#YayYA Critique Party: Entry #15

Rollan Wengert


 Genre: YA Speculative

 Title: Schizic 


Pitch:  Two doppelganger teens discover they can switch bodies with anyone, anywhere, at anytime... Until they discover each other. 



First 500 words: 

The first time I saw that video, it was an out of body experience.  Literally.

I have every detail memorized.  

It all must have happened back when VHS recorders were mainstream.  That camera had the ambient-light night-vision feature. High grade for the time, I’m sure. A green screen speckled with grains of yellow.  

Filmed at a low angle, a border agent munched a sandwich behind the wheel.  His jaw clenched with each bite adding even more intensity to the stern face.  He turned to the camera.  “Get that thing out of my face,” he said.  Floyd was his name.  Agent Floyd.  The man that saved my life.  He didn’t like to talk much.  A manly man with a big intimacy bubble, but a teddy bear heart.  “Save the film for something important.”

“Don’t worry.  I’m not recording.” Agent Strickland said from behind the camera.  Strickland was Floyd’s negative.  With no boundaries, he lifted his shirt and pointed out every hairy mole in his life, whether you wanted to see it or not.  Then, he’d ask you if it was cancerous.  He transitioned from mole to mole without a rest in between.  

“The red light is on.”

The screen spun toward a blurred Strickland face.  I couldn’t make out his features.  The man’s head bobbed like a caged monkey being taunted with a banana.  “Oh.  Yeah.  I see it.  How do you stop recording?”

“I don’t know.  You said you were the expert with the thing.”

“Yeah.  But my girlfriend’s isn’t as nice.” The camera zoomed past Strickland’s face, aimed out the side window. The brighter stars gleamed through the static twinkles.   “I would have brought hers with me, but she’s kind of possessive.  If you ask me, she shouldn’t whine about me taking it.  I’m the one that paid for it.  She just sits at home and watches TV.”

“Uh huh.”

“The other day though, she said she went looking for a job.  So I asked her where she went.  And, you know what she said.”

“Huh?”

“She said she went to the Briefcase Bar. Can you believe that?  Back to where her ex-husband manages.  They’ve been fighting over her son for who knows how long.  And she’s going to try to get a job there?  I’d rather she continue to sit on her lazy…”

A skyward flash whitewashed the screen, turning it to straight static.

“What the heck was that?” Strickland’s voice murmured in the darkness.  “My eyes.  I can’t see…  That light?”

“I don’t know what it was.  I can’t see too well either.”

“Was it lightning?”

“No.  Couldn’t have been.  There was no thunder.  My guess is it was a flare.”

“No flare is that bright, unless it goes off in front of your face.  We would have heard that, or seen someone set it off.”

Slowly, the camera’s view regained focus on Strickland’s feet.  “What’s that in the sky?” Strickland asked.

“Uh… Uh…  I have never seen…  Put the camera on it.”

Rollan Wengert

Genre: YA (Struggling between Magical Realism and SciFi)

Title: Schizic

Pitch:

Doppelgangers Armando Sanchez and Armando Cable aren't twins, are they? They lived apart in loving adoptive families. Then they learn how to switch bodies with anyone, anywhere, at anytime... Until they discover each other.

Revision note on first 500: I did not do any work on this, because I need to chew on the best direction to take this WIP. (I keep going back and forth). I have done something different and am trying to see if it will work. I do realized if I have to explain the vision, it means it is not working. So I will see what you all think.  I have 2 main characters. One is the protagonist, the other is the antagonist. The first chunk of the story is told by one. Then, the second chunk is told by the other. One fills the holes of the other. I am debating whether I want the give the readers the choice of whose to read first, but fear that reading the antagonist's POV first might be too dark.  The comments about not knowing who the main character is, does play into what I am trying. The first chapter is the seed that links the two MC's together. And, the audience will not know which of the two are speaking until the end of the book.

First 500 words:  
The first time I saw that video, it was an out of body experience.  Literally.

I have every detail memorized.  

It all must have happened back when VHS recorders were mainstream.  That camera had the ambient-light night-vision feature. High grade for the time, I’m sure. A green screen speckled with grains of yellow.  

Filmed at a low angle, a border agent munched a sandwich behind the wheel.  His jaw clenched with each bite adding even more intensity to the stern face.  He turned to the camera.  “Get that thing out of my face,” he said.  Floyd was his name.  Agent Floyd.  The man that saved my life.  He didn’t like to talk much.  A manly man with a big intimacy bubble, but a teddy bear heart.  “Save the film for something important.

“Don’t worry.  I’m not recording.” Agent Strickland said from behind the camera.  Strickland was Floyd’s negative.  With no boundaries, he lifted his shirt and pointed out every hairy mole in his life, whether you wanted to see it or not.  Then, he’d ask you if it was cancerous.  He transitioned from mole to mole without a rest in between.  

“The red light is on.”

The screen spun toward a blurred Strickland face.  I couldn’t make out his features.  The man’s head bobbed like a caged monkey being taunted with a banana.  “Oh.  Yeah.  I see it.  How do you stop recording?”

“I don’t know.  You said you were the expert with the thing.”

“Yeah.  But my girlfriend’s isn’t as nice.” The camera zoomed past Strickland’s face, aimed out the side window. The brighter stars gleamed through the static twinkles.   “I would have brought hers with me, but she’s kind of possessive.  If you ask me, she shouldn’t whine about me taking it.  I’m the one that paid for it.  She just sits at home and watches TV.”

“Uh huh.”

“The other day though, she said she went looking for a job.  So I asked her where she went.  And, you know what she said."

“Huh?”

“She said she went to the Briefcase Bar. Can you believe that?  Back to where her ex-husband manages.  They’ve been fighting over her son for who knows how long.  And she’s going to try to get a job there?  I’d rather she continue to sit on her lazy…”

A skyward flash whitewashed the screen, turning it to straight static.

“What the heck was that?” Strickland’s voice murmured in the darkness.  “My eyes.  I can’t see…  That light?”

“I don’t know what it was.  I can’t see too well either.”

“Was it lightning?”

“No.  Couldn’t have been.  There was no thunder.  My guess is it was a flare.”

“No flare is that bright, unless it goes off in front of your face.  We would have heard that, or seen someone set it off.”

Slowly, the camera’s view regained focus on Strickland’s feet.  “What’s that in the sky?” Strickland asked.

“Uh… Uh…  I have never seen…  Put the camera on it.”

 

#YayYA Critique party: Entry #4

NAME: Jenny Chou

GENRE: YA Thriller

TITLE: VANISHED

35-WORD PITCH: When Sasha’s partner-in-crime talks her into one last heist before college, disaster strikes. They’ve been set up. She must steal a priceless sapphire back again, or her bewildered identical twin will take the fall.

FIRST 500:

If my entire life hadn’t been the exact opposite of ordinary, I might have been at home in Paris, clicking through university websites and daydreaming about ivy-covered lecture halls. Instead, I hid in a grove of trees on the muddy Italian coast, watching the dusky night close in around Signora D’Agnelli’s limousine. When the taillights disappeared, my brother tapped my shoulder. Raj had unburied the ladder we’d stashed beneath a carpet of damp leaves the night before.  

 “Grab the other end,” he said in French, and he shot me his sly grin.

I refused to return his smile, but I did snag the ladder. A chill from the cold aluminum seeped into my thin gloves. Pulling me along, Raj crept from the shadows, and began to jog alongside the woods. Signora D’Agnelli’s majestic villa rose in front of us on a hill, dark except for a single lamppost in the front garden. We circled around back to a stone patio. Plants and decorative rocks surrounded a tropical paradise of a swimming pool. For a moment I imagined drifting around on a raft in the warm summer sun while flirting with Signora D’Agnelli’s adorable grandson. And then I almost laughed. Like that would ever happen after tonight’s activities.

Back in reality, I propped the ladder against a stucco column and gazed up at the unlit windows. Could we really pull this off, on our own, without Dad? I reached for my watch, ready to twirl it in circles around my wrist, but of course the watch wasn’t there. Just like Raj had removed all his earrings, I’d slipped off all my jewelry, too. Neither of us would chance leaving evidence behind.

“You’re sure about this?” I asked. There was still time to backtrack. An hour from now I could be reading my book, snuggly under the covers at a charming B&B in the nearby village of Santa Marinella.

“For the millionth time, Sasha, I’m sure.” Raj had already set his laptop up on a wooden table and, with practiced ease, hacked into Tele-Italia’s website. The villa’s alarm system ran on a landline instead of a cellular network. His fingers danced across the keyboard. “This alarm’s a joke. It’s like she’s inviting us inside.”

Typical. Raj had the Chinese characters for genius tattooed on his bicep. I’d call him cocky but he’d take it as a compliment.

            A musty autumn breeze fluttered through my ponytail, tickling the back of my neck, and giving me the creepy feeling of being watched. I shivered and glanced around, but Raj and I were alone. The last bit of sun became a slit in the sky and a motion-sensing light popped on, setting the patio ablaze. Even though the closest neighbors lived a quarter-mile away through the woods, the light sent my heart pounding. From the nearby Tyrrhenian Sea, waves crashed against the jagged shoreline. I picked up Raj’s backpack from the ground by his feet and took out two mini flashlights and some rope. 

Name: Jenny Chou

Genre: Thriller

Title: VANISHED

Pitch: 

When Sasha’s partner-in-crime talks her into one last heist before college, disaster strikes. They’ve been set up. She must steal a priceless sapphire back again, or her bewildered identical twin will take the fall.

First 500:

If my life hadn’t been the opposite of ordinary, I might have been at home in Paris, clicking through university websites and daydreaming about ivy-covered lecture halls. Instead, I hid in a grove of trees on the muddy Italian coast, watching the dusky night close in around Signora D’Agnelli’s limousine. When the taillights disappeared, my brother tapped my shoulder. Raj had unburied the ladder we’d stashed beneath a carpet of damp leaves the night before.  

 “Grab the other end,” he said in French, and he shot me his sly grin.

I refused to return his smile, but I did snag the ladder. A chill from the cold metal seeped into my thin gloves. Pulling me along, Raj crept from the shadows, and began to jog alongside the woods. Signora D’Agnelli’s majestic villa rose in front of us on a hill, dark except for a single lamppost in the front garden. We circled around back to a stone patio where plants and decorative rocks surrounded a tropical paradise of a swimming pool.

While Raj pulled his laptop from his backpack, I imagined drifting around the pool on a raft, summer sun hot against my skin. I wore a blazing orange bikini and sipped a mango smoothie from a glass with an umbrella. Best of all, I flirted with Signora D’Agnelli’s grandson. In my imaginary life, I was the kind of girl who knew what to say to adorable boys.

Many times, I’d spotted the grandson in the nearby village of Santa Marinella. From weeks of observation, I knew he was in his last year at St. Elisabetta’s Academy, a year ahead of where I would be if I’d ever gone to school.

But in my real life, he didn’t even know I existed, which was probably a good thing, considering the reason Raj and I were standing on his grandmother’s patio. I propped the ladder against a stucco column and gazed up at the villa’s unlit windows. Could we really pull this off, on our own, without Dad? I reached for my watch, ready to twirl it in circles around my wrist, but of course the watch wasn’t there. Just like Raj had removed all his earrings, I’d taken off my jewelry, too. Neither of us would chance leaving evidence behind.

Raj had set his laptop up on a wooden table. I watched his fingers dance across the keyboard.

“You’re sure about this?” There was still time to talk him out of it. An hour from now I could be reading my book, cozy under the blankets at a charming B&B in Santa Marinella.

“For the millionth time, Sasha, I’m sure.” With practiced ease, Raj hacked into the website for Tele-Italia. The villa’s alarm system ran on a landline instead of a cellular network. “This alarm’s a joke. It’s like she’s inviting us inside.”

Typical. Raj had the Chinese characters for genius tattooed on his bicep. I’d call him cocky but he’d take it as a compliment.

#YayYA Critique Party: Entry #13

Name: Cass Newbould

Genre: Urban Fantasy

Title: Signal Against Noise

35-Word pitch: 16-year-old Haley was born a weapon. Her 15-year-old brother  born to repair the dying-lands. To maintain their identity, both mutants must accept their new roles in a world of humans or lose each other again.

 

First 500

Their first mistake was keeping me alive,
                                              unfortunately for them, it wasn't their last.

Sitting in our room, getting ready to start the day, I can’t get that thought out of my head.
When you’re born with the sole intention of being used by your government as a weapon, your choices aren't many.

Being a 16-year-old mutant with the ability to shift anything--shapes, emotion, space, blood, well… Daydreaming is the only thing that keeps the collar around my neck from choking the life out of me completely. What was Earth like before The great wars? Before all the chemical fallout that turned us into what we are today? To be a normal girl, with a normal life; yeah, that sure would be nice.

"Haley... Hey, Haley--where are you right now? You're totally spacing out again!  Girl, you’re never on the ground. Pretty soon we’ll need to leash you just to have a conversation!"

"If you don't watch it, Benni-boy, you’ll be having a conversation with my fist in a minute!"

Benjamin is my best-friend. I feel like strangling him on a daily basis, but I couldn't imagine life without him. Getting each other’s sense of humor goes far in a place where funny is unacceptable. A giggle escapes me. Ben raises one eyebrow.

"What horrible torture are you planning for me now?"

"Why ever would you think that, don't you know I'm a lady?"

We both erupt into laughter.

"Haley, you and I both know how very far from the truth that statement is, and with a giggle like that I can only imagine the pain you were dreaming to inflict on me."

"Well, to be honest, I was dreaming about punching you just for the simple fact of how stunning you look today, Dahhhling!"

Batting my eyes and drawing out the word darling, we fall into another laughing fit. We both know exactly to whom I am referring.  Miss Glasseu, our histories teacher, always calls Benni ‘Dahhhling’ and makes eyes at him. She's plainly infatuated, even though she's 10 years his senior. Then again, age has never really stopped anyone here from getting what they want. Or at least trying to.

"Are you going to class today mister?"

"Me? Aren't I always a model student?"

"Well mister model, that's a shame because I was thinking how lovely a day it is. Sun is shining, people are laughing.  Everyone is out having a good time. Such a travesty… What would you say to a little rainstorm?  It would be just awful for all these fun-loving citizens to get wet, don'tcha think?"

"Haley, that sounds like a horrible, terrible idea... I'm in! Who needs teaching anyway when you've already got class like me?" he says (winking), and I can't help it--I sock him in the arm--just because.

Feigning pain, he looks up.  “Ow, that hurt!”

That just makes me hit him again and we both fall to the floor, laughing hysterically. Physical strength is not my strong point.

Name: Cass Newbould

Twitter: @elusi0n

Genre: Urban Fantasy

Title: Signal Against Noise

35-Word pitch: Sixteen-year-old Haley was born a weapon. Her fifteen-year-old brother born to repair the destruction. Whether Haley decides to save herself or her brother's life, both mutants must accept their roles in a world of humans.

First 500

Their first mistake was keeping me alive. Unfortunately for them, it wasn't their last.

I can’t get that thought out of my head.

I need to get out of here. Today! Now!

What was Earth like before The Great Wars? Before all the chemical fallout that turned us into what we are today? To be a normal girl, with a normal life; yeah, that  would be nice.

"Haley... Hey, Haley--where are you right now?”

My eyes try to focus as I breathe slowly. My nails are digging into my clenched fists. I scoot over on the bed and Ben plops down hard beside me.

“ You're totally spacing out again!  Girl, you’re never on the ground. Pretty soon we’ll need to leash you just to have a conversation!"

"If you don't watch it, Benni-boy, you’ll be conversing with my fist in a minute!"

“Man, you’re touchy today,” Ben says. I shrug in agreement.

“I can’t take these walls anymore. They’re closing me in.” Looking at Ben’s face, I hope for the best, and say, “ I've got an idea, what would you say to a little redecorating?”

“Ohhhh no, last time you tried to get us out of here not only did you melt the floor, you ruined my best sneakers!”

Glancing at the new floorboards I imagine how they looked last week. Burned to a crisp. It was amazing I hadn't set the whole room aflame. Controlling fire is something I am going to need A LOT more practice with.

“I promise I won’t melt anything.”

My fingertip traces a line in the wall next to my bed. It leaves a path my brain wants to follow. I feel the concrete as it digs into my flesh. My finger melts away until it’s one with the wall. I push into the mass. The heaviness of the stone envelopes me. Skin wrapped in a hug, the pressure mounts the more I let myself go.

Can I make my whole body transform into concrete? I think of the great wall that separates us from the human citizens. This could work, we could get out of here this time.

Run. Escape. Now!

“Ahh, Haley?” says Ben, startling me out of my reverie and I blink.

When you’re born with the sole-intention of being used by your government as a weapon your choices aren't many… Daydreaming is the only thing that keeps the collar around my neck from choking the life out of me completely.

Coming back to myself I smirk in Ben’s direction. Ben sets his shoulders and looks like he’s steeling himself for destruction.

“Silly bird,” Ben says and tugs my hair, “We are going to be fine.”  I lean into him and sigh.

“So... I just came up with a plan of escape, you interested?” Under the black cotton tee-shirt I feel his muscles contract with the excitement the idea of escape brings. His shoulder a pillow for my head. “ I know you are, I can feel it.”

Please say yes, please?

#YayYA Critique Party: Entry #11

Name: Amelinda Berube (@metuiteme on Twitter)

Genre: Horror

Title: Under the Icy Lake

35-word pitch: The poltergeist attacking fifteen-year-old Marianne is bent on reclaiming the life it says she stole. If she won’t let it possess her, it will turn on her family and the girl she’s coming to love.

First 500:

The silence still clings to me.

If I close my eyes it's there waiting for me, ready to swallow me again. Heavy as water, it fills my mouth, smothers even the sound of my breath in my ears. I step onto the sand, out of the shadow of the trees. The crescent of the beach stretches out to rocky points just visible against the lights of the city. Before me I feel more than see the river, a coolness on my face, an extension of the starless sky.

Out there, where there are no more lights, something is moving. Too far and too deep to bring a ripple to the featureless surface, but I know it like I know my heart is beating. I can't look away. Something is groping its way towards me through the silence and the dark, something I could never run from.

I rest my forehead against the window, willing the ordinary sounds around me to wash the memory away. I listen to the windshield wipers, the spatter of the rain. Mom breathes in little hitches beside me, trying not to let me hear her crying. Was it a dream? I don't remember waking from it, but it's been lurking in the corners of my thoughts, stealing back over me at every unguarded moment, darkening the whole day.

I risk a glance at my mom. She's wiping her eyes. Her hair - like mine, a curtain of black, but shot through with silver threads - is usually tied up in a neat sweep, but today she's just yanked it through an elastic, pieces of it straggling around her face. Before I can look away again her gaze meets mine and she attempts a half-smile.

It hurts to see it. I study the flowers in my lap. They're for Aunt Marjorie. Lilies, big splashy orange ones. The smell is giving me a headache. Mom slams on the brakes and I have to clutch the bouquet to stop it from sliding out of my lap; she grates out a few choice swear words at the car ahead of us.

"I left your father a message." She says the words like she's throwing rocks. "I sure hope he calls you."

I take the rocks in like water - like a lake, an icy lake, swallowing their impact without a splash, letting them sink. I turn back to the window, watch my reflection slide over the river and the heavy sky. My face is thin and pale in the glass, my eyes dark hollows. I look like a ghost. Mom heaves a sigh, yanks a Kleenex from the box sitting between us.

When I woke up this morning in the faint gray light she was sitting on the edge of my bed, hunched over, hands clasped between her knees, not looking at me. 

"You should stay in your room for now, sweetie," she said hoarsely.

Name: Amelinda Berube (@metuiteme on Twitter)

Genre: Horror

Title: Under the Icy Lake

35-word pitch: Under attack by a poltergeist, bookish fifteen-year-old Marianne risks confiding in long-admired goth-girl Rhiannon. Rhiannon may be more than a friend to Marianne – but she’s also another weapon for the ghost to use against her.

First 500:

The silence still clings to me.

If I close my eyes it's there waiting for me, filling my mouth, heavy as water. Ready to swallow me again.

I rest my forehead against the window, willing the ordinary sounds around me to wash the memory away. I listen to the windshield wipers, the spatter of the rain, the rattle in the wheel-well that Mom has been leaving Dad notes about for weeks. She's breathing in little hitches beside me, trying not to let me hear her crying.

I risk a glance at her; she's wiping her eyes. Her hair is usually tied up in a neat sweep of gleaming black,  silver threads glinting through it. Today she's just yanked it through an elastic, pieces straggling dull and stringy around her face. Before I can look away again her gaze meets mine and she attempts a half-smile.

It hurts to see it. I study the flowers in my lap. They're for Aunt Marjorie. Lilies, big splashy orange ones. The smell is giving me a headache. Mom slams on the brakes and I have to clutch the bouquet to stop it from sliding to the floor; she grates out a few choice swear words at the car ahead of us.

"I left your father a message." She says the words like she's throwing rocks. "I sure hope he calls you."

I take the rocks in like water - like a lake, an icy lake, swallowing their impact without a splash, letting them sink. I turn back to the window, watch my reflection slide over the river and the low-slung clouds.  Mom heaves a sigh, yanks a Kleenex from the box sitting between us.

My face is thin and pale, my eyes dark hollows. I look like a ghost.

The chill of the glass seeps through the air towards me, the faintest breath against my skin. I pull away from it, from what it reminds me of, but the images are already uncoiling through my thoughts: stepping onto the sand, out of the shadow of the trees, the silence smothering even the sound of my breath in my ears. The surface stretching out before me was a coolness on my face, an extension of the starless sky.

I think it was a dream.

I woke up in bed this morning, so I know I must have slept. When I opened my eyes in the faint gray light, Mom was sitting on the edge of my bed, hunched over, hands clasped between her knees, not looking at me.

"You should stay in your room for now, sweetie," she said hoarsely.

"Mom?" I pushed myself up on my elbow, blinking, trying to figure out what she was talking about.

"Just - please!" I recoiled from her sudden shout. She put her hands over her face, and then after a moment spoke through them. "Please just listen, Marianne. I need you to stay in your room. Okay? Until I come and get you."

#YayYA Critique Party: Entry #8

Name: Sheena Boekweg

Genre: Contemporary Fantasy

Title: The Waxling

35-Word pitch: To save his mother's life, Blake vows to steal the magic heart of a wax girl. But Sarah, the living Waxling, steals his heart instead. Now Blake must choose between breaking vows and breaking hearts.

First 500: Sallow for strength. Beeswax for intelligence. Clay for humanity. Three drops of blood from the creature’s Maker. Take what cannot be and turn it into what has always been. Pour the mixture into a death mask, freshly cast. Leave the emotion in the plaster, the tears that came before the final blow, the fear, and the heartbreak. But remove all blood so none but the Maker will influence the wax.

            There’s a plant, culled back for the few, which blooms only once in sixteen years. Four seeds survive the blooming. Two are planted back to the earth. One is saved in case the first seed fails, and the last is the soul seed. Carve the incantation into the soul seed with the knife used to take the life. Beware the blood.

            When the wax body is formed, but before it has solidified, place the soul seed into the Waxling’s chest where the heart should be and sing the words of the incantation.

My life for life.

My song for Singers.

My Wish for all.

My heart for none.

           

            The Waxling will sing the words along with you. Be strong, its fresh cast voice has much screaming in it.

~The Lifebringer’s Manual, page 10

Chapter One

Ari

           

My mom’s advice I’d just broken rang through my ears.

Don’t bring attention to yourself.

I railed against Henry’s arm wrapped tight around my stomach and swung my fists, inches away from the greasy face that deserved a good punch. Julius touched me.

Watch out for the Wicked.

He mocked my whole life, my clothes, and my family. He made fun of Henry for having a thing for someone who looks like a twelve year-old girl.

The Wicked will kill you first. They always kill the Protector first.

He touched me.

No one can know who you are.

I stopped swearing and shouting and fighting against Henry. His arm around my stomach loosened. Julius and his friends at the back of the bus kept laughing, their silk ties flapping with the movement. Every seat on the bus filled with people watching me, soft smiles and outright humor lacing all their faces. I tugged my dress down and brushed back some of the hair that had come out of my braid before sharing a glance with Henry. The anger in his eyes matched mine. Together we stalked down the aisle of the bus that had stopped when I had swung my first punch. Violence was not tolerated at Gladespeak Prep. Not from a girl anyway.

My too loose shirt brushed against where he touched me. If Julius tries something again, I will kill him.

“Ari, wait.” A voice behind me stopped us short. Someone just said my name.

I turned.

No one knew my real name.  No one. I was registered under a different name at school, and no one poked further or tried to get to know me. I was just the odd girl with the polygamist runaway hair and the angry scowl.

Name: Sheena Boekweg

Genre: Contemporary Fantasy

Title: The Waxling

35-Word pitch: To save his mother's life, Blake vows to steal the magic heart of a wax girl. But Sarah, the living Waxling, steals his heart instead. Now Blake must choose between breaking vows and breaking hearts.

First 500: 

            My mom gave good advice.  Excellent life saving advice. And I just ignored the crap out of it.

Don’t bring attention to yourself.

My throat was raw from swearing words I’ve only ever thought before as I swung my fists wildly. My best friend Henry had his arm wrapped around my stomach, his arm steady but not tight, the way you’d hold a bird. But I wasn’t going to fly away. I was going to kill someone. I was more shark than a bird. Something with snapping teeth. Julius touched me.

Watch out for the Wicked.

He mocked my whole life, my clothes, and my family. He made fun of Henry for having a thing for someone who looks like a twelve year-old girl. Julius laughed once, a barking false laugh, but he didn’t fool me. A flicker of fear was in his eyes as a trickle of blood seeped from his nose. “You’ll pay for that, Bedsheet,” he said as he wiped his index finger over his top lip. My fingernails dug into my palms.

The Wicked will kill you first. They always kill the Protector first.

He touched me. He called me Bedsheet-- something flat, something he could own.

No one can know who you are.

Henry released me, like you would a dog, but I didn’t attack. Julius was a jackwipe, but he wasn’t my real enemy.

I just…needed somewhere for my fists to land.

Julius and his friends at the back of the bus kept laughing, their silk ties flapping with the movement. Every seat on the bus was filled with people watching me, soft smiles and outright humor lacing most of their faces, but I could tell some of them were jealous that I got to be the one who punched Julius. I could also tell some of them were afraid.

Of me.

I tugged my dress down and brushed back some of the hair that had come out of my braid before sharing a glance with Henry. The anger in his eyes matched mine.  He adjusted his glasses and put his warm hand on my back. "Let's just go." Together we walked down the aisle of the bus that had stopped when I had swung my first punch. The ground shook beneath every step, like this sticky floor was a dock on the ocean.

My too loose shirt brushed against where he touched me. If Julius tried something again, I would kill him.

“Ari, wait.” A voice behind me stopped us short. A chill ran up the back of my neck. Someone just said my name.

I turned.

No one at Gladespeak Prep knew my real name.  No one other than Henry. I was registered under a different name, and no one poked further or tried to get to know me. I was just the odd girl with the polygamist runaway hair and the stay-away-from-me scowl.

            The owner of the voice was a teenage boy.