Flash Fiction Friday -- Table Dances

I came across an interesting contest where you had to write the “hook,” the first five-hundred words of a story using the opening line they gave you. The line is She was dancing on the table again. I was captivated by that line. I’m not sure of I’ll enter the contest, but here’s one version of my stab at a hook using that line. Enjoy.

Table Dances
© 2008 Suzanne Lazear

She was dancing on the table again. Unbound auburn hair cascaded down her back as she twirled on the small, round table, totally unaware she was making a spectacle.

Empty shot glasses decorated her “stage” like confetti. Who let Rory do shots? Probably my feckless twin, Carl. Apparently I got all the common sense in the womb.

They were cheering as she danced to the song on the jukebox in this dive of a bar someplace in Columbus. I should take her down, explain what her actions meant. Instead, I stood there, captivated.

Rory was graceful and athletic, reminding me of a cross between a rhythmic gymnast, an aerial ballerina, and a stripper.

Many were watching her. Including men who were fascinated, not only by her drunken display, but by her svelte figure. The looks on their faces angered me. Catching Tyrone’s eye, I jerked my chin towards one in particular.

With a nod, the bodyguard gave the leering man a look that made him back off in seconds.

Rory’s driver’s license might say she was twenty-one. But it was as fake as my own. We were supposed to be teaching her how to function in society. Instead, she had an incredible repertoire of karaoke and drinking songs, an appreciation for professional sports, and the foulest mouth I’d ever heard on a woman.

Lilly was going to kill me.

“Who let her do shots, David?” Amber’s Irish brogue brought me back from my musings.

I sighed. “Carl.” He encouraged her far too much.

But we all forgot that to Rory, this was all new. That she was in many ways very innocent. That her species could get drunk off alcohol.

“Do you want to take care of this?”

Amber was better at girl-stuff. She also knew Rory best. It was her friends Ray and Lilly rescued Rory. Who gave her a new name, a new life, a chance be a person, instead of a child who’d been used, abused, and forced to kill for profit.

Rory was still dancing with abandon.

Why did we let her be twenty-one again? Because we had no idea how old she was. Because it was easier. Because leaving Rory alone in a hotel room with a microwave was a very bad idea.

“Sure. I’ll distract her with karaoke.”
I like hearing Rory sing. I never expected someone who could hit the center of a dartboard from across the room with a pocketknife to have such a pure soprano.

Amber got up on the table with Rory and whispered in her ear. Both women giggled. A huge smile crossed Rory’s face. Rory was a pretty girl. That’s what she was. A girl. She didn’t even look twenty-one.

I watched as they took their places. The song started. Immediately, I recognized it. Carl’s face broke out in a large grin. So did Tyrone’s, as the bodyguard produced a video camera. I groaned.

We were so corrupting her.

Lilly was going to kill me.

Flash Fiction Friday -- Thursday, Part II

Here’s the continuation of last week’s story. Enjoy.

Thursday – Part II
© 2008 Suzanne Lazear


She wasn’t in my fifth or sixth period classes. But I knew where her locker was. It would be easy to find a reason to bump into her.

I still didn’t know why I was intrigued by a bald, flat-chested girl with a sling and a walking cast.

It was finally seventh period. I walked into painting class. At the easel next to mine was a new student. A nearly bald girl with a sling, a walking cast, and a purple backpack covered with skulls. She was studying the fruit bowl we were painting with a single-minded intensity that was also fascinating. Was she that intent on everything?

I walked up behind her, inhaling her scent. It was complex, layered, and oh, so sweet. Like a garden of exotic roses. She was Fluere. Most definitely. But there were slight hints of something else.

Perhaps she wasn’t magic enough to have purple eyes when she was fully human, but I had a feeling she had enough of something to make her seem different. Smell different. Captivate me.

“Anyone ever tell you that you have remarkable eyes?” I asked, interrupting her rumination.

She didn’t even turn when I spoke. That intrigued me even more.

“Someone already used that one.” Her reply was tart.

Three guesses as to who that was. “Who?”

“Bobby White.” Now she turned around to see who was speaking to her. Her purple eyes widened as she realized who it was. I had through her off-balance. She was taller than I anticipated. No wonder she had a tendency to slouch. She was taller than most of the guys in our class. But she wasn’t quite as tall as me.

“Of course he would.” Bobby knew what those eyes could mean. I dropped my backpack at my easel, which was next to hers. I flashed her my most heart-melting smile. This was a chance to get to know her a little better. To figure out why I was fascinated by her.

“I’m Aaron Lewis.” I knew she knew that. I could hear her pulse race slightly. She took a deep breath. I was used to having that effect on girls. All girls. Even the ones I wasn’t interested in. But for some reason it didn’t bring me quite as much satisfaction as it usually did.

Why?

“Kat McCormick. You run the literary magazine.” Someone had filled her in.

“You were sitting with the Smart People at lunch.” I gave her a knowing smile.

“I was on the literary magazine at my old school.”

Nice.

I wasn’t very good at writing literature. Actually, I wasn’t good at writing anything but Sonnets. But I had an eye for what was good and was an excellent copy editor.

“Where are you from?” I got a good look at her up close. I could see the scars on her scalp that her hair barely covered. I noticed her ears were not pierced. She didn’t wear perfume. I was making her nervous. Her bow-shaped lips were really ruby red. They looked soft...kissable.

“Los Angeles.”

“Are you smart like them?” I was curious. How did she know Addison Moore anyway? Man that girl could talk. Sitting down on my stool, I got out my paints and brushes. “That’s the top one percent of the Junior Class right there.” I’d settle for the top five. I could still get into a good school. I wanted to be a lawyer, despite the fact that my father was one.

“I want to go to Stanford and study medicine.” Yes. She was smart like them. Was she as driven. Betsey Chin was poised to be Valedictorian and she was cutthroat.

“Nice. What did you do for the magazine? Poetry Editor?” My gaze fell to her shirt. Shakespeare Hates Your Crappy Poetry. Very nice. The literary magazine was open to student submissions. We got some really crappy poetry.

“Art and layout.” She dabbed her brush in paint. “Sketches and illustrations for the poems and stories mostly.”

Of course she did art. That was why there was ink on her hands. That was why she was taking painting. But was she any good? I hoped she was. It would be one more excuse to be near her. The Wolves were not going to get her. Neither were Mark and Ross. I still wasn’t sure why. Or how.

“If you bring some stuff, I’ll take a look.” Please let her be good.

“Okay.” She was carefully starting her outline. Her paintbrush sketched across the blank canvas. My still life of the fruit bowl on the table in the front of the room was already in progress. She didn’t seem to shy or reserved. Not like some people.

But did she have a backbone?

If she were to run with us, with me, she needed one. She needed to be tough and fierce. To have some self-confidence. Some of those things I could work with her on. But some things she’d have to discover for herself.

“You know what purple eyes mean?” I wanted to see her reaction.

“Aside from being a freak?” That too was tart. Someone had definite confidence issues. She truly had no idea. She was not a freak. She was special. Fluere were special. I had a feeling she was unique among them. I had a few theories on that.

“Some say they are magic. Others say they are the mark of those who came back from the dead.” As I said this, I worked on my painting, watching her from the corner of my eye.

She dropped her paintbrush. I had struck a chord. But which sentence did that? Or maybe…

Maybe it was both.

Either way, I was even more intrigued. Entranced. Bespelled. Perhaps she was from a fairytale.

Getting of my stool, I bent down and picked up her paintbrush, inhaling her unique scent. To be with her in close quarters would test my imperfect control. But I wanted to be close to her. Near her. Like I was now. Closer.

“So, which are you, Kat? Magic or death defying?” My tone was daring. I was having fun. Kat was fun. I wanted to know everything about her. But it would be more fun to draw it out. Draw her out. See if she could play our games. Run with us. With me.

I hoped she could.

My hand brushed hers ever so slightly, invading her personal space in a calculated movement as I continued to test her. I smiled at her as I met her eyes. I felt that. There was the slightest shock.

She was one of those. I think. Some Fluere had connections with different races within the Nightworld. They’d inexplicably be drawn to that race. Was I so lucky that she had a connection with us? Or even better…me?

Her pulse raced. She snatched the paintbrush out of my hand, snapping it in half. She was new. Definitely. She hadn’t quite worked out her strength, her speed. What did she think of what was happening to her?

Those purple eyes narrowed into slits. I had unnerved her. Good. I wanted to see who she really was. What she was made of. What I had to work with.

“Back off or I’ll turn you into a rat.”

Those words made me smile. She did have a backbone. Good. I was looking forward to this.

Suddenly, I got it. Throwing my head back, I laughed, which unnerved her even more. “That’s why they call you Kat, right? Because the kitten has claws.”

Pretending to ignore me, she went back to her painting. But I knew she was as enthralled me be as I was by her.

Yes, things at Cactus Grove High School were about to get a lot more interesting.

Flash Fiction Friday -- Thursday, Part 1

Here is part of Chapter 2 of my YA story from the point of view of Aaron. I was curious as to what was running through his head the first time he met Kat. I’ll post part 2, the first time he actually speaks to her later, probably next week.

Enjoy.

Thursday – Part I
© 2008 Suzanne Lazear

It was Thursday. Just another boring day. Just another boring week. Life as a junior at Cactus Grove High School was just not that interesting. The two highlights of my day were lunch and painting. Painting was last period. Right now it was lunch.

“Have you seen the new girl yet?” My cousin Ashley asked this to no one in particular as the six of us walked to lunch together. The six of us always walked to lunch together. The plebian masses of CGHS referred to us as the Beautiful People.

If only they knew.

“She hot?” Randy asked the big question before I could.

“She’s from Los Angeles, she’s in my History class.” Ashley was a junior too. "I think she's in English too." She hadn't had that yet.

Heads turned as we passed. We were often imitated. Gossiped about. But seldom approached. It was as if the humans knew deep down they should stay away from us.

They should.

“That’s the girl with the cast, right?” Drew, Ashley’s brother, was practically bouncing as we walked. He was a freshman. “Bobby White was carrying her backpack.”

And I cared because?

It wasn’t that I didn’t like Bobby and his friends. I just didn’t care.

“So is she pretty?” Angie was very vain. Not that she had much in the way of competition. We were all quite beautiful. On the outside.

“She could be.” This was not meant cattily. Ash wasn’t like Angie.

We entered the cafeteria. A teeming cesspool of the sights and smells of teenhood. It was nearly as nauseating as the stench of whatever they were serving under the guise of lunch.

“What does that mean?” Ronny, Randy’s twin, blinked.

“She was in a car accident. Her mom died so she came to live with her dad here in Gilbert.” Ashley sounded as if she actually cared. But then she did. My cousin was nice. “Her name is Kat. She apparently already knows Addison Moore.”

Kat? What kind of name was that?

“So what does she look like?” I was curious. We stood in line and filled our trays with disgusting cafeteria food

“Not your type Aaron,” Ashley giggled.

Pity. That at least would be a brief amusement. Not that we dated humans.

“She looks like Snow White.”

What?

“You know, pale skin, red lips, black hair.”

No, not my type. I liked blondes, preferably ones with large racks.

“Nice.” She was, however, Randy’s type. She was female.

“And,” Ashley’s voice lowered. “She has purple eyes.”

I nearly dropped my tray. “Fluere?” We didn’t have one of those at Cactus Grove. Wolves. Mages. Vampires. But no Fluere.

“I don’t know.” Ashley paid for her lunch. “She was on the other side of the room, with the Smart People. It was too hard to pick out her scent.”

“Whatever Ash.” Angie brushed past so she could pay for her food, cutting in front of me. Angie was in love with herself. She was also a fabulous actress. “Purple eyes mean Fluere. You said she had been in a car accident.”

Fluere weren’t born. They were made. In order to become Fluere you needed three things – to be human, to have inherited a sleeping gene, and to have that gene awakened by dying and coming back to life. You could tell them by their purple eyes, and their scent.

“There’ something about her,” Ashley defended.

Purple eyes were not exclusive to the Fluere.

“Maybe she’s just magic.” Why did I say that? Angie shot me a pained look.

“Magic, Bro?” Ronny snorted.

“I’m just saying that it’s possible.” It was. Also, the children of the Night World weren’t the only race that lurked among humans.

We all paid for our food and walked towards our usual table. It was always clear. For us. Those who sat at our table never sat there for long.

“There she is. She’s sitting with the Smart People.” Ashley nodded to a table not far from where Bobby White and the Wolves sat.

Sure enough, the Smart People had a new addition. These people weren’t just smart. I was easily as smart as them. They were ambitions. Driven. They were the top 1%. I just didn’t care to be Valedictorian. Much to my father’s disappointment. I had known all but Addy Moore and Mark Stalder since middle school.

“Oh God, she’s sitting with Mark.” Ronny’s voice was softly appalled. That could be a problem. There were the Dark Flurere. Which to us were the good guys. And the Bright Fluere. The bad guys. Mark’s best friend was one of the bad guys. And a pain in the ass.

If she was Fluere, odds were she was new. She probably had no idea what was going on. What was happening to her as her abilities developed. Or that the Nightworld even existed.

The last thing we wanted was for Mark to have first crack at a brand new Fluere. We loved the Fluere. As long as they weren’t armed with stakes, or burning down houses.

If that’s even what she was.

All six of us stared at her, quite rudely, as we walked past as we tried to figure out what she was in the crowded cafeteria.

She was quietly gossiping with the whole group, as if she’d always been a part of them.

“Oh my god, she’s bald.” Angie could project and I could tell by the look on the girl’s face that she heard.

The girl, Kat, wasn’t quite bald. But the black fuzz the covered her head was sparse. As I started at her, I realized why Ashley said she could be pretty. If that black hair was long…

Her shoulders were hunched in that way that tall girls did when they were self-conscious about their height. One arm was in a sling and there was indeed a cast on her leg. Her free arm was covered in a mass of fine scars. To me, they were like spider webs across her near-translucent skin. Could humans even see those scars?

I also got the Snow White reference now. She was incredibly pale. Vampiricly pale. But she didn’t look pallid. She looked like one of my mother’s fine porcelain dolls. Her lips were indeed red, without lipstick. In fact, unlike most girls, she wore no makeup other then mismatched base that inexpertly covered a nasty scar on her temple.

Also, unlike nearly every other girl at CGHS, including the Smart People, and the Wolves, she was not dressed up. She was wearing a t-shirt and torn jeans, like she was going to clean out the garage.

“What is she wearing?” Angie sneered.

“She is from California, Ange,” Ronny defended, as if that explained it all. Then again. He and his twin dressed like punk rockers. However, they did have their own Punk Band.

If the girl sat up straight, had some self-confidence and some nice clothes, and added just a hint of makeup she’d be beautiful. Ethereal. Even without long hair.

The Smart People noticed our gaze. But she, Kat, seemed equally intrigued. Not by us. But by me. I was used to female attention. Truly, she was far from the blonde Vampiric princesses that chased me, with their soft curves. She didn’t even look like she had breasts.

But…

There truly was something about her. It had nothing to do with the confidence and charisma that drew humans to us.

I just couldn’t stop staring at her.

What was she like? Her shirt said something about Shakespeare and Poetry. She was also in Ash’s AP English Class. Did she like poetry? I liked to read and was fond of the classics. Right now I was reading a lot of things that were quite provocative. Like Swift, Hegel, and Conrad.

She probably liked Hemmingway, Austin, Dickens, and Bronte.

Then I caught a look at her fingers. They were ink stained. An artist. I was fond of art. Especially Impressionism.

What did she like to draw?

I caught her stare and held her gaze. She seemed surprised. Not only to be caught, but that I’d stare at her.

Interesting.

Arching an eyebrow, I smiled. What an interesting girl. Perhaps I’d amuse myself by figuring her out. Without another look, I continued on to our table with the rest of my group.

I heard Mark tell her to not even bother. That I was bad news. So what Bobby White. For some odd reason, the idea of the Wolves, especially Bobby made me angry. Why? I hadn’t even met the girl.

Still.

It took a lot to intrigue me. This new girl did. I still wasn’t sure why.

I continued to watch her as I ate.

“So what’s the verdict?” Ashley asked softly. “Fluere?”

“Freak,” Angie muttered. “Leave her to the Smart People and the Wolves.”

There seemed to be so much more to Kat...

If one just looked closer. Like I was doing now.

“What’s she like Ash?” Would she be in any of my afternoon classes? She hadn’t been in AP Physics. I tried to avoid most AP classes. They required work. Honors were filled with people who weren’t total idiots, but weren’t quite as driven.

Ashley shrugged. She looked just like my mom, petite, redheaded, graceful. “I didn’t talk to her, Aaron. I just listened to her talk to the Smart People before class, and what she said in class, of course.”

And that was?

“Her answers in class were thoughtful. She seems very smart, and quiet. Reserved. Shy even.” Ash was a little shy.

“Oh.” Drew was watching her intently as well. My little cousin was a bit off. “Maybe we should leave her to the Wolves.”

Again, something inside me didn’t like that comment – or the way Bobby White kept looking at her. But Drew had a point. Not everyone had what it took to run with Vampires. Most Wolves were far from shy and quiet, but they’d love and protect those who were. Especially Fluere.

Us on the other hand.

We’d eat someone like that alive. Figuratively, of course.

Was she really like that? Or was she just overwhelmed with a new school. I knew from experience that it was daunting.

“Actually I think she’d be a good fit for Ross. They could be ugly freaks together.”

I shot Angie a dark look.

“She’s not that bad Ange,” Randy interjected. “She just needs some hair. Maybe some fashion sense. I wouldn’t wish anyone on Ross.”

That Bright Fluere was ugly. And mean.

“I think she’s in my English class too,” Ashley added. “Give me a day or two and I’ll try to figure her out.” That meant watching and listening. Ash would probably not strike up a conversation with her.

Myself on the other hand…

Why was I so intrigued by this girl who was clearly not my type? At least she didn’t seem high maintenance. I was over high maintenance girls.

It would definitely be interesting to find out.

Perhaps today wouldn’t be so boring after all.

One more no closer to yes...

So my rewrites on Stealing have been rejected. Sigh. Back to revisions. Back to the list. But that's okay. I've been doing this for four months. I'm just one no closer to yes...