My best work comes out in realistic fiction/school stories, so crit hars I wanna make this one work! I'm workin on Chapter 2 right now!
School Dances And Spaghetti Wars
A Short novel by Clinton Hodnett
Chapter 1
“Dude, Jason, let me get this straight. The hottest girl in the ninth grade, I repeat, the ninth grade asked you to the biggest dance of the year, and you said no? Man, you are messed up.”
I tried my hardest to explain, but Chris just wouldn’t hear me. He turned away, half laughing, half almost crying, and pulled his skateboarder’s hair from his eyes. “I can’t believe you man, even Barnes can’t get into that girl’s head. You won’t take her even when she gives herself to you. It’s like passing up wine for orange juice. It don’t make no sense. She offered, man, she asked you out.”
“That’s just the point!” I started, but he cut me off with a shake of his head, as if he were disappointed in me. He left through the front door, leaving me alone in the hallway.
“I don’t want her for free.” I said out loud, ”I want to earn her, not get her handed to me like a steak on a platter.
I left then, still thinking. As I crossed from Elm Street to Hardy Avenue, I realized that Chris was right from his point of view. Kat was the hottest girl on campus, and I had tossed her away because of my foolish pride.
I stepped through the front door, eyeing the sign that told me "Welcome to the Kennedy Residence", only to be caught by my mother. I eyed the stairs hungrily as she said, “Wash up right now, young man. Did you forget what tonight was?”
Of course I hadn’t, mom had talked about it nonstop for the last five weeks, but that didn’t stop her from reminding me. “My boss is coming over for dinner tonight, and if I make a good enough impression, I’ll get the new Senior Editor position!”
In her excitement, her voice had grown in pitch and speed until it was almost a constant squeak. My first though was that she sounded like a hamster on helium. That made me laugh, and I felt justified in doing that. After all, who wouldn’t?
I decided that this would be a good time to leave, because it sounded like I had just laughed at her career opportunity. I took the stairs three at a time, never touching the railing. I power-walked into the bathroom at the top of the stairs and grabbed my comb off the counter.
Looking into the full-length mirror, I sized myself up like a cowboy in one of my favorite Clint Eastwood movies, except my revolver was a dirty Scooby Doo comb with half the teeth missing.
I laughed at this thought, returning to my reflection. My brown hair nearly blocked any view of my eyes. It hung so low that I had to tip my head back to see the color of what I called my sea-eyes. They almost looked like sea foam mixed with teal and a little slate, which set most people off.
There was the scar from when I had tried to ride my bike off the roof of our storage shed. It sat low on my chin, where it seemed to grip tightly like a doomed mountain climber.
As I moved down my body, I couldn’t find a single thing that Kat Beckley could possibly find attractive about me. Not even if I added about fifty pounds of muscle to my sticklike form.
“Maybe she likes my personality,” I thought. I bent over double, laughing so hard I was soon gasping for breath.
Soon after grooming myself to my mother’s standards, I slumped into a recliner in the den, booted up my X-Box, and turned on the stereo. I had blown up twenty virtual aliens, a bunker, and myself by the time my mom realized I wasn’t doing my English.
“Mom,” I complained, ”I need to get to a save point before I shut it off, and anyway, I need some form of distraction to escape from Miss Dilworth!”
She let out an exasperated sigh, finally nodding and saying, “Okay, but you can’t leave until after dessert and we’ve moved into the living room. Just wash the dishes and you’re home free.”
“Deal,” I said, joyfully turning my attention back to Halo 2.
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