I know I'm not supposed to do this, but I need to let you know: this is a blip from the middle of my book. I decided to write it from the middle to the end and then go back and do the begining. So if some things don't make sense, that's why. Along with the review, I'd just like to know: If this were an actual book at Barnes & Nobles or Border's, would you read it? Thanks!
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As I pull up to the house, Bekah switches off the radio, and looks into my eyes. She seems scared; meeting my family for the first time. I’m a little freaked out too; no other girl has met Mom and Dad. I reach for her hand and reassuringly squeeze it.
The dark shadows emerging from the setting sun make it even more obvious that there’s no one home.
“Aaron, wasn’t I supposed to be meeting your family? Not just an empty house?” she whispers.
“They’re probably just getting something from the grocery store.” I say, though I’m not sure. Why would they all have to go at once?
I open the door for her, and she smiles. I wouldn’t be using such common courtesy if she weren’t the one standing there. Inside, there is no smell of Italian food being cooked, no hearty laughter resounding through the house. I turn on lights as we move through the house, Bekah looking at the décor and old family photos.
When we get to the kitchen, she finds a quickly scribbled note on the counter.
“’Aaron,” she quotes, “Forgot Cara’s parent teacher night. Order pizza. Back at eight. Can’t wait to meet her!’”
Reaching for the twenty dollars underneath the note, I pull out my cell phone and start to dial the nearest Domino’s.
“What kind do you want?” I ask her.
“Cheese, and olives,” she replies, smiling.
We have about a half hour before the pizza gets here, so Bekah and I sit at the huge, brown table and just talk. Immediately all my worries melt away; forgetting about the recent news with the world-wide virus. She tells me about her swimming; how she feels underwater. Her hair is still dripping a little, so I get her a towel from the bathroom closet.
When the doorbell rings, I’m so out of it that I hardly realize it’s my job to get the pizza. But Bekah stands up, grabs the money and flashes me a smile as she heads for the door.
When we finish our pizza it’s only six o’clock, and I have no idea what to do. I had originally though this night would nervousness and stressing out to help Bekah make the right impression on my parents. So when she suggests a house tour, I’m all up to it.
She’s already seen most of the lower level, so I take her upstairs. The first door belongs to Mom and Dad, so I quickly open the door to give her a glance inside. The room is painted a moss green, with brown accents and a huge king-sized bed.
Down the hall is Cara’s bedroom. There’s a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door, so we won’t be going in there. Instead, I lead her into my room.
My walls are white except for a thick, dark blue stripe around the room. The bed is in the center of the room, the headboard barely touching the wall. There are two windows, each on either side of the wall the bed is pressed to. There’s a shelf on one wall filled with trophies. Bekah walks over to it.
“Nice collection,” She says, picking one up. “But most of these aren’t even for sports. Really Aaron, a spelling bee trophy? Who did you steal these from?”
Laughing, I walk over to her. “I’m a word wiz, alright? Hey, I’ve never failed a spelling test in my life.”
“Yeah, right. Can you spell Tyrannosaurus?”
“Yes, I can, just not right now. Maybe some other time.”
“Chicken.” She replaces the trophy, moving to sit on the bed.
I saunter over, lifting her small frame in my arms. “Yes, farmer?” I say in a haughty voice, “Would you mind taking this chicken to live with the others? Wait, she’s not a chicken? But, farmer, she just called me a chicken. Doesn’t that make her a chicken? No?”
Laughing, she pushes me lightly. “Put me down! I’m not a chicken and neither are you!” she says, squealing. I sit down on the bed, Bekah still in my arms.
“Aaron,” she whispers, serious now. “You’re parents are gone,”
“Yes, they are,”
“And we’re alone,” she continues, stating the obvious.
I’m still not getting it. Yes, my parents are gone. Yes, we’re alone. What does she want? Then she put a tender hand on the side of my face, and looks directly into my eyes. Only then do I understand.
Of course I’m willing to comply. After weeks of barely touching her, weeks of only holding her hand, of course I’m willing.
“Bekah,” I whisper. I’m finally good enough. After being hurt so many times, she finally trusts me.
I lean my head toward hers, till we’re almost touching. Angling my face in exactly the right way, I press my lips to hers. Her hand moves up through my hair, the other on the nape of my neck. My mouth parts slightly, as does hers. And for a split second, I’m in totally bliss. She’s not just a random girl I picked up at a party, not someone I hardly know about. She’s Bekah, and that’s all that matters.
Then the bliss is gone. A huge bang! echoes throughout the house, as if a rocket were taking off. Bekah jumps up, ending the moment. She runs to the window, and I follow her. What is going on? Looking out the window, I immediately get my answer. A huge, round blimp is hovering in the air two miles from the house. It’s not taking off, however, as I originally thought. It’s landing. A closer look reveals it’s not made of polyester, but metal. It’s not a blimp at all. It’s a spaceship. And in the middle of its surface is a picture. A picture of the virus.
Gender:
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