So, it is Tuesday. I've been writing quite a bit this week - I've gotten about 5k done in the past few days, which is unusual for me because I'm a total lazy bones. I was thinking about trying JulNoWriMo, but I did it last year to try to finish TSTB and totally failed. I got a lot done on TSTB - it got over 50k from just over 25k, I think. I never finished it, though. So I don't know if I should try it again. I think I just want to relax this summer, seeing as it's my last summer before college.
But anyways. This little teaser is from THE UNLIKELIHOOD OF NOSTALGIA:
When the bell rang, I tried to leave before he could catch up in the crowd, but he just pushed past everyone and said, “Zoe, c’mon. I need to pass Photo or else my mom is gonna bitch and Zoe, please?”
I ignored him until we were in the parking lot, walking in front of all the cars that were trying to get out of the lot. Then I spun on him and said, “Do you have ulterior motives or something? Because I don’t understand why you can’t pass Photo without my help? It’s not that hard. You just take pictures of shit.” God, I was so vulgar when I was around him.
Something passed over his face, so quickly I almost didn’t see it. I was terrible at reading people’s faces anyway, especially for half a second. So I ignored it while he tried to look horrified at the thought of him, The Perfect Zach Morris, having ulterior motives. “Please? I’ve never begged for anything in my life.”
“Yeah, because you just give people that look and they fall to their knees.”
“You know, the puppy dog one?” I imitated it, but I could never manage to look as cherubic as he did.
“What are you talking about?”
“Forget it,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“So, will you?”
“Will I what?”
“Help me with Photo again? Please, Zoe?”
Oh God, the eyes. He was doing it again. Do not fall for it. He is not angelic. He is demonic. Zoey, don’t look! Don’t-
“Whatever! Stop looking at me like that!”
“Like what? Wait, was that a yes?”
We were at Holly’s beat up car. She was giving me a very strange look from the driver’s seat.
“Let me give you a ride home, okay? Then we can stop at my house and go running.”
I looked at Holly’s panicked face. I looked at Zach’s death trap Camaro. What kind of teenager owned a Camaro? What was this, the ‘80s? “Just meet me at my house. I don’t want to ride in that thing of yours.”
He was smiling too big to falter at my comment. “I’ll be there in half an hour!”
When I got in the car, Holly just stared at me. The Backstreet Boys were playing on the radio and she was looking at me like she’d just seen a ghost. “Were you just flirting with Zach Morris?”
I don’t know if it was possible to make a more disgusted face. “Flirting? Is that a joke? Please tell me that’s a joke.”
“It’s not a joke. I know how you flirt, Zoe; I’ve seen you do it more than enough times at parties when you want a guy to notice you. You get kind of bitchy-jokey. You were totally flirting. And he offered to give you a ride home.”