I have finally come to realize that distractions are killing me. That and crying jags, during which yesterday I had maybe . . . four? Yeah, that sounds about right. It’s the mood swings; they’re starting to hit. Thank you, demon hormones. I always wanted to turn into a mess again. Not that I wasn’t already.
But I got it done, though. Though all that–reading things, crying, giving advice–I managed just over eight hundred and fifty words, and I set up a couple of things. One, the start of an impromptu race–
And two, the introduction of Emma.
(All excerpts, this page, from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)
“Hello, Emma.” Annie tried to be friendly, but she’d begun developing an opinion about Emma during the last few classes, and it wasn’t the sort that should be repeated in public. She had been talking a lot of flying with Kerry during class, and often tried to get him to do thing that Annie felt was a bit reckless. This was, she felt, because Emma grew bored with flying around Selena’s Meadow, and preferred getting on a broom and flying free on the weekends, doing what she wanted and however she wanted.
Kerry wasn’t in anyway reckless, but Annie noticed that he tended to forget this when he was around Emma. She knew he wasn’t trying to impress her—he’d never given any impression that he was interested in Emma—but she couldn’t fathom why he was so receptive to whatever she had in mind whenever flying was involved.
“You guys enjoying the course? You’ve been upfront most of the run.” Emma looked behind her. “I just left the last group behind as we came out of the chicane.”
“It’s been . . .” Kerry looked over at Annie, then back to Emma. “Not bad. We have a good feel for it. I know my marks.”
“Listen to that: you sound like a racer.” Emma looked over to Annie. “Doesn’t he?”
As usual Annie didn’t show her feelings, but inside her stomach was churning. She knew what “hitting the marks” meant, because she’d heard her father say it more than a few time in conversations about his own racing experience. I’ve never heard Kerry talk about any kind of racing, yet . . . “Yes, he does, Emma.” She turned her gaze upon Kerry, who was starting to blush. “But he’s not quite a racer—”
Emma had to get in the last word, stepping in and interrupting Annie. “Yet.” She leaned over and tapped Kerry on the shoulder as they entered the stretch known as Rockport Lane. “I bet you’d like to go a little faster, huh?”
Girl, it’s a good thing Rick Grimes isn’t there; he’d have a choice warning for you. ‘Cause Annie’s givin’ you the side eye, and that’s not a good thing.
Emma’s another ginger, a girl out of Bolder, Colorado, and when I came up with someone to be a model for her, and felt she was a young Kirsten Dunst. She’s fairly clueless as well, because she seems to have decided that Kerry is her flying partner, and she’s trying to get him to do something that Annie obviously doesn’t want him to do. The face that Emma’s completely obvious to all this may, or may not, bode well for her.
But that’s how she is. Right now she just wants someone to race with her. Kerry happens to be that someone. Maybe Emma thinks they’ll somehow hook up later and one day have a lot of red haired kids, but right now she’s only interested in zipping off with him down the Green Line, starting here . . .
Oh, and why is it called Rockport Lane? Because not very far outside that wall, maybe a few hundred meters to the east, is the town of Rockport, which is where the kid’s train finally stopped on their trip in from Boston, way back on the night of 1 September.
Wow. That seems almost like . . . months ago.