignition and got himself turned around just as her exhausted figure emerged from the wood. Smirking, Peter drove home, simply listening to the rain now lightly pattering on the windshield.
As he drove back home Peter couldn’t help thinking of how stupid she was. As far as he could see, the only great thing Jewelia was able to do was write at a college level. He had her in no other classes, so he knew nothing about how well she did in other subjects, but he didn’t care. She definitely wasn’t the best runner, even though he could hardly make that a credible thought because he just happened to be a phenomenal athlete compared to her. And the girl didn’t know how to hold her tongue when she needed to, or how to keep out of everyone’s business. She acted like she was the boss of everything during school; it drove him nuts. The only reason people would do what she asked for was that they new she could easily lash out at them just the same as being silently rude behind their backs.
Peter grunted to himself, as he didn’t have real evidence of this, but a rumor that circulated around the school had to come from somewhere. He smiled smugly when he entered the actual signs of town, just thinking of how much he thought she deserved to walk home. The only thought that could faze him was the idea that Jack would be there to replace her and resume making Peter’s life miserable. With that in mind, Peter stopped the car, got out, and made his way up to the Parkinson apartment.