Pictures on the Wall

“Don’t worry about taking off your shoes,” Callum said when Sady began to toe off her sneaker.

“Oh. Right.” She wiggled her foot back into her shoe and smiled faintly. Sure, her friendship with Callum was tenuous, but she liked him, and it was high time they did normal things like study together at each other’s houses and things.

“My mum and dad are probably still at work.” Callum started toward the door at the far end of the hallway.

Sady followed, curious. He said little about his family; all she knew was that both his parents worked and his brother had died last year before he transferred in. The walls were lined with artistic photos - woodlands, hills, even a castle. Was someone in the family a photographer? Sady asked.

“My brother,” he said, and he smiled, small, sad.

“Right.” Sady had to stop opening her mouth and inserting her foot. “So...which subject is giving you the most trouble?” They had chemistry, biology, and maths in common for their GCSEs, and Callum had expressed worry about one of his classes.

“Bio, mostly,” Callum said. “The whole citric acid cycle is doing my head in. The whole phosphorylation procedure is...”

Sady glanced up at a photo of a palm tree on a beach. Beside it was a photo of actual people for once. It must have been Callum’s family. Only besides Callum and the man and woman who must have been his parents, there was another boy: blond, classically handsome, blue-eyed, aloof. Sady knew his face - it was Vaughn.

Vaughn had died a year ago, sacrificed himself for his little brother, the one who was more brilliant and loving and was going to save the world. He’d shielded his brother from the world, from Sady’s wrath when she found out; he’d given everything for the brother Sady never knew.

Callum’s brother had died a year ago, right after Callum was released from a long stay in the hospital. How could she not have known? They had blue eyes - the same blue eyes - and the same quirky smile, and -

“...Sady?” Callum stood in the doorway to the kitchen, looking at her oddly.

“Is this Vaughn?” Sady asked.

“Yes. It’s the only one Mum keeps.” Callum’s brow furrowed. “How do you know his name?”

“I met him,” Sady said.

Surprise flared in Callum’s eyes. “What?”

Sady nodded. “At the hospital. About - about a year ago. When my gran was in. He was there whenever I was, and he’d play cards with me and Gran, and...”

“And?”

“And then Gran died, and I left, and I never came back. He told me to stay away, because I got angry with him when he told me -”

“What did he tell you?”

“That he was going to save his baby brother.”

Callum closed his eyes. “So this whole time, you knew?”

“Not at all. He never said your name, never let me see you.” Sady tried to smile. “I was in love with him.”

(500 words)

This Whole Time

“Guys, where’s Damon?” Sam asked.

The director looked up from his script and scanned the crowd of actors and extras who were milling in the courtyard; Damon’s familiar blond head was nowhere to be seen.

Sam, who was still surrounded by make-up ladies, craned his neck. “Has anyone seen him?”

“He got a phone call and rushed off somewhere to take it in private,” Lily said. “I expect that’s where he still is.”

The alcove just below the main stairwell up to the great hall was by unspoken agreement the place to take private phone calls. The director nodded his head at one of the ADs, who peeled away from the cluster near the camera to summon the missing actor.

Several moments later, three more ADs scurried after her. Sam extricated himself from the make-up ladies and moved to follow, see what was the matter. Then the director came tearing past, and Sam knew something was genuinely wrong. Luckily, he managed to get into the building before the ADs began corralling it off.

“What’s going?” he asked.

And then he saw. Damon was curled into the alcove, sobbing wretchedly into his hands. His mobile lay on the floor at his feet, the screen flashing, a tinny voice shouting,

“Son, son, are you all right? What’s the matter?”

Sam knelt down and peered at the screen. The name and the photo were familiar - it was Damon’s dad. Sam scooped up the phone carefully.

“Hi, Mr. Hamilton. It’s me, Sam - one of Damon’s costars. Is everything all right?”

“I don’t know.” Mr. Hamilton sounded shaken. “Is something the matter with Damon? He answered the phone, and then he went insane - accused me of being an impostor or playing some prank on him. He asked me all sorts of strange questions and said he didn’t believe I was his father because his father died when he was sixteen. This isn’t some drama exercise, is it? Because it’s not in very good taste.”

Sam said, “I don’t know what’s going on. I’ll speak to Damon. I’ll have him call you when things are settled down.” Then he disconnected.

Damon had scrunched himself into a corner and was batting away anyone who tried to come near. Sam saw the stark emotion on his best mate’s face and knew it was unfeigned. Damon was an amazing actor, but what Sam saw was raw and uncontrolled. That first day, Damon had explained why he was an engineer - because his father had died when was sixteen and he needed a practical job to help support his family.

Sam felt his heart plummet into his shoes. Everyone had been sure Damon’s semi-amnesia was some extended prank, but this whole time, Damon hadn’t been lying - he’d meant every bit. And now he’d just heard his dead father’s voice.

(471 words)

Doctors' Orders

Alicia was standing on Joey’s doorstep, juggling groceries and keys, when his door swung open.

“Joey, hey!” She smiled brightly at him. Maybe one day he would see the brightness in her smile meant I love you.

“Hey, Alicia.” He blinked at her, surprised. “What brings you here?”

“You mentioned the other day that your cupboards were bare and I know all your favorites, so I swung by the grocery store on my way home,” Alicia said. “I thought maybe we could hang out and cook together.”

Joey continued eyeing her as if she were slightly mad. Alicia’s throat tightened, but she kept wearing the bright smile just in case. When they were dating, they’d cooked together often.

“That’s really sweet of you,” Joey said, “but I’m going out for dinner.”

“Oh.” The bags in Alicia’s arms suddenly seemed so much heavier. “I should put these away before you go...”

“She has a key,” a familiar voice said from somewhere deeper in the apartment. “She can lock up after herself. Right, Alicia?” A woman appeared behind Joey, and she smirked from over his shoulder.

Alicia’s heart plummeted into her shoes. Jennifer, the girl Joey had dated before he’d met Alicia.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

Joey missed the hostility in her tone. “You two know each other? I ran into Jennifer in the park when I was running this morning, and we got to talking. We thought we’d go to dinner and catch up.”

“I’d heard about the accident,” Jennifer said, “but I didn’t really understand it until I talked to him and he didn’t remember me.”

“Jennifer and I have loads in common,” Joey said. “We must have been great friends back in the day - shame we drifted apart.” Then he noticed Alicia’s crestfallen expression. “Would you like to come with us?”

Jennifer placed a proprietary hand on Joey’s shoulder. “I’m sure Alicia has other plans for her evening.”

“My plans mostly involved you,” Alicia said in a low voice to Joey.

His brow furrowed. “So you would like to come with us?”

Alicia swallowed hard. “Yes. Just - let me get everything put away.” She didn’t know if she could handle watching Jennifer flirt with Joey the entire night; judging by Jennifer’s smirk, she planned to do exactly that.

Joey smiled. “I don’t know that I’d be much help. You know your way around my kitchen better than I do.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Jennifer, do you spend much time with me? I’ll bet you know the kitchen better than I do.”

“Alicia’s always been very domestic,” Jennifer said, her tone strychnine-sweet.

“Really?” Joey asked. He glanced at Alicia. “You never seemed the type.”

Alicia gave a small shrug. “One of us had to be.”

“From when we roomed together?” Joey asked. “Jennifer told me all about it.”

Roommed together? Alicia glanced at Jennifer. Is that how you spun it? But she remembered the doctors’ orders, and she said,

“Yeah. Have fun. See you around.”

(500 words)

Knowing and Not

The silence that settled over the room could have been sliced with a knife. Connor sucked in a deep, shuddering breath.

“What was that?” Lena’s words were sharp, icy shards. Connor could feel them in his lungs when he tried to breathe again.

“I –”

Lena had one hand up to guard; her other hand was hovering near her hip right above the grip of her ever-present gun. Her entire body was tense, but her eyes were wide, startled. Almost angry.

There were a quarter of a million words in the English language, and Connor knew every single one of them, but none of them could adequately convey what he needed to say right then.

“Connor, are you in shock?”

He had an answer for that. “No.”

“Then tell me - what was that just then?”

Words skittered through Connor’s brain, battled for some semblance of syntactical logic, but none of it was working. “I -”

Lena nodded for him to continue.

Connor closed his eyes and uttered, for perhaps the first time in his life, “I don’t know.”

There was definite anger in Lena’s eyes now. “You just kissed me, and now you’re saying you don’t know why you did?”

“I don’t!” Connor cried. He dragged a hand through his hair, turned away from her. She caught him by the wrist and yanked him back around to face her.

“Connor, you can’t just go around kissing me. I’m your bodyguard. It’s my job to keep you safe, to teach you to keep yourself safe.”

“I know that,” Connor said.

“Then you know that it means leaving me behind to save yourself, even if it means I must die.”

Connor swallowed hard. “I know that too.” He did know it - intellectually, the same way he knew the sun was warm and the grass was green and a pretty woman could look like roses damasked red and white and love was an ever-fixed mark.

“Then why the hell did you kiss me?”

“Because I’m in love with you!”

The anger drained from Lena’s eyes in an instant, turning her eyes dark and hollow.

“Oh,” she said in a small, timid voice.

Connor hadn’t known she could ever be timid. “Lena -”

“No.” She shook her head, reached for her cellphone.

“What are you doing?” Connor asked.

“Calling my supervisor to let him know you’re safe and I need to be transferred. Immediately.”

Connor’s throat closed. “Lena, don’t -”

“You know I have to.”

Connor shut his eyes, bowed his head. “Yes, yes I do.”

(420 words)

Aftermath of Confession

Laura dialed her own number with shaking hands. She had to erase the last four digits and retype them three times before she got it right. She counted the rings on the other end and felt her throat close when it sounded like she would get voicemail. But then she heard her own voice curled with Crawford’s sleep-slurred accent.

“You’ve got Laura,” he said.

“Crawford, it’s me.”

As always, at the sound of his own voice, he became more alert. “Laura, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? What’s happening?”

“I did something bad,” she said, and self-loathing swept through her when her voice caught in a sob. She didn’t know if the emotion was her own or backlash from Crawford’s male hormones or what, and she was tired of second-guessing herself and who she was because she was trapped in his body. Dammit, she still had her own soul. Didn’t she?

“What do you mean?” Crawford asked. “Is it the press? What did they catch you doing?”

Laura shook her head, swiped one of Crawford’s big, rough hands over her - his - stinging eyes. She was the one crying; right now they were her eyes. “No. They don’t know anything. And I don’t think they will. I’m so sorry.”

Crawford sighed. “Look, I’m not going to get angry. Just tell me what happened.”

Laura took a deep breath. Crawford’s voice shook, and she hated that too. “I told Riley.”

“Told Riley what?” Crawford asked patiently.

“How I feel.”

“How do you feel about Riley?”

“I’m in love with him.”

“What?”

Laura hadn’t even known her voice could hit that note. She cringed. “You said you wouldn’t be angry.”

“I didn't think you’d just gone and made my best mate afraid that I’m in love with him!” Crawford hissed.

“I didn’t mean to,” Laura said. “It just came out, and now - now he hates us.” When she closed her eyes, she could see the expression on Riley’s face - revulsion and fear and fury.

“You mean me. He hates me,” Crawford huffed. “What did he say?”

“He didn’t say anything. He just got up and left.”

“Did you tell him out in public?” Again with that unnaturally high note.

“We were in a café. Don’t worry - no one else heard.” Laura sniffled. “I’m sorry. I just - couldn’t do it any longer.”

“Do what?”

“See him every day and not tell him.”

“Yeah, but as far as he knows, you aren’t you - you’re me.” Crawford groaned. “Riley’s the best friend I’ve had in forever. Are you insane?”

“I think so,” Laura said quietly.

On the other end, Crawford was silent. “This can’t go on. I’m borrowing money from Deanna and I’m flying over there as soon as possible, and we have to tell everyone.”

“Okay,” Laura said, and again, “I’m sorry.”

“You should be. I worked hard to keep your life intact.”

Laura sniffled again. “Crawford --”

“Don’t bloody well apologize again. Just - pick me up at the airport.”

(497 words)

One More Chance

“I thought you looked familiar,” Kylie said quietly. She had both hands, white-knuckled, curled around her purse.

“We did spend a lot of time together.” Henry had his hands tucked into his pockets. The posture was familiar, but now that he was clothed in a five-thousand dollar Armani suit instead of ill-fitting clothes from the open door mission he was a different man.

Kylie nodded. “You didn’t lie about that much, did you? Your name, the subjects you liked in school. The little things.” She tilted her head to one side. Her dark eyes were curiously blank. “The things people who are in love with each other should know about each other.”

Henry swallowed hard. “You didn’t care how rich I was then. Why should it matter now?”

“It doesn’t, in the grand scheme of things.” Kylie worked one hand loose from her purse and reached for the door. “Of course, in the grand scheme of things, it’s not about how rich you are - it’s about who you really are. And who you really are is a man who can never be with me.” She turned away and pushed the door open.

Henry caught her shoulder. “Kylie, wait.”

She glanced back at him. “Yes, Your Highness?”

He flinched. “It’s not like that in my country. I’m allowed to marry the woman I love.”

“I’m happy for you, Highness,” Kylie said.

“Then why are you leaving?”

“I was in love with a man, but I don’t think he really exists.”

Henry closed his eyes and sighed. “Kylie, I promise, everything I told you about me was true - where I was born, how I grew up. I just had to be sure that you wouldn’t care about stupid things like - like titles.”

“Your title can’t be that stupid, that you felt the need to hide it.”

Henry opened his eyes, and Kylie could see the raw hurt in his expression, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal, that the entire time she’d been fighting to get over Ben and reconcile herself to her feelings for Henry the entire world had been in on the joke.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Henry said.

“You could have told me. Before you left,” Kylie said. “I spent months imagining the worst - that you’d died from exposure or been killed or-”

“I’m still alive,” Henry said quietly. “And I still love you.”

Kylie shook his hand off. “I’m in love with Henry, but I don’t know who Prince Henry is.”

“Prince Henry is the man who was grateful for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, hot chocolate, and a warm blanket in the middle of winter,” he said.

“Did you think you could reveal your identity and I’d fall into your arms?”

“No. But I hoped you’d at least give me a chance.”

Chances were what had gotten her into this mess. Kylie took a deep breath and decided that she could do like Ben always said and take one more.

Project #74: Critical Scene

Pick the scene from a story you've always wanted to write, the scene that will make your readers hold their breath, start to cry, scream in fear, throw the book across the room, chew their nails down to the quick. (Picking one from last week's plot bunnies would be super welcome, actually.) Don't bother setting up too much background - jump right into the middle of the plot and set people's pulses pounding, and make the moment work. Without bringing in clichés, without overdoing the drama. Write the scene that, were your novel turned into a movie, would get those actors nominated for Oscars. Ready, set...write! 100-500 words.

Overview #73: Plot Bunnies

So this week I winged it solo. That's fine. It was a little soul-baring, to throw out some of my stupidest but most well-loved plot kinks and unwritten plot bunnies, but it was also fun remembering them and thinking about how much I want to write them or even read someone else's take on them. They're the stories that I write in my head to fall asleep at night, and even though I don't know the details, I know how reading them would make me feel, and I want to make someone else feel the same thing. I had fun, though, being a giddy teenage girl again and throwing all my crazy novel fantasies out in the open. I'm hoping, one day, I'll have the time to come back and give some of these stories the lives they deserve.