YAFF Muse is a new weekly blog series featuring some YA Fiction Fanatics members. In this series, we’ll post original short stories created from an image meant to inspire our Muse. Hope you enjoy! And don’t forget to check out the other *YAFFers participating in this series (links below).
Around the Streetmarket by Plamen Stoev
Black Summer Rain
“That black looks hot on your feet.” Gavin smiles at me. It’s the sort of smile he uses when he wants something.
“Not feet,” I say. “Toes.” I wiggle them to show him exactly what I mean. He plants his hands on the car’s hood on either side of me, and leans in, way in, until he fills my field of vision. “You’re going to make me spill polish all over your paint job if you don’t be careful.” Actually, it would get on the towel under my butt and not the paint job, but I give him a gentle nudge anyway.
“I don’t care,” he says, plucking the bottle from my fingers.
I’m not sure where he sets my Knocking On Death’s Door nail polish because he pushes me back until my spine kisses the curve of the hood. It was eighty-seven degrees at noon so the top of the car is warm—no, wait. Not warm. Warm is like apple pie after ten seconds in the microwave. The car is scorching and I wonder if my thin white shirt will melt off my body.
Gavin nuzzles my neck and angles his head so he can blow down my top, between my cleavage. He knows this drives me crazy.
“What do you want?” I ask, and my voice is a little breathy, a combo of the humidity and Gavin’s hard-on teasing the space between my legs.
There’s a naughty hint in his eye when he flicks his gaze at my mouth. It’s in the lazy way he blinks, like he’s trying to hypnotize me, and in the way his mouth puckers just a bit. I swallow hard because I know what he wants.
* * *
It’s one of those flash storms, the kind that catches you while you’re walking home from school or getting the mail or rolling a joint on the hood of your boyfriend’s car.
Gavin curses and grabs the rolling papers and baggie before he ducks toward his house. I laugh because summer rain is my favorite. Closing my eyes, I turn my head to the crying sky and open my mouth. Precipitation doesn’t taste as clean as it did when I was a little girl, but it’s not as bad as, say, drinking from the toilet.
My shirt is soaked through and I realize anyone who wanted to could look out their window and see my flimsy bra with the black stars as clear as if I wasn’t wearing anything.
The rain patters harder and it’s the only thing I let myself hear. Pure. Powerful. A shiatsu massage for your ear drums. When I turn, my breath hitches because Gavin’s an inch from my face. He holds an umbrella over his head, except one side dips at a forty-five-degree angle so a cascade of water pelts his shoulder. I don’t get why he bothers with it.
“Come inside,” he says. “I want to smoke before my parents get home.”
I glance at his car, then the street. When I turn back, he has a mixed expression on his face. I wink and say, “I have a better idea.”
* * *
I tell Gavin to slow down around the bend because I don’t want to burn myself. For once, he actually listens and we pass the street that takes you into the farmer’s market without any problem.
The rain has scared everyone off the road, so I place the lit joint between his lips and let my head fall back against the headrest. My eyelids flutter because it’s almost impossible to keep them open when so much smoke is trapped inside.
* * *
They say it wasn’t Gavin’s fault. That the driver coming from the opposite direction took his eyes off the road and didn’t see us in time. But that driver can’t really say anything, least of all the truth, and no one bothers to ask me.
I roll my eyes at an EMT whose face has turned a brilliant shade of albino. But she sees right through me like I’m not even there, like she doesn’t notice I’m plastered with rain. My star-spangled bra practically winks at every John, Dick, and Harry but no one gazes for more than a second. When a firefighter storms by, I wiggle my black-painted toes. But that gets zero reaction, too. And I find it odd no one asks where my shoes are or why we were driving in the first place.
If they did, I’d say, “Because summer rain is my favorite.” With drops so big they’ll wash you away.
(Author’s Note: The girl in the pic looks like a bit of a rebel, no? I mean, who runs barefoot in the rain? The street is just so…gross. Well, that small detail is what inspired me for this week’s story. It started with the simplest activity of painting toes and ended with a stoner-ghost. The mind works in mysterious ways!)
*Don’t forget to check out other stories from YAFF Muse participants:
YAFF Muse is a new weekly blog series featuring some YA Fiction Fanatics members. In this series, we’ll post original short stories created from an image meant to inspire our Muse. Hope you enjoy! And don’t forget to check out the other *YAFFers participating in this series (links below).
Photo cred: "Summer Tea" by Valyeszter
Tea Cup Tornado
HIM
She came out of a flower. A tea cup of a flower, really.
At first, I rubbed my eyes because I’d smoked a cigarette—a Marlboro Red, serious nicotine for a serious smoker, which I was not. Not anymore. I’d quit six months ago, so the first inhale had stung. But the second…well, it was like going home and wrapping my lungs in the warmest cocoon. Like velvet or that furry blanket Ma used to hang over our couch to hide a ten-year-old chocolate milk stain.
But anyway, back to the cigarette. Yeah, I think it might’ve been laced with something. How else could I explain the girl? She looked so tiny climbing out of that blooming cup. I wanted to squish her to see if she was real.
HER
I’d never been so cold before. Every infant hair on my body screamed for sun. For heat. When I blinked, the world collided in an agonizing band of light. It took me a moment to gather my strength enough to stand. A reminder of why it wasn’t wise to do this a lot. But then my blood began to pump and my breaths fluttered through my body and I knew this had been the right choice. I was free.
HIM
She just stood there; teetering on the lip of a cupped blue flower like it was a completely natural thing to do. It wasn’t natural. Ma always told me if it didn’t look right, it probably wasn’t.
A breeze blew from the east and I thought: This is it. Maybe she’ll topple over and splat all over the gnarled tree roots. How awesome would that be? I sucked in a breath, tasted the stale ash on my tongue, and waited.
But she didn’t fall. She stretched her arms and blinked at me as if she could create tornadoes with her eyelashes. I sort of wanted to see her do it. Twisters always looked wicked cool in movies.
HER
I wanted to touch him. His face. His throat. The little bob that danced every time he swallowed. He swallowed a lot.
I tilted my head and licked my lips. Would his skin feel as warm as the air? If I reached out, would he crumble underneath my fingertips? Would it hurt?
I smiled. He smiled and leaned in like he wanted me to do it.
So I bent my knees, gripped my toes around the edge of the flower petal, and did it—I touched the tip of his nose with my finger.
In one blink, he was nothing but a cloud of ash.
And I was finally warm.
I’ve mentioned before how much I Love Love LOVE my YAFF (Young Adult Fiction Fanatics) crit group. They’ve saved me from jumping off many a cliffs. So I’m excited to say we have a really exciting collaborative blog series on its way!
I’m going to be a bit hush-hush for now, but stay tuned for our new series starting next Wednesday!!!
So I’ve been in the black hole of writing, otherwise known as the SEVEN CIRCLES (or DRAFTS) OF REVISION HE**, and I thought I’d take a quick break to spread the love about an awesome event that was just announced:
Several writers (Jamie Harrington, Elana Johnson, Casey McCormick, Shannon Messenger, Lisa and Laura Roecker) are organizing a free online workshop for writers of kidlit on Aug 10-12. They’re having fabulous people participate — like Steven Malk, Catherine Drayton, Michelle Andelman, Suzie Townsend, Mark McVeigh, Joanna Stampfel-Volpe, Kathleen Ortiz, Lindsay Eland, Dan Ehrehaft, Mandy Hubbard, Lindsey Leavitt, Josh Berk, Anica Rissi, and Jodi Meadows just to name a few — and the best part?
IT’S FREEEEEEEEEEE. That’s right. F to the R to the EEEEEE. Conferences are expensive, usually between $300-500 just to attend. On top of that, you’re looking at hotel, travel, and daily food costs which can easily bring the total price tag to well over $1000 (I’m looking at around $1300 to go to RWA’s conference in Orlando at the end of July). And I don’t know about you, but money certainly isn’t growing on any shrubbery near my house…
So that makes WriteOnCon a fantastic opportunity to learn, network, and have a good time with other writers. Since it’s all done online, you could even *attend* in your undies. Although I really suggest you not blab that around if that’s how you decide to roll…
Some of the ladies are running contests on their blogs to spread the word. Check them out here:
Jamie Harrington — giving away Josh Berk’s The Dark Days of Hamburger Halpin
Elana Johnson — giving away The Dark Days of Hamburger Halpin by Josh Berk, Scones and Sensibility by Lindsay Eland, Princess for Hire by Lindsey Leavitt
Casey McCormick — giving away winner’s choice of a kidlit book
This conference sounds super exciting, and with the amount of work these ladies have invested, I’m sure it’ll be a huge success! I know I’ve already blocked out my calendar for it! Oh — and don’t forget to visit the writer’s blogs and spread the WriteOnCon love!!!
Cambria Dillon - YA Writer
