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I'm currently writing
I'm currently writing a story, and I would like to post it here. Unfortunately, on the first thread I made about it, someone impersonated me and told the Admins to delete it. So I'm going to repost everything.
I'm too salty to rewrite the whole original introduction, but I would like to point out that many of the main characters in this are LGBTQ+. If that was the reason whoever the impersonater was told the Admins under my name to take it down, then I cannot say how awful that is.
Please don't do it again. To me or to anyone. It feels super, super, super bad. It feels like you're being taken advantage of. Like you're not being regarded as a person.
If you don't like this story, don't read it. That doesn't mean you should steal someone's identity and demand for someone else's hard work be deleted.
Thanks. Here's part one again.
-----
It was one of those things that he never expected to change.
Suddenly it did, and it felt so right that he didn’t question it. And it changed again and again, but he scarcely noticed that everything was different because he was all caught up in the swirl and excitement and joy of living.
Then one day, he was hanging upside down from a branch on that big tree in the backyard that Liza joked would never stop growing and one day swallow up the house and all of Los Angeles. He was holding his phone (tightly, lest he drop it) and laughing as he typed out a text to Jack and Adri and Theo, when he realized that, indeed, he and his life had become very, very, different since the day three years ago that cute, red-haired, freckle-faced boy had come up behind him after Math and asked if he could draw him.
“You want to know if you can… what?” Alex blinked, bewildered, at his questioner.
“Draw you. Oh, sorry—” The boy said sheepishly. “That was weird, wasn’t it? I mean, you seem like a nice person, and you’re really interesting.”
Alex was at a loss for words, which he thought with a kind of amused awe. Alex Quinn, he had been told and acknowledged himself, was very difficult to shut up.
“No! No! Ugh, human interaction is hard, gosh, I’m sorry— Can we start over?” Flustered, the boy ran a hand through his long auburn curls, the other pulling nervously at the edge of his too-large “Black Lives Matter” t-shirt.
Alex grinned. “Sure. I’m Alex Quinn. Pleased to meet you.”
“I’m Jack.”
They shook hands. Jack’s palms were soft, and even they were covered in freckles, like someone had dumped cinnamon sugar on him.
Alex gathered his binders and notebooks, carefully stacking them in size order. It was a habit, he supposed, but he wasn’t sure where it had come from— Only that it made him uneasy to have it any other way. It was just one of those things.
“So, why did you want to draw me?”
Jack’s hands started fidgeting, fingers tapping his sides in some sort of rhythm. “I’m an artist, I guess, and I’m best at drawing people, and you seem like… I don’t know.” He paused. “You’re really alive, you know.”
Alex paused at his locker, dumping his supplies in it and kicking the blue metal door shut. After considering a moment, he replied, “I’ve been told it’s really hard to get me to stop talking and moving. Or doing anything I want to be doing, really.”
Jack opened his mouth, seemingly struggling with deciding whether or not to elaborate on that, for a moment before closing his mouth and saying, “That’s kind of what I mean.”
Alex could tell that it wasn’t all that Jack had to say, but he left it be.
They walked in silence for a bit, and Jack glanced over at Alex, trying to commit his appearance to memory, all of his expressive hazel eyes and baggy blue sweatshirt and scuffed up converse and easy posture, the way his mouth upturned slightly as if preparing to say something, and that when he did you’d gosh darn better listen.
“Are you new here?” Jack said finally.
“Yeah,” Alex said as they neared the dark oak double doors that led to the dining hall. “This is my first year at this place. I moved during the summer.”
“From where?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Alex replied, a little too quickly.
Jack also took note of the way Alex bit his lip and ducked his head so his dark brown hair fell into his eyes when he said this, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Catch you later, okay? I have work to do.”
“Okay.” Jack said, and Alex had turned and walked away, hurrying out of the cafe and towards the direction of the library.
Lunch was quiet. Jack sat at a corner table by himself, just like usual, and took out his sketchbook to draw, just like usual. He would sketch people, just glance around and pick the first person his eyes fell on, but this time he drew Alex.
In the first attempt, he penciled out the boy’s profile, trying to capture the peaceable line of his jaw and the way his hair hung down the side of his face, tucked behind his ears. He stopped to analyze it. It wasn’t a bad drawing, but it wasn’t... Alex.
Half an hour and four abandoned doodles of Alex later, he slammed his book shut in a fit of rare frustration. There was something about the guy that he couldn’t quite ensnare, something deep and quiet and real and ragingly beautiful.
Jack was determined to find it.
Keep writing, Abi! We're excited to see the rest. To the impersonator, we do not tolerate that type of behavior. ~Admin
submitted by Abigail S., age 12, Nose in a Book
(December 22, 2016 - 12:21 pm)
(December 22, 2016 - 12:21 pm)
As the day wore on, Jack discovered that it was very difficult to exist with Alex almost constantly dropping onto Jack with half-lidded eyes— not just because of the inconvenience in walking it induced, but because sleepy Alex was also unfairly cute Alex.
At lunch, they were in the library, as usual, but since there was a sudden influx of high schoolers cramming for a geography exam and hogging the tables, they had been reduced to three beanbags squished in the corner of the middle-grade fiction section.
Alex had been flipping through a battered copy of some renowned fantasy book that Jack had yet to read, but the novel had slipped out of his fingers and was now splayed out on the floor, Alex doing the same across Jack’s lap.
He was curled sideways, facing Adri, head on Jack’s thigh. Alex was in a sort of fetal position, his lips pressed into a half-pout, sometimes silently mouthing out words. Eyes partway closed, fingers running absentmindedly down the grey carpet, Alex was uncharacteristically still.
He breathed slowly, quiet little puffs of air. He wasn’t asleep, given that now and then he’d lift his head, interjecting something into Adri and Jack’s discussion before resuming his position, but mostly, he stayed quiet.
Out of the blue, Adri said, “Alexandre, tu es tomber de sommeil.”
“To be asleep on one’s feet,” Alex translated, rolling so he was on his back, looking upward at Jack. His hand reached up, entangling itself in Jack’s ponytail. “And my full name isn’t even Alexander. It’s just Alex.”
“Alex,” Adri continued gently. “This is not… healthful. You need sleep.”
“I’m fine,” Alex insisted, but his point was disproven with a loud yawn.
“Alex.”
Alex switched his focus. “Jack, Adri’s being mean,” he mumbled, tucking himself into Jack’s side, face burrowed into the crook of his arm, and god, since when did people come this warm? “She’s right, you know,” he pointed out.
“Mmph,” said Alex.
This attitude lasted until Math, which Alex and Jack had together.
Jack liked it more than English and he got decent grades. Its simplicity and straightforwardness was comforting, but Jack wasn’t quite sure whether it qualified as enjoyable or not.
Alex was, in all honesty, terrible, and usually spent the period muttering under his breath about how hard it was. He’d always refuse help, preferring to slog through worksheets on his own, no matter how badly he did.
It was stubborn.
And ridiculous.
And almost admirable.
Today, Jack was only half listening as the teacher lectured about percentages and linear models. Quite suddenly, he sighed, set down his whiteboard marker, and started across the room, in the general direction of Jack, who almost had a heart attack before he passed just by and stood in front of Alex, slumped over on his desk.
“Ahem.”
(February 17, 2017 - 1:59 pm)
This is amazingly adorable, Abigail!
(February 20, 2017 - 11:20 am)
To the top!
This story is awesome, don't stop writing!
(February 20, 2017 - 9:10 pm)
Toppity top top top! We love your story and your characters, Abi, and we love you!
(February 21, 2017 - 6:49 am)
(February 22, 2017 - 9:55 am)
(February 22, 2017 - 2:09 pm)
“I’m an idiot,” Alex sighed into Jack’s shoulder.
“No, you’re not,” Jack said in a somewhat clumsy effort to be reassuring. “You just have, like, really awful sleep habits.”
“I fell asleep in math class.”
This was true, and had led to their current position, sitting on a wooden bench in the middle school office. It lacked a back, so Jack was left trying in vain to find a position in which his shoulder blades weren’t pressed uncomfortably into the wall.
Despite Alex’s ardent protests, he was being sent home for the remainder of the day. It seemed his less-than-awake nature hadn’t actually escaped his teachers’ notice.
Jack had just been supposed to walk Alex down, but when he started to leave, Alex had grabbed his wrist and pleaded, “Wait with me?” and so here he was.
“I didn’t mean to,” Alex said, quiet, almost as if he was attempting not to cry.
“I know, I know,” Jack soothed.
“It’s not that I don’t try to sleep,” he began. “Sometimes my brain doesn’t stop moving and I just can’t. I physically can’t. Often it just seems so out of this world to actually be able to relax, you know? I have so much I have to do. Do you ever feel like that?”
He paused for a beat, and Jack got the distinct sense Alex wasn’t really asking, a notion that was confirmed when his friend immediately continued with his monologue without receiving a response.
“No, you probably don’t. And then— later— I’m okay for a while, but then… It all catches up to me and I totally collapse. That doesn’t happen to other people, does it? What’s wrong with me?”
Alex closed his eyes, trying to still his threatening-to-tremble hands by sheer brainpower. Breathe, Alex, dammit, why can’t you just—
“Alex… ”
He thought he might break down right then. His name sounded so… right when Jack said it like that, emphasizing the beginning vowel and lilting up, fading out like a sigh.
Alex let out a tiny, involuntary sob.
“Alex, it’s okay.”
Jack’s arm wound around his back, curling Alex into his chest, letting his face tuck into the taller boy’s neck.
He was so comfortable.
They fit together like puzzle pieces.
Alex… relaxed.
It had been a while, he realized, since he’d felt this calm. Jack was saying something, murmuring soft words, but Alex wasn’t really listening, just taking in the low hum of his voice, the way he let his phrases tumble into one another, stretching out the ending syllables until they all seemed to be spoken on one long breath.
He almost believed he could hear his friend’s heartbeat.
One-a-two, one-a-two, one, one, one, one…
The world swam. Sounds and sights became fuzzy, blurred at the edges, sliding in and out of focus, before finally, finally— everything faded to black.
Alex was asleep.
To be more specific about the matter, he was asleep on Jack, whose entire left side was starting to numb. Moving wasn’t an option, not when Alex was hanging onto him in a manner strangely reminiscent of a koala.
Jack wasn’t exactly sure when he had drifted off— he had been doing his best to be comforting, muttering nothings (the possibility of him having been unconsciously waxing poetic about Alex’s eyes was not to be ignored). Then he looked down and there Alex was.
Tiny and still and relaxed.
His own sense of awareness was beginning to cloud, the too-loud rhythmic ticking of a clock hanging above his head somehow falling into time with Alex’s breathing.
People walked by now and then, few of them sparing glances their way. The glass double doors creaked open— they need oil, really— and a woman walked in, stumbling slightly over the threshold as her leather moccasins slipped on the polished wood.
Sarah grabbed the edge of the red-topped receptionist’s desk to steady herself, accidentally banging her toe on it. Her day hadn’t been up to snuff even before her phone had rung (spilled coffee, two broken vases, a pompous client who insisted that color schemes were irrelevant), and the knowledge Alex had passed out in class really hadn’t improved her mood, much less a sore foot.
It wasn’t that she was annoyed at Alex— she was honestly more concerned for his health, but she wasn’t above admitting it was exasperating how he sometimes refused to comply with basic human needs.
“Um, hello?” Sarah said to a lady behind the counter, who she assumed worked at the school. Phone pressed to her ear, she held up a single finger, gesturing Sarah to wait.
Her bright red lips mouthed out, “One minute, please,” before she continued her babbling to an unseen recipient.
Sarah let out a small huff of annoyance, moving away from the desk. The room was quiet, save for the red-lipstick woman’s murmured reassurances that, yes, Angelina Romano would be summoned to the front directly following fifth period.
A young man scooted out of a doorway marked as the sixth grade dean’s office on a swivel chair, grabbed a stack of paper that the copy machine had just spat out, and made a swiftly spinning retreat.
Sarah caught sight of Alex at this point, on a bench, curled up against a taller, auburn haired boy, apparently sleeping. The other kid had his arm awkwardly half-encircling Alex, green eyes slightly glazed over.
Sarah strode over, taking care not to tread on any of the field trip permission forms that a pink-cheeked intern was trying frantically to gather up.
“Hi,” Sarah said, and the boy who wasn’t Alex looked up, startled. “I’m Sarah Quinn, Alex’s mom.”
“Oh,” he replied, glancing quickly down at Alex. “He’s asleep.”
Sarah shook her head fondly. “I can see that.” She extracted Alex from his position, and scooped him up, bridal-style. He was still light enough to carry. A short distance, Sarah reminded herself grimly, wincing as her back popped.
“What’s your name?” She asked the boy.
“Jack,” he said, anxiously twisting a gold-speckled curl around his index finger. “I’m, um, Alex’s… friend.”
“Well, thank you for waiting with him.”
“It wasn’t a problem.”
Sarah turned, was about to exit when Jack hurriedly called, “Wait!”
“Yes?”
“Does this,”— he glanced at the napping Alex, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a tender smile— “Does this happen often?”
Sarah sighed. “No, but still too frequently for my taste. Mostly around this time of year.”
“Ah. Okay,” Jack said, nodding slowly. “My— our friend Adrienne says Alex— well, it was in French, and I don’t know how to pronounce it right, but it meant that he goes as fast as he can, always. Won’t stop until he collapses.”
He seemed to be about to go on, but abruptly swallowed his thoughts, looking slightly startled for having said so much.
“Alex doesn’t understand that people won’t be upset if he isn’t always perfect,” Jack finished hurriedly, staring at his scuffed up sneakers.
“Yeah,” Sarah said softly, a little unnerved. Alex had never even passingly dropped Jack’s or the mentioned Adrienne’s name in conversation, and yet in a matter of sentences they had accurately summed up something Sarah had spent far too long to trying to understand.
Alex had never been good at opening up.
Perhaps that was changing, like so much else.
“That’s exactly it.”
(February 22, 2017 - 11:33 pm)
wow.
Just... WOW.
Abi, this is amazing. Words fail me to properly express how much I enjoy reading this story. When I re-loaded the page and saw that this had 'New Installment' as the last commenter, I immediately clicked on it because I was so excited to see what you had written.
This is so good. Never stop writing this (until it's finished, of course :) ). This is supremely awesome.
I love this story.
-Nianad
(February 23, 2017 - 1:20 am)
(February 24, 2017 - 9:20 pm)
(February 25, 2017 - 11:33 am)
(February 25, 2017 - 12:27 pm)
Short one, sorry. I'm having some formatting troubles with the next part, so hang in there!
----
Alex woke up, for once, not by Sarah shaking his shoulders, or the blaring of his alarm clock, or the startling thump of his face colliding with a desk.
Instead, he awakened to light. It was creamy, and almost blinding, pressing on the edges of his eyelids, daring him to open them. He wondered vaguely what time it was.
Alex rolled out of bed and half-sleepwalked down the hall and into the kitchen, where Sarah was sitting on a high stool at the counter, eating a cheesy-looking panini. A Jane Austen novel was propped up against her water glass.
“Hi,” Alex said with a yawn, sitting down next to her.
Sarah looked up, sandwich halfway to her mouth, and grinned. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty’s awake. Would you like some lunch?”
Alex blinked. “… Lunch? What time is it?”
“One in the afternoon,” Sarah said, pointing explanatorily toward the clock on the microwave which, indeed, confirmed just that.
“What?” Alex said loudly, all of a sudden jumping up and knocking his chair over. “I’m missing school? Why didn’t you wake me up? I can still make fifth, sixth, and seventh if we go right now—”
“Alex, sweetie,” Sarah sighed, “Relax. You’re not going to school today.”
“But I can’t miss—” Alex started.
“You can and you will,” Sarah said firmly. “Alex, you near worked yourself to death this past week. I, for one, wouldn’t like that to happen again. Your friends were very concerned about you, do note.”
With that decided, she stood, placing Alex’s fallen stool back to its position. Sensing he had just lost that battle, he begrudgingly climbed back on, resting his chin in his hands.
Sarah turned on the stove. It made a little crackling noise and hummed to life.
Alex abruptly registered something about Sarah’s earlier statement— “Wait, you said my friends were worried about me?”
“Oh, right,” Sarah said, midway through shaking out shell pasta into a measuring cup. “Your phone’s on the coffee table in the living room. It wouldn’t stop dinging earlier this morning, so I put it in there.”
Alex hopped off the chair and padded over to where Sarah had directed. His phone, a hand-me-down from Liza, was perched on top of a tissue box. Alex picked it up and headed back to the kitchen, where Sarah was now loading basil into the food processor.
There were a large number of unread text messages in a three-person group chat titled, “idk man” and Alex lazily scrolled through them.
(February 26, 2017 - 1:23 pm)
(February 26, 2017 - 7:37 pm)
Tipitytopitytopitytoo... Wheeeeeeeeeee!!! Topin' iz fun!
(February 27, 2017 - 4:55 pm)
(March 1, 2017 - 12:52 pm)