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Koffee's NaNo! I
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Koffee's NaNo! I
Koffee's NaNo! I understand if you want to shorten it a bit Admins. I won't post all of it right now, just the first chapter or so:
((From Amy's pov)):
Before dancing, my life seemed so bleak. Looking back on it now, it’s just a blurry mess of shapes scattered about the drab canvas of my life. After my first dance lesson, I began to feel again. But this time, I almost felt too strongly. Mother was so sure that she would make an actor out of me, and was none too happy when her little girl began cutting drama class to dance alone in the empty studio. Standing on the steps of Juilliard, I long for those blissful hours before the mirror. I long for myself. My father left me when I was thirteen, and I believe that’s what pushed me over the edge. Before he was gone, I could never do anything right. If I avoided my acting lessons, I wasn’t good enough; if I threw myself into them, I needed to make time for other things. These things combined into the deadly cocktail that eventually transformed into anorexia at the age of fifteen. It was downhill from there. I started dancing when I was twelve, and it was my first love. I’d always felt an obligation to acting. To carry my mother’s burden on my shoulders. She’d always wanted to be an actress, and assumed that I wanted the same. I didn’t know how to love anything, so I told myself that I loved acting. That was the first time that I lied to myself. Eventually I learned how to be charismatic and charming. I learned how to hide my grief. I got so good at it that people started interpreting me as “bubbly” or “sweet”. I could never bring myself to show them how wrong they were. I left home when I was seventeen. I wasn’t sorry. That was a year ago, yet it seemed like yesterday. I could still taste the words on my tongue of the fights I’d had with Mother. I could still feel her hand across my face when she slapped me. I’d managed to scrape by, on odd jobs and fast-food swing shifts. I’d been biding my time, waiting for the moment. My only hope of getting into Juilliard was by scholarship. So I danced every day. After work, I danced. When I woke up in the morning, I danced. No friends, no life, no other purpose. It was just me and the dance, inside each other. And then the day came. The audition day. And while I was pulled along in the crowd of students, through the doors of the school, it felt like home. The front hallway was crowded with people, and I look around for a place to sit. I spy a tall girl with dark hair sitting with her head between her knees. I walk over, trying to look charming. I needn’t have worried. My charming self fits like a second skin now. I walk up beside her and smile. “Um, are you okay?” She looks up quickly, a blush rising to her tanned cheeks. “Oh, yes, thank you.” She’s embarrassed, and I’m suddenly self-conscious. I wish that I’d gone to sit with someone else. And that feeling of not belonging claws its way back into my stomach. But I’m Amy. Charismatic, sweet Amy, that’s not haunted by anorexia and a startling lack of self-confidence. So I sit down next to her, still smiling my good-girl smile. “What are you auditioning for?” She looks up, surprised that I’m still here. “Oh, um, dance. Ballet,” she adds with a flutter of a smile, “And you? Singing? Acting?” I see her looking at my small form, assuming that I wasn’t strong enough to dance. My anger flares inside of me before I can stop it. My perfect mask forms a long, harsh crack. “No, I’m a dancer, despite a seemingly popular objection from all my peers.” I’m sarcastic now. That’s not good. Amy is not sarcastic. Amy is sweet and doesn’t get offended. Sometimes I wish that I didn’t have to live up to the charming Amy. Sometimes I wish I could just be me; with a flaring temper and pain inside. It’s like I’m two different people sometimes. I’m always comparing myself to the perfect Amy. The Amy that everyone else sees. The girl is taken aback my abruptness, so I put my charming face back on, “Sorry, I’m just a little sensitive about it, that’s all.” It’s a weak excuse, I know it is, but the girl accepts it and holds out her hand. “I’m Chelsea,” she smiles, “Sorry….sorry about what I said earlier. I come on strong.” She has a nice smile, the kind that you practice in front of the mirror for hours, but still can’t get right. “No worries,” I say, “My name’s Amy.” We shake hands. An awkward silence falls, but I do my best not to seem bothered by it. It’s going to be harder to act perfect as Juilliard. Who knew that masquerading as precision could be so difficult? I glance down at my favorite dancing outfit, hoping that I don’t look horrible in it. Scolding myself, I turn my mind to something other than the Dark Years. That’s what I’d taken to referring to them as. The Dark Years. It seemed to fit, summing up everything; my Father leaving, me falling into anorexia, the constant push from my mother to be better than I could… Stop it, I rebuke myself. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and focus on today! I turn back to look at Chelsea, who looks near fainting. I think of how she had her head between her knees earlier, and hope I’m not keeping her from admitting dizziness. I’m about to make an excuse to go to the bathroom or something, when they call up the next group. We both stand up, and I smile at her again, cocking my eyebrows. Mother once told me that my eyebrows were almost a trademark of mine. She’d said she wouldn’t recognize me without my waggling eyebrows. How I longed for that Mother. The one that told me things like that. Before I’d started cutting class to go to the dance studio. I walk next to Chelsea’s side, and ogle at how tall she is. I’d always been raised to believe that dancers needed to be short. But Chelsea, Chelsea was something different. She walked with an air of grace, all long legs and pointed toes. She walked to the beat of a music I could not hear. She wasn’t a dancer; she was the dance itself, without even dancing. And while I watched her walk towards the imposing doors, I wondered who this girl was, and how she knew Dance like a friend.
Thoughts? I'll post some from Chelsea's pov later :D
submitted by Koffee
(November 2, 2009 - 11:52 pm)
(November 2, 2009 - 11:52 pm)
Ooh, when's your birthday? :)
(November 12, 2009 - 4:36 pm)
Front half of February :D I'd rather not specify the exact day, you know?
(November 12, 2009 - 8:46 pm)
Of course. :)
Annika Jr's due Feb 28...
(November 13, 2009 - 4:16 pm)
Awww! What's Anna Kathleen have to do with Annika? I'm so confused!
(November 13, 2009 - 6:53 pm)
Aww! I must see this baby you speak of...:D
(November 13, 2009 - 8:24 pm)
@ Emma: Well, see, you take Anna Kathleen, convince your parents it's a pretty name, get your little sister named Anna Kathleen. Then after the birth certificate and all are written out, you conveniently bring this up: "Hey, lookit! Take the first few letters of ANNA and the first few letters of KAthleen, and you get ANNIKA--- Wow! We should really call this new baby Annika as a nickname! What? No! Of course this wasn't my Evil Plot all along!"
See? ;)
@ Koffee: Fly out sometime in March. *bambie eyes* Or maybe I could convince Mom to take us to Oregon... :)
(November 14, 2009 - 1:50 pm)
*evil laugh* mwhahahaha! haha! ha. ha ha.
@Mary W. : Which state do you live in again? I'd better start softening my 'rents up right now...*runs off to do so*
(November 15, 2009 - 5:25 pm)
I love it, Koffee! Post more? *begs*
(November 16, 2009 - 11:57 am)
Were you going to post any more anytime soon? Or just leave us hanging?
*begs like Julia* :D
(November 16, 2009 - 2:57 pm)
@ Koffee: Bordentown, NJ. Tiny place about twenty minutes away from the capital (Trenton). Allegedly *really* historical. Also extremely boring. *yawns*
I used to write that in the location box, but then my autofill ran away and left me all alone and I got lazy and just started typing NJ... /laziness in the extreme
It's sort of a pretty town, though. (If small. And dull...)
Also: " 'rents"? *grin*
(November 16, 2009 - 4:59 pm)
*fights way through crowd of adoring fans* Yes, I'll post more :D *squee* 17k!! But I have carpal tunnel (sp?) *sigh*
@Mary W. : Yes, 'rents *winks* By the way, Maggie just sent me the most random message: I like the name Maureen??? *giggle* I is cheered up now :D
Okay, here's some more, from Amy's Pov:
When the Plastic Girl finishes, the room is buzzing louder than it had after I’d danced. I’m mildly offended by this, but figure that I’ll get over it when I make it and she doesn’t. Before she crawls back under whatever rock she came out from under, she pauses at the front of the room, her eyes flickering about. I don’t like it. It’s an uncanny thing, and it reminds me of a snake about to strike.
The eyes shudder to a stop, and they appear to be on me. She slices a finger through the air with lightning speed, so fast I can scarcely believe my eyes were not deceiving me. But the contempt in her eyes make it clear, as she flounces back towards her seat, that the wretched little girl who stood at the front of the room a moment before had mimed slicing my throat.
Beside me, Chelsea has stiffened, and her forehead’s creased with worry.
“What’s the matter?” I asked her nonchalantly. “It’s no big deal. She was probably just mad that we danced to the same choreography, that’s all.” I smile encouragingly. “Don’t worry. She probably won’t make it in anyways. I bet she’s not half as good as you.” I’m starting to get concerned as Chelsea’s face sinks deeper and deeper into terror. I tug gently on her arm. Josh looks over, and I shrug, indicating the situation with my eyebrows and face.
“What’s the matter, Chelsea?” he seems genuinely worried, and Chelsea turns towards us slightly, her eyes wide and pupils dilated.
“It’s nothing,” she murmurs, “I just know that girl from somewhere, that’s all. Brandy. Her name’s Brandy.” She doesn’t seem to be talking to us, just at us.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” I ask her gently. I realize how selfish it was of me to assume that this “Brandy” girl was miming violent things at me. Once that thought’s in my head, it’s all I can do to contain a giggle. But I manage, because Chelsea might think that I’m laughing at her.
I lean towards Josh, and he glances at Chelsea before stooping down to my height. “Did you see what she did? That girl, when she was walking back to her seat?” He shakes his head, a deep frown cutting into his brow. “Well, at first I thought that she was looking at me, since I’d just danced before her, but I think she was looking at Chelsea. She drew her finger across her throat like this,” I imitate the motion for him. “Chelsea says that she knows her from somewhere, but she didn’t say where.”
He’s nodding now, glancing over my head towards the rest of the room, trying to find where Brandy is sitting. He touches my arm and nods with his head toward the far corner. I casually turn my head, like I’m going to say something to Chelsea, but turn and check out this girl instead.
She’s tossing her hair back, laughing silently, and accepting whispered praise. Periodically she glances over towards us, but she has eyes for Chelsea alone. Chelsea is staring straight ahead, mouthing something to herself. I put a reassuring hand on her leg, but she only glances up for a second to smile gratefully. I look back at Josh, who looks as anxious as I do.
“What’s your last name?” I whisper to Chelsea. A few dancers have long since come and gone.
“Miller,” she whispers back.
I do the math in my head as they call up the next person. She has about five people ahead of her. I reach down into my bag, quietly, so I don’t draw the attention of the dance teacher, and pull out my iPod. Handing it to her, I whisper, “Listen to this. It’ll help calm you down. I hope it’s your kind of music.” She appreciatively takes it from my hand. Her skin is cold and clammy when it brushes mine. Josh shrugs when I turn back to him, and I settle into watching the dancers without ever actually seeing them at all. After a few moments, I whisper to Josh. “When’re you up? I never found out your last name.”
He glances towards the teacher again before responding. “I won’t be up for while,” he lowers his voice again as a few people look up, “My last name’s Whitman.” Nodding, I turn my gaze back towards Brandy. I notice an empty seat next to her, but it appears that she’s going to guard it ferociously. But no worries, Amy’s an expert at these kinds of situations.
Silent on my bare feet, I stand up, grateful for my tiny stature. The teacher is sitting in the front row, and Brandy is sitting in the far back corner, directly opposite of us. I put a finger to my lips when Chelsea looks up, but she doesn’t see what I’m playing at. She stays mercifully silent, though, so I continue padding towards Brandy’s seat.
It takes me only a few moments to stride across the room, smile peaceably at her, and slip into the empty chair beside her. A look of disgust crosses her face, but she smiles, like I was an old friend.
“Um, sorry, have we met?” her smile is a little strained, her voice just a little too friendly. I don’t like her.
“Um, we haven’t actually, but I was just admiring your beautiful dancing,” I gush to her. She smiles. Good. She’s easier to crack than I thought.
“Oh, thanks,” she smiles, “when are you going up, hun?”
Of course. Someone like Brandy wouldn’t notice the person that went right before her. But I’m on autopilot at this point. I smile brightly. “Oh, I won’t be up until almost the end,” nod and shrug. Good. “I was just wondering about something. Before you left the stage, you paused and acted like you were slicing a throat. Was that part of the dance? Because it fit perfectly with that melancholy vibe that you had going on. Great dramatic use.” I smile brightly. Good. That’s something Amy would do.
“Oh, um,” she’s at a loss of words for a moment, startled that I’m on to her. Bright, bubbly Amy is gone. Now it’s just me, in her face, practically snarling.
“Don’t you make up some story for me, chickie,” it’s a bad choice of words, I’ll admit, but it’s the first thing that pops into my head. And, well, I can’t really go back at this point. “I know that you were looking at Chelsea when you did that, and I want to know what’s so wrong with you that you have to traumatize her. Sure, I don’t know her that well, but I can see that she’s sweet. Honest. Everything that you want to be. So trust me, intimidating her won’t get you anywhere. I don’t know where you two know each other from, or what your problem is, but I suggest that you back off.”
We stare at each other for a moment. As our eyes lock, I feel something I’ve never felt before. I’m taking off my perfect mask, not even bothering to pretend. And it feels good. I’m pouring all my anger, all my pain, onto this one person. I don’t see Brandy’s face anymore, but I see my father. My mother. Myself. All the people that I’d grown to hate were reflected on her huge, bright eyes.
“What are you talking about?” she juts her chin out, and again I see myself in her. You never admit weakness. That would mean falling from your faultlessness.
“Don’t play games with me, Brandy,” her jaw is clenched so tightly that it’s nearly white, and her lip is curled, like a dog ready to fight. Behind her, I see another girl, average looking, who’s doing her best to look intimidating. “Tell me where you know Chelsea from. She’s really shook up. You can’t honestly hate her so much that you want her to fail at this.”
She’s smiling now, a snotty little smile that shows she has all the control. “Why should I tell you?” she practically spits the words at me. And that does it. My mask is already off, and there’s no way to control my anger. I stand up, my chair clattering back loudly against the old floor, and I feel it cringe beneath my feet. Thankfully, there’s not a dancer at the front of the room, because I’ve stolen the stage now. I’m seeing red now. Everything, Brandy’s face, the distorted mirror, my own hands as I lung towards her. My fist connects with flesh, and her bleeding nose is added to the scarlet picture of the room. I’m standing over her, steam practically blowing out my ears when two firm hands grab me firmly from behind. I’m worn out now, too weak to struggle against my faceless captor. The hands throw me into the hallway, and before the door slams, I see the dance teacher’s face.
“Come back when you can behave yourself, young lady.” And that is the reason, that for the first time in a few years, that I cry. I sink down against the wall in that wide hallway, and silence has fallen gently over everything as I begin to cry. Hard, wet sobs that account for everything that I’ve gone through. That account for my life.
Please be gentle. It hasn't been edited or anything yet *weak smile*
(November 16, 2009 - 8:26 pm)
Koffee! We're dying of suspense here! Post more! Please!
I'm sorry about your carpal tunnel. Perhaps some virtual chocolate will help. Here. Tell me if it works, okay?
(November 20, 2009 - 5:21 pm)
I don't think she loves us any more...
:)
(November 24, 2009 - 12:51 pm)
I do love you! I swear I do! *runs off to post more* I'll be back in two shakes of...something shakey.
(November 24, 2009 - 8:35 pm)
M'kay, here's some more. Told you I'd be back quickly, didn't I? From Chelsea's POV, now :D
I didn’t mean to cause a scene. Honestly, I didn’t. I just froze up when I saw Brandy standing up there, all shiny and perfect as always. I felt my face go white, and my heart nearly stops. Soon Amy and Josh are all over me, asking if I’m okay, even feeling my forehead at one point. So then I make the mistake of telling Amy that I know this girl, and once she figures this out, she’s like a bulldog that won’t let go.
She stands up, graceful this time, her mask pasted so firmly against her face that I wouldn’t be able to see through it unless I knew what to look for. She walks noiselessly across the floor, over to where Brandy is sitting with some little minion. And I don’t believe what I see. Amy’s talking with her, laughing. And for a moment I think that I’ve made some sort of terrible mistake. Amy’s not pretending to hide her pain, she’s really happy with Brandy. Of course she would be. I mean, it makes perfect sense. Complicated, troubled, generally perfect people always seem to cluster together in groups. And the thought that my new friend is leaving me for my sworn worst enemy makes my stomach leap into my mouth.
Looking towards the front of the room, I cradle Amy’s iPod, as a fast, punky beat blasts through the ear buds. Not the best for calming down, but it puts my mind at ease. I’m whispering to myself when I happen to look over to where the new best friends are sitting, and am so startled that I have to put my hand over my mouth to hold in a gasp. I never had actually believed that people could gasp, except for in books of course, and was startled to find that I could.
Amy and Brandy are at each other’s throats, practically spitting insults at each other. Amy has shaken off all traces of that composed, polite girl that I met in the hallway only a few moments earlier. And though they both have that determined look in their eyes, I can see that Amy is losing, dropping down farther and farther, her tiny form slouching lower and lower as she is beaten into the ground by Brandy’s spite.
It all happens in a matter of seconds. One moment, Amy is slumped meekly down in her chair, looking battered and defeated. The next her chair is clattering to the dented floor and she’s like a wild cat again, standing up, snarling at Brandy. As she raised her delicate fist, I could scarcely believe what I saw. Because a girl I had met not two hours before, had just punched my worst adversary. And at that moment, I could have hugged her. But it appeared that someone had beaten me to it, as the aging dance teacher grabbed Amy firmly from behind, and crisply deposited her outside the door and into the hallway.
Only one thought chorused through my head, complete with echoing and awesome sound effects. You did this. You made her think Brandy was hurting you. And now she’ll never make it into Juilliard.
Wordlessly, I stand up and glide out the door. This is not the time for tripping or making a fool of myself. Walking to the front of the studio, I push open the heavy wood doorway, looking out into the front hallway, where the numbers have thinned slightly.
A quick scan of the crowd tells me all I need to know. I’m still holding her iPod, still remembering her quick wit and equally as quick fists. But holding these things in my memory does nothing for me now. Because looking out into the front hallway of my biggest dreams, Amy is nowhere to be seen.
(November 24, 2009 - 8:37 pm)