Yes, another project! Okay, I had to write about 20k on other stories first, but I've been hard at work on research for this story while I did that. I think I hit about a bazillion websites and even checked out books at the library. The outline is a little epic, so now I'm scrambling to write, write, write. So, who wants a taste of the beginning?
**This is an unedited snippet with names taken out cause I'm just evil that way**
“Everyone have their slipcards? You’re going to need them.” MC1 ignored the lecturing teacher. He had everyone waiting in the parking lot while he went over all the rules. Like they didn’t all know them already.
Well, maybe not the new kid.
Who dressed like that? He was obviously trying to attract all sorts of the wrong attention. Guys around here did not wear their hair long and loose, curling around their shoulders. Jeans were meant to be worn loose and held up with a belt, not tight and barely hanging on to sharp hipbones just begging to be squeezed in a bruising grip.
MC1 could see the new kid’s hip bones because his shirt was rucked up under his black jacket. Black on black, how original. Emo brat with the dark clothes, flaring nostrils, and narrowed eyes. The only thing he couldn’t ruin were his soft lips, somehow a much darker red than you’d expect from his honeyed skin.
He strutted when he walked. Cocky bastard.
MC1 jerked. He scowled. “What?”
“Excuse me? You want to rephrase that.” The now was unspoken but hung clearly in the air. His teacher could have his dad on face-to-face conference in seconds. It wouldn’t be the first time, either.
“Sorry.” MC1 stood up from his slouch against the fence. “Yes, Mr. Teacher?” He had better straighten up and fly right. The words his father enjoyed snapping at him on a damn near daily basis echoed in his mind.
MC1 dug the frayed slipcard out of his back pocket. They were supposed to last the entire school career from their very first day, but his saw a lot of mileage. Demotions, detentions, parent notes… they’d probably have cut down an entire forest for just him to send letters home if they still did that.
He handed it over to his teacher who stuck it in his reader, eyeing the screen until it beeped.
“Oh good, not forged for once.”
Who’d do that? “It’s a field trip to a cave.” He saved his forges for important things, like covering for when he had to skip. He didn’t want anyone knowing he took off school to head over to the used bookstore to attend seminars by Famous Author. The guy was local, but he was going to be a big named author one day. MC1 followed his blog and always attending his talks.
“One never knows, Mr. MC1.” Mr. Teacher handed back his slipcard. MC1 shoved it into his pocket, already back to watching the new guy. He leaned against the fence, hanging on with his hands above his head; a chunky watch covered one wrist and the other was layered with leather, yarn, and cord bracelets.
“Time to go!” Mr. Teacher shouted. “Two to a seat.”
MC1 barreled on to the first bus to nab the back seat. He hated feeling knees in his back from idiots behind him. “Hey, Friend1, sit with me.” His friend was skinny as a rail. MC1 would get more of the seat if he sat with him.
Friend2 and Friend3 sat in front of them. MC1 reached up and yanked on Friend2’s hair.
“What the hell, man?”
“It’s getting too long.” MC1 tugged on it again. “You need a cut.” He’d only get to keep his friends as friends if they toed the line his dad made him toe. So he put pressure on them when he had to. He needed his friends. Luckily, they’d been listening to him for years and didn’t really question it anymore.
“Whatever.” Friend2 turned sideways in the seat. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“Man, can you believe they’re making us go on this trip, again? How many times have we seen the Doestrin caves?”
“Every other year since we were old enough to not piss our pants in the dark.” Friend1 pulled a pack of gum out of his pocket.
“Nah.” MC1 shook his head when Friend1 offered him the pack.
“What kind?” Friend3 was a mooch, but he was picky about the kind of gum he’d chew.
“Kick ass. Gimme.” Friend3 had a thing for retro sayings. Had to match the name his parents had saddled him with. He snagged two pieces.
“Hey pig, just one,” Friend1 objected.