393 replies to this topic

[Coo]

Oh NO, I'm so sorry to hear about your game! I'm excited to read about where this new beginning will take Rochelle, though, and I'm grateful that the game didn't blow up later into the storyline!

[spladoum]

"... so you're trying to tell me that you drank so much you lived a whole 'nother life last night? Good god, no more jello shots or vodka anything for you."

"It's not funny!" Rochelle protested. "It felt really real. I swear I was married with kids."

Whitney rolled her eyes. "Earth to Roc. You're not married and you don't have kids. You and I work at the day spa together. You're a masseuse and I'm a mani/pedi specialist. And unless my memory's going to hell like yours apparently is, you have a crush on a guy who comes in for regular manicures and you've been trying to find an excuse to talk to him for a while. Now if you can't even work up the nerve to say 'hi' to some dude that you see once a week, how do you expect me to believe you managed to get married?"

"Whitney ..." Her head felt horribly muddled. Of course she believed her best friend and her parents. But she couldn't stop thinking that something was completely out-of-sorts. A very important piece of her puzzle was missing. But for now, she'd have to let it go. "You're right, I guess. My head's still fuzzy." (42)

"See? Good girl, don't put so much stock in it. Now, I have a project for you ... Operation Hook-up. If you can't do this, you'd better call it quits on this guy." Whitney reached into her purse and handed over a lambskin wallet. "Your mystery man left it the last time he was at my station. You'd think he'd be looking for it, but receptioin told me he hasn't even called to report it missing. ... what? Don't look at me like that, I didn't take anything of it! All I did was open it once to get a name. You can figure out everything else you need to know online." She smiled triumphantly. "His name is Moses Choate. (43) Go get 'em, tiger."

But as soon as they parted ways, Rochelle slipped off to hide in the library. Whitney caught her and screamed, "Would you get out of the damn books! (44) He finally came back by and I couldn't find you anywhere. I've been calling you for almost an hour!"

"Stop shouting! It's a library, for crying out loud!"

"Listen, genius. Crushes don't work when you don't act on them!" Whitney scribbled on some scrap paper and shoved it at her. "That's his address. Would you give the man his wallet, please?"



"Well?" Whitney asked expectantly the next morning. (45)

"I went over, I rang the bell, and a nice old lady answered the door and wanted to know why I was looking for her husband at 10 p.m. (46) Not only is he older than he looked, he's been married for 34 years. I've never been so humiliated in my entire life."

"... remember that time you managed to fall off the town bridge in the middle of the senior picture?"

"Oh, shut up."

[darlingviola]

That's too bad that you lost your original game. But I like where you're taking this now :). It seems pretty mysterious.

[spladoum]

Despite her general rudeness, Whitney Slayton was a good friend. She was much more confident than Rochelle and tried to encourage her to take chances. Her general motto was "No regrets." But as Rochelle pointed out, it was easy to have that kind of attitude, living rent-free in a luxurious home sponging off a rich aunt.

"I don't like to think of it as 'sponging' so much as bringing a youthful atmosphere into the house," Whitney explained while driving them both around in Aunt Lilan's expensive ride. "Besides, auntie likes having me for her personal chauffeur. I'll bet she's the only person in the world who would spend this much money on a car she can't drive herself."

"Who's that?" Rochelle interrupted, sitting up suddenly and turning sharply to look at a man lounging outside of his house. (47) Whitney looked quickly and sucked her teeth derisively.

"Oh, Roc. Girl, no. He's the biggest bum in town. Doesn't do much of anything besides sit around and pluck a guitar. Ain't got a dime to his name. Besides, he's married and he's a daddy. Don't even waste your time."

"So you know him?"

"Roc, what the hell? Are you listening to me?" Rochelle was still looking backwards, craning to see through the rear window. Whitney sighed impatiently. "Girl, turn around and quit staring! I can't take you anywhere. Look, let's go to the movies. We can meet some guys there."

'You didn't tell me his name!"

"You don't need to know it! You're just asking for trouble." Whitney gave her a mock glare. "If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that you can't get a happy ending with someone else's man."

"The years," Rochelle echoed. "Nineteen long, arduous years." They both laughed, but Whitney quickly became serious again. "I'm not kidding about that guy, Roc. You're a real sweet person, but you don't know anything about life, and guys like him just latch onto girls like you for a free ride until the money runs out."

They sat in silence for a few minutes waiting for the traffic signal to turn green. Finally Rochelle said, "I'd take you more seriously if I didn't already know that you're just being bitter and describing your ex."

"Rochelle."

"And you never did tell me the guy's name."

"Marley Williams," Whitney said in huffy tones. "I can already see where this is heading, right over a damn cliff. You are going to be so sorry you didn't listen to me." She let Rochelle out next to the mall's main entrance and did a reckless three-point turn before driving away quickly.

Unlike most people her age, Rochelle didn't come to the mall to shop. When she wasn't buried in a book, she was likely to be in a field, searching for semi-precious stones. The local jewelcutters' guild paid good rates even for fragmented rocks (48), and occasionally she got lucky and found something really valuable--she had managed to sell off several obsidian and tiger eyes in the past few months. Her tiny horde of savings had grown steadily, and she thought that she might be able to move out of her parents' home soon.

"These are really nice," Mr. Davis said, stirring the rocks with his index finger. "I'm sorry we can't afford to give you more, but maybe we could at least make you some complimentary earrings." He handed over a check for §1000. "See you next week?"

Before she could answer, her phone buzzed in her pocket.

ur mom wants me 2 bring u home
so b in front of mall like NOW
u better not b looking 4 that guy!



"Mom, Dad," she said nervously that evening over pasta primavera, "I think it's time I moved out."

"But why?" Mrs. Tyson asked while her husband simultaneously answered, "That's great!" They gave each other dirty looks before Mrs. Tyson continued, "I checked your bank account recently. You have a good amount of money in there, but between just trying to buy something and the property taxes, I'm afraid you wouldn't have much of anything left over for building your house. I think you should look for something small and manageable near the town center so you wouldn't need to drive to work."

"More land is always better," Mr. Tyson immediately contradicted. "I'd start big if I were in your shoes and look for something either out in the 'burbs or close to the river. Then you'd have more space to expand, more land to grow vegetables, more room to build if you decide you need it. You wouldn't want to find out that you needed more space after you already started building."

"She's just twenty-one! She barely has twenty thousand to her name! That's hardly enough for a house, let alone buying by the acre. And you know she can't afford to live on the river!" Mrs. Tyson looked outraged. "Dear, what in the world are you trying to get her to do?"

Mr. Tyson ignored the question. "Take it from me," he said, waggling his fork at his daughter for emphasis. "Invest in the land, cuz it's the only thing out there that they can't make more of. It's better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it. That's when you get gouged. There's a plot on Riverblossom they just finished clearing out, you ought to look at it. It used to be wooded, so the soil's good and you could grow plants pretty easy--"

"But the money," Mrs. Tyson said insistently.

"--I'm getting to that, Robin. I know the guy who owns it now. He's selling it for more than you've got, but let me talk to him and see if I can get you a deal." He shoved noodles in his mouth and chewed noisily. Mrs. Tyson pursed her lips in a frown. Rochelle tactfully avoided her eyes.



It took several more days for the promised deal to materialize, but one evening Mr. Tyson returned home with a land deed. The lot was all hers, he proclaimed proudly. She just needed to sign the paperwork and pay for it.

Mrs. Tyson begged her to reconsider. "Honey, you're still so young. Shouldn't you stay here and save a little more before you venture out on your own? I just hate to think about you living in a shack in the middle of some field. Please take a little more time to think about it before you sign. If you really want to do it tomorrow, I won't say anything else."

Rochelle agreed to give it further thought and wandered away to stroll around. It was such a beautiful day, she didn't want to spend it grubbing in the dirt with the rocks or inside the library. Maybe she'd spend some time in the park. Children darted past her, playing tag. A few people she knew from high school waved to her and she waved back, wondering if any of them were planning to move out of their family homes.

She had just passed the alley by the diner when she heard a man's voice singing.

Her eyes put the color in my world
And the wind is cold when she's not here
I know she's leaving, my heart is grieving
But I gotta let her go

She stopped.

Her fingertips run along my tears
And she's trying so hard to explain
We won't make it, her heart can't take it
And I gotta let her go

She took a few steps backwards.

Her mystery man was there, strumming. (49) The sun shone down softly on his head just like a spotlight. Oddly enough, his guitar case was closed and he didn't have a tip jar. He seemed to be playing more for his own pleasure.

Why does something so good have to hurt so bad
Why am I losing the best thing I ever had
How can she tell me she loves me and then just let me go?

He hummed a bridge, improvising. Rochelle stared, mesmerized.

Quite suddenly he was staring at her with a sweet smile. His speaking voice was much deeper than his singing voice. "Hello there."

Her face flushed completely scarlet. Too mortified at herself to say a word, she turned tail and trotted away. Her phone rang for a full twenty seconds before she even noticed heard it. "Hello?"

"Girl, where are you?"

"Sorry. Can't talk."

"Why not? Where are you?"

"Going in the bank, have to turn the phone off. Sorry." She ignored Whitney's protesting and picked up a withdrawal slip, hurriedly filling it out. If she got the cashier's check soon enough, she could probably have the deed notarized by the end of today.

It took every dime she had saved and a few promissory notes to buy the land, let alone build anything, just as her mother predicted. But Rochelle managed to wrangle an advanced payment from Mr. Davis by promising him the absolute best jewels and ores that she could get for the next two weeks. With the extra money, she put together the shell of a small modern house. Sure, there wasn’t a stick of furniture inside besides an old bed and a toilet. But, she reflected with a slight smile, it’s all mine.

And then other thoughts intruded. (50)

Whitney was right. She was in way over her head.

[katbileu]

Sorry to hear about the problem with your game. :( Your story is very good. :D I like the twist with Rochelle. Not everyone gets a second chance. I am looking forward to the next update.:D

[spladoum]

Rochelle discovered that living on her own was more challenging with several IOUs hanging around her neck. It quickly became obvious that she wouldn't be able to even make a dent in the payments with a masseuse's pay, so she tendered her resignation to the spa and began to search for high-quality jewels full time. (51) It took several days of nonstop rock hunting to make good on her debts to the jewelcutters' association, and between all of the back and forth haggling over quality and quantity and purity and carats, she suddenly realized that she was hardly eating anything besides the gleanings from her scraggly garden and she hadn't spoken to Whitney in days. Not that a bit of hard work and deprivation was going to kill her--though she wouldn't mind a cheesesteak sandwich at all.

By contrast, Robin Tyson was not at all pleased with the turn her daughter's social life seemed to be taking. What was the point of moving out into your own place if weren't planning to get married soon? she asked, and asked it so often that Rochelle soon began to dodge her calls. She then turned to Mr. Tyson to get him on her side, but he wouldn't get involved. What was the point of her moving out into her own place if we're going to make all of her decisions for her? he asked, and refused to say another word on the matter.

Rochelle began to hope against hope that she might be left in peace, but she quickly found that a mother's wish for grandchildren could hardly be put off that easily. She answered the phone without screening the call first on a warm morning. "Hello?"

"Dear, I just found out that one of my good friends from the ladies' club lives near you! Her name is Olivia Mercer. She's always wanted to meet you but never had a chance before you graduated. She's right down the block, why don't you pop over for a visit?"

"Why would one of your friends want to meet me?" Rochelle asked suspiciously.

"Well, you attended the same high school as her sons and--"

"Not going. No way."

"Let me finish before you bite my head off, please ... she's a charter alumnus and likes to 'bring the community back to the school,' as she puts it. Since you were so involved in the science clubs, she thought she might have seen you around and she's always looking for intelligent graduates to mentor the current student body. She asked about you the last time she came over to visit and when I told her that you were living on Riverblossom now, she said that you bought the last empty lot on her block." Mrs. Tyson paused for a reaction, but there was none. "And ... although she has two boys, she says they're both out during the day unless they're not feeling well. So as long as you go over before six or so, you won't even see them. Even you have to admit that's reasonable."

"Mom, you're trying way too hard. I already know you're up to something!"

"Oh, you're just like Rob. Listen, Mrs. Mercer is perfectly business-like and professional. All you have to do is say 'yes' or 'no.' She won't be offended either way. Thirty minutes, Rochelle. Surely you can spare that much time."

A mother's guilt trip ... there was nothing like it. Rochelle hung up slowly and examined the yellow foliage on the tomato plants. They were growing a bit slowly. Perhaps it was time to research fertilizers?

She didn't notice the shadow running across the wall or hear the grass softly crunching behind her. (52) So when a deep, rumbling voice abruptly broke the silence with "... so this where pretty lady live?" she couldn't help but scream.

"Didna mean to frighten ya," the voice immediately continued. "I been askin' allova town about ya n' when I saw ya walkin' by ya house, I hadt' com'ova."

A large hand reached towards her. She looked at it, feeling suddenly ashamed of her muddy fingers, and waved apologetically. "I'm Rochelle."

"Marley Williams." His smile was even more dazzling up close. He took her hand, fitting it against his own and gently helping her stand. She became all too aware of his scars and calluses--the hallmarks of a professional guitar player. "I woulda asked ya name when we meet before, but ya lef' s'fast." He looked around her empty lot before his eyes became drawn to a house in the distance--Whitney's.

"What's over there?" Rochelle asked innocently. He caught her eyes and smiled.

"Guhl I usedt' date live there."

Well, at least he's not stupid. A liar, maybe, but not stupid. "She and I know each other. She mentioned you a few times."

His smile grew wider. "Prolly e'eryt'ing she say is true. I not goin' keep botterin' ya, just want to make ya'cquaintance. G'bye, sweeth't." He wandered off, whistling to himself.

As she watched him go, Rochelle tried not to listen to that spiteful corner of her mind that openly wondered what her mother would make of this one. Mom, you know how you wanted me to get out there and start dating again? ... She knelt down again and watched as her fingers deftly uprooted the young weeds.



"Good afternoon, Rochelle." Mrs. Mercer stood in the shade of her expansive porch with glasses of iced tea and a ready smile. (53) "I'm glad you came over, dear. Sweet or unsweet?”

“Unsweet.”

“Help yourself.” She gestured to one of the wicker chairs and seated herself. “Now, I’ve been told that you’re a busy young lady, so I’ll keep it short and simple. We have quite a few students who would probably be interested in being part of geology club, except they don’t see a lot of use in it. You would be a perfect example of real-world application, and I’d be grateful if you would volunteer some of your time to come to the high school and mentor.” She picked up her own glass and laced it with mint leaves before adding a drizzle of simple syrup and drinking slowly. It was a sly sales pitch. All that was missing was the “cancel at any time” clause. Rochelle hesitated, suddenly intrigued with the heavy cut-glass pitcher.

“Feel free to think it over for the next few days—if you chose to help us, you would do so strictly on a volunteer basis, so you would set your own schedule and attend your own hours.” Mrs. Mercer stood up and shook out her shawl. “Is it just me or is it getting chilly all of a sudden? You should come inside, looks like a storm’s brewing.” She led Rochelle into the living room and immediately vanished into the back of the house.

Before Rochelle could even seat herself, a very male voice shouted down the stairs, “Hey, Ma! What’s for supper?” and a young man bounded into view. (54) She barely had time to realize she’d been duped before he saw her and stopped short. “… no way! Rochelle Tyson! Ma said you might be over. Good to see you, how ya been?”

Her tongue failed her as he hugged her familiarly. She stared at him in puzzled silence for several awkward moments before finally venturing “... Rafael?”

“Oh my god, you actually know me now!” His dimples were absolutely adorable. “You never had the time of day for me in school.”

“We never even took the same classes!”

“Yeah we did! You just didn’t notice me. You were always studying too hard. We had the same chemistry teacher and the same grammar period and we both took French. Remember?”

She did, vaguely. He was one of those students who sat in the back and talked to his friends rather than pay attention to the instructors. He had also been significantly heavier then, with an enormous blond afro for good measure. Even though she hadn’t ever thought much of him personally, his appearance had always intimidated her and as far as she could recall, they had never spoken. There was only one reason for him to be so excited to see someone he couldn’t possibly know personally. She was going to kill her mother!

“Anyway, it’s almost time to eat and Mom wants to know if you’re staying for dinner. But trust me, you are. She’s already made a place setting for you. … no, no, you gotta stay. Mom was muttering that you’re too skinny. She won’t let you leave unless you eat.”

“I really can’t …”

“I knew it,” he sighed. “I told her you were vegetarian! Wait right here, I’ll make her cook a tempeh cheesesteak for you—“

“Not necessary,” Rochelle interrupted quickly and pushed past him towards the dining table. The smell of garlicky onions and peppers had wafted into the living room by now, and her stomach was rumbling. “I can eat a normal sandwich. I’d hate to disappoint your mother.”

[darlingviola]

Hmm two potential spouses so far. I noticed this Rochelle seems more timid than the last one. Not a bad thing, this one seems sweet :).

[hlvargas]

AAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWW I miss Luke!!!!!

[Coo]

YESSSSS! I've been holed up sick with (you've got it) H1N1, and reading this update has been a great I'm-feeling-better present!

Could Rochelle have found two men more different than Marley and Rafael? I wonder if Marley will bring out some of old Rochelle's personality, or if new Rochelle will stay in control.

[Kesal]

Nice save with the dream sequence :lol:! It'll be interesting to see if Rochelle brings any lessons from her former "life" into this one.

[spladoum]

It was practically astonishing how quickly her life fell into the gentle, yet influential, hands of Olivia Mercer. Although Mrs. Mercer had promised that she could set her own working hours, Rochelle found herself functioning as a full-time teacher's aide in no time at all, cutting out what little remained of her social life—she heard fourth-hand that Whitney and Marley had begun seeing each other again, a relationship further complicated by his wife's second pregnancy. She began to fret about the amount of time that she had to devote to beauracracy, which meant fewer hours in the day to search for the stones she had promised Mr. Cano. One plaintive call to Rafael about the situation was all it took to make her loan to the jewelcutters' association disappear, something that Rochelle only became aware of after opening the latest bill. She had nearly finished writing her installment check before she realized that there was no invoice included in the paperwork.

Your loan balance has been paid in full as of June 10th.
Last month's balance: §2450.36 + 3.6% annual interest
This month's balance: §0.00
Thank you for banking with Riverview Commonwealth Bank & Trust.

Stunned, she called Rafael to protest (55), but he chuckled at her indignation. His mother was a general busybody by habit and she meant well by it. "I know you wanted to pay it off by yourself, but just consider it a gift. I already know she's running you ragged, anyway."

He wasn't lying. Her first lecture at the art gallery had gone exceptionally well, and already she had an impressive stack of applications for the high school geology club sitting on her counters, though she suspected that several of the students were trying to get in solely to ogle the shimmering necklaces and sparkling gems. There were more than a few kids in there that she definitely did not like. And unfortunately, since most of those students had been assigned to the group by direct order of the guidance counselor, she couldn't have them rotated out.

One of those kids was Annalysse Sanderson. She was the kind of student that teachers hate to have in their classes--intelligent but unmotivated, disruptive, bored. When she attended class, she made it painfully obvious that she was only there because she couldn't be somewhere else. She refused to do any sort of homework. When she was called on to answer questions, she always answered in a flat voice that practically screamed You're wasting my time. The biggest obstacle to having her expelled was that despite her terrible attitude, she somehow managed to get straight As on nearly every exam, and her teachers reluctantly admitted that they had no evidence that she was cheating. The principal was loath to remove someone who was contributing high grades to the school average. "Can't you just deal with her? If she doesn't want to speak up in class, just move on to a student that does."

"Can't you just deal with her?" Rochelle mimicked while preparing for yet another meeting. She straightened out her sweater and smacked the lint from her slacks. She began to brush through her hair carefully, making sure that her usual flyaways were tamed with mousse. "When was the last time she taught a class? She doesn't have any idea how hard it is to work with kids like that. I'd rather have students who aren't as smart than try teaching someone who doesn't want to be there."

"The ones who aren't as smart wouldn't make it into the club to begin with," Rafael quickly pointed out. He hadn't bothered to change since waking up, choosing to just trail around the house on her heels. "And if they were there, you'd be frustrated that you couldn't get through the curricula as quickly as you needed to."

"You stop messing up my rant!"

"I'm just pointing out that you could have bigger problems. Besides, the principal's right. If the girl is smart enough to make As without participating, don't worry about her. Put your muscles behind the kids who are actually grateful for your help."

"Easy for you to say," she said, but her mood had lightened. She ran her fingertips over his chest and leaned over to give him a kiss. (56) Twenty minutes later, her sweater was all askew and her hair was a tangled mass. He had managed to smudge her carefully-applied makeup as well. But somehow she was more than willing to let it go.



"Dear, it's absolutely wonderful to see you again," Mrs. Mercer gushed before ushering her in. "I've heard about your mentoring in the club--the students absolutely love you! And I have some good news! ... here, have a seat. Dinner will be ready shortly and Rafael will be back from the stadium any moment. Now. You have heard that Mr. Canolding is retiring, right? That means that the primary earth science teaching position will be available soon! Of course there are other teachers who must be considered first due to seniority ... but all the same, I think you need to consider applying for it. You're so good with the children and you know so much about the topic that you would be a shoo-in for a full-time instructor's position. And of course the school board is prepared to offer you a salary. I've negotiated with them concerning back pay as well since you've all but taught the Thursday and Friday classes for the past two class terms."

Rochelle could do little other than smile as the older lady prattled on about pensions and summer vacations and teachers' workshops, but her eyes darted repeatedly and anxiously to the front windows. She wanted to see Rafael and show him what Mr. Cano had sculpted for them both from a bar of palladium. She made an effort to listen, though, as Mrs. Mercer continued on about the application process.

"... I'm fully prepared to back you in front of the school board, of course. The last project you did with the stonecutters' guild was absolutely breathtaking--" She was cut off by the distant sound of a muscle car's loud tuner. "Oops. Looks like someone is home!" She tapped Rochelle's knee significantly. "I'll leave the two of you to chat."

As usual, she could hear Rafael long before she saw him--the growling engine as the car turned into the garage and the shouted "Ma, what's for dinner?" as he bounded through the front door. He skidded to a halt when he saw Rochelle, going over to her for hugs and kisses.

"Now, you're absolutely sure about this? You already know Ma's crazy. And she's not going to stand for us living in your house either, so you're probably going to have to move in here. Between her and your mom, you might be sorry you didn't leave town. You're sure? You're really sure?"

"I'm sure," she giggled. "Stop trying to scare me away and let's go in there."

So later that evening, Rochelle and Rafael announced their engagement to his family (57), and that was the end of the Tyson family line. She became Rochelle Mercer in a lovely church ceremony approximately one year later--just in time to begin the summer term of earth science. And along with the mosquitoes, sticky weather, and sunburn came her absolute least favorite student.

[spladoum]

I won't let her get to me. Not this year. She can't get to me.

Annalysse slouched in and kicked her bag over to the desk just left of center. Rochelle looked up from the homework assignments, reminding herself not to scowl. "Hello, Annalysse."

"Hey," the girl returned listlessly and fell into her seat with a thud. She popped earbuds into her ears and leaned back.

Not even "Hey, Mrs. Mercer." ... I won't let her get to me. It was a few moments before she could even smile. "Annalysse, no headphones. You know that already."

"Class hasn't started."

"No headphones," Rochelle repeated, voice firm. Annalysse looked at her flatly. "Fine." She threw the mp3 player into her duffel and crossed her thick arms, seemingly absorbed with the graffitied desk. Rochelle went back to grading, fully aware of her thundering pulse and the glare directed her way. There's got to be at least one other student in this class this term. There's got to be!

The girl began to drum her nails on the table. Plink-plink-plink-tick. Plink-plink-plink-tick.

I won’t let her get to me …

Annalysse reached back into her bag and fitted the right earbud into her ear. Rochelle threw down her pen, infuriated. “Stop it! You know that school rules say no headphones in class! If you want to listen to them, go outside the building!”

“Class hasn’t started,” Annalysse snapped.

Rochelle folded her arms and glared back. “This is class. And I’m about to write you up. Again.”

“Why you always pickin’ on me, huh? I don’t even wanna be in your stupid class! This ain’t nothing but crap. This ain’t gonna help nobody who ain’t living off mommy and daddy like you—”

“Excuse me?!”

“Yeah, I said it! You ain’t nothing but three years older than me anyway, actin’ like you’re some big shot because you married that old lady’s goofy son! Hell, you’re already worth more than most of us in this class, and you come up in here with all that stupid jewelry that can’t none of us even afford and get all mad with us ‘cause we don’t wanna sit around talkin’ about how great you are!”

Rochelle opened her mouth to speak, but nothing would come out. She felt as though she had been slapped. Was this really how her students felt about her? But the words only had one ugly voice behind them—Annalysse’s—and quite suddenly she cut her off. “I think I’ve heard just about enough from you, for today and for the rest of the year. You’re out of this class, and I’m failing you for this term.”

“You can’t fail me just because I—”

“You’re failing. Period. Go to the dean’s office unless you want me to call the security officer.”

She turned away as Annalysse stomped back down the hallway screaming obscenities, and tried to go back to grading, but her hands were shaking so much that her handwriting was nearly illegible.

She tried to forget about it through the remainder of the day. The students who attended this term were actually working hard for a change, and she managed to get through her lecture on marble a little early. As the kids worked on their homework, she wrote up the dismissal paperwork. Her hands were still trembling.



Rochelle finally got around to asking some of the other teachers how they handled their “problem children” later on that week. This led to stories, laughter, and more stories before the assistant vice principal entered the employee’s lounge. “Mrs. Mercer, we received your paperwork, but it’s not necessary. You wouldn’t be seeing Annalysse again, I don’t believe.”

“Who’d the guidance counselor shove that girl onto now?” the geometry teacher asked humorously to a chorus of laughter. The assistant vice principal frowned and adjusted his glasses.

“No one, actually. Her mother just came in and formally withdrew her from school completely. Apparently she ran away from home earlier this week.”

The grins froze; the looming chuckles fell silent. Rochelle quietly said, “Thank you. Excuse me, please,” before leaving the room.






Author's notes: So in case you couldn't tell ... I lost my game. AGAIN. I'll just take it as a sign that Rochelle is meant to live happily ever after in Thompson's River and not be disturbed with my foolishness. Annalysse Sanderson is a whole different story though, so we'll have to pick up with her!

And fear not, I'm saving a backup daily at this point so that a system corruption doesn't blow me out of the water again. ;)

[Coo]

Oh no, not again! Poor Rochelle. Sometimes I think our simmies really do have minds of their own, and they exert their will on us in very indirect ways ...

And geeze, Annalysse is quite the pill, isn't she? I'm excited to learn more about her, though. I'm sure there's a story behind her rough demeanor!

[darlingviola]

I was wondering why we were getting to hear Annalyse's thoughts! Well I guess the game gods have spoken.

[spladoum]

“… Aunt Gracie, it’s me. Hey, I know it’s like the ninth time I’ve called today, but I just wanted to let you know that I’m still on my way to your place. So if mom calls you flippin’ out, I’ll explain everything when I get there. I miss you a lot, aunty. See you soon.” Annalysse flipped her phone shut and shuffled her small bag between her feet. The Greyhound bus continued on down the highway. Nothing to see but trees, trees, trees.

This summer was probably the worst semester of school yet. She found out belatedly that she failed her chemistry final by three points and would have to sit through the entire course all over again just to retake that test. The class was on the summer schedule, but by the time she was able to register, it had been cancelled due to low interest. That meant messing up her schedule in the fall to fit in one class … and goodbye to any hope of walking with the rest of the graduating class.

“Well, you’re not sitting around the house for the entire summer,” her mother’s boyfriend said over lunch. Fredrico was awfully good at giving orders. “You’d best get back up there and pick something out.” She said something sarcastic back to him, a screaming match ensued and her mother had grounded her and taken away her guitar for a week. Not that Annalysse really cared—the punishment was more out of habit than actual malice. As soon as she re-registered, she was coming home, getting her guitar and going over to the boardwalk to strum. (58) But as soon as she got her schedule from the guidance department and saw geology club, she knew she was in trouble. She absolutely hated that new sub teacher the school had hired. That chick was so obnoxious and phony. No real teacher smiled that much! And that whole ‘trying to make everyone participate and contribute to class’ thing! As if showing off rings and necklaces around her neighborhood was going to do anything for anyone besides get them beaten up and mugged!

The bus hit a bump, jostling her meager belongings. Two or three changes of clothing and enough money to get her a bus ride from Thompson’s River to Ila de Cochina. She didn’t know why she was doing this. As bad as life at home had become, she had never envisioned leaving. But Tuesday had just been too much. All she had wanted to do was listen to that Beatles song one more time. She almost had the chord structure figured out. She just needed to hear the chorus once or twice more to nail it. And she didn’t feel like going back outside in 90 degrees to do it! What was so hard to understand about that?

The dean glowered at her, incensed. “Are you joking? You practically threatened Mrs. Mercer—don’t you realize you’re a lot bigger than she is? If you plan to graduate and not get yourself arrested, you’d better have an apology ready once you come back from suspension. And we’re going to have a meeting with your folks—we’ve already called them and they’re on the way. Go outside and have a seat until I call you back in.”

It occurred to her while she waited that she might have tried to explain herself to the teacher instead of letting her temper blaze out of control. But that was Annalysse—explode first, regret later.

The meeting with the dean was predictably ugly. Her mother was wooden the whole way home, but Fredrico did what he did best, yelled. She was a disrespectful punk brat who continually embarrassed them with her bad attitude and her poor choices, and he had had just about enough. She was out of the house the day she turned eighteen. Was that clear?

“… as a goddamn bell,” she muttered. He glared at her in the rearview mirror and she quirked her eyebrows at him, sneering. As the car slowed to a halt at the upcoming light, she calmly opened the door and got out, ignoring the stares from the other drivers, very deliberately walking in the opposite direction. Fredrico screamed after her that she was out, out, out. “Don’t you bother coming back either! You don’t belong to this family!”

“Like you do?” she shouted back. Horns began to blare as the light turned green, and the car pulled away with a wretched squeal of tires.

She called her aunt again, still getting no answer. That wasn’t exactly unusual. Graciella Castillo, her birth father’s older sister, was exceptionally old-fashioned and could easily ignore a ringing phone for hours. But she delighted in unexpected visits from her niece, and Annalysse desperately needed to talk to someone who would actually listen to her and hear her out without judging her immediately

The bus smelled of old sweat and hot vinyl. The windows barely cracked open. She rubbed a clean spot in the grime just in time to see a road sign flash past. Ila de Cochina—80 miles. More than enough time to memorize that chord.




“Aunt Gracie? Hey. Sorry to keep calling you so much. I’m at the bus station. Please call me back, okay?” Somehow the depot managed to hoard an even worse stench than the bus itself. Annalysse rubbed her forearms uncomfortably. This was the fifteenth call. Either aunty was out of town or sleeping very hard. She rested her head on the back of the molded plastic seating and crossed her legs.

Two hours later she woke up. The depot was deserted, the lights watery in the afternoon sun. No missed calls. Where is she? She walked out towards the taxi stands.

“How quickly can you get me to The Pond?” she asked a driver, who looked at her oddly.

“Which pond, miss?”

“No, no,” another driver, an old man, quickly interrupted. “The Pond is what folks ‘round here call the neighborhood on the west side of the bay. Come with me, darling, I know where you’re trying to go. Who you looking for?”

“Mrs. Castillo’s place.”

“Old Mrs. Castillo? Now that I see you better, you look about like her. You must be family … coming for the services?”

“What services?”

The man looked at her for a few moments in silence. Finally Annalysse’s temper got the better of her. “What services?”

“… oh man, they must not had told you. Mrs. Castillo died two days back. Real sudden, they say she just fell over in her garden.” Too shocked to speak, she stared at him at mute disbelief, barely able to respond when he ventured to touch her arm. “Do you still want me to take you there?”

By the time the cab arrived at her aunt’s home, there was little left. A repossessions worker was taking away boxes. Annalysse stumbled out of the car, screaming “Wait!”

The woman turned around with a wary look.

“I’m Mrs. Castillo’s niece. I just came in town, but they told me she died …” The words were tumbling over each other. There was nothing left of her aunt’s home. So many happy memories reduced to nothing but cardboard boxes labeled with masking tape and black marker. She tried to swallow her tears, but they rose to the surface again and again.

The repo woman’s face softened. “Look, I’m really sorry. I just got a call to clean this place out … I mean, you see they’ve already removed the house from the lot. Hey, do you want any of this stuff?” She gestured to the boxes already on the truck.

Annalysse squinted. She wanted all of it. Aunty’s life shouldn’t be thrown into the dump like this! But there was no time to sort through all of the memories, go over the cherished items. She saw an old steel guitar that had been carelessly thrown against the tailboard. Ever since she could remember, it had graced the mantle above her aunt’s fireplace. Now it was destined for the trash.

“C-could I have that?”

The woman nodded and shoved it in her hands roughly. Annalysse gently strummed the instrument, quickly discovering that two of the strings were broken and that the guitar itself was badly out of tune. Still, it was all she had left. Holding it gingerly by the neck, she carried it into the middle of the wide field that had once been aunty’s home and set it down before lying down next to it.

To the west, the sun had just begun to set, turning the ocean into fire.

“You’ll have a home again soon,” she promised, both to the guitar and to herself.

[hlvargas]

I'm really enjoying 'all three' of your stories. :) So sorry to hear you keep losing them. But I am definitely interested to hear what happens to Annalysse. :)

[spladoum]

Buying new strings for the guitar was a matter of visiting a pawn shop. Pressing a claim on Aunt Graciella's land was more complicated. Annalysse furnished as much information as she could and filled out paperwork until her hand cramped. The clerk accepted the documents before adding them to a stack that was already several inches high. "As you can see, it's not going to get done anytime soon. We have a few hotels in town if you need a place to stay."

"Forget that," Annalysse said under her breath and left quickly, her heels clicking loudly on the marble floor. True to his word of cutting her off completely, Fredrico had closed her bank account that same day. A thousand simeoleans only seemed like a lot of money until it was all you had left to live on. And there was absolutely no way she was going to waste one dime of it on a hotel.

Still, though, she needed somewhere to stay. She had attracted hard stares several times already, and it wasn't an enjoyable experience. (59) Her visits with aunty were ususally restricted to The Pond and the tiny homes and businesses of that side of town. But that area had been completely changed--the little shanties and corner stores had been mowed down to make room for McMansions. The people who lived here now were tourists who owned second homes in the area, and everywhere she went the powers that be had anglicized Ila de Cochina into "Sow's lsland." The local flavor that she was used to was completely gone, replaced by something tasteless and suburban.

The park lay before her. She tiredly walked over to a bench and sat down, noting with bitterness that the only book she still had with her was Introduction to Geology. She even still had the course syllabus and the first homework assignment. Might as well read it.

"Hey lady," a small voice called. The swingset creaked as a little girl flew in the air abover her head. (60) "Hey lady. Whatcha doin' there? Whatcha readin' that for, huh?"

"I just want to," Annalysse answered back.

"Why dontcha come swing?" The girl dragged her feet and slowly came to a stop. "Let's have a contest! Let's see who can go all the way around!"

A woman swept in and snatched the child up. "Betty! Young lady, how many times do I have to tell you not to talk to strangers in this park! Now come with me right now!"

"But Mommy," the girl protested, struggling to keep pace. "Mommy, she was nice ..."

"I don't care how nice she was! I told you never to speak to strange people around here! Downtown is full of homeless people!"

Annalysse kept her head bowed and her eyes on the pages. Homeless. Funny how it was true, but it had never bothered her before just now. She thought of the situation as 'waiting to get the land issue straightened out.' Other people looked at her and thought that she was a bum, someone dangerous.

She snapped the book shut abruptly and looked around. The sun had set, and that sea wind was tangible even this far inland. For the first time today, she felt her stomach growling sharply, but there wasn't much she could do about it. The restaurants wouldn't even hire her to wash dishes, let alone having her for a dinner guest. She popped a piece of gum in her mouth and chewed, feeling her mouth water hopelessly. This could prove to be a difficult evening.

"Young lady," a voice called behind her.

She turned. An older man was sitting on one of the checkered picnic blankets by himself. He gestured to his food basket. "I've been wondering for a while whose tummy was grumbling like that. Sounds like you could use a bit to eat, eh?"

"Thank you," she said cautiously and had a seat. (61) The man offered her a sandwich piled with roast beef, lettuce, and tomatoes--at least, that was as much as she could recognize. The bread looked weird. "What's this stuff?"

"That's foccacia bread with sun-dried tomatoes."

She took a large bite, immediately cringed at the unfamiliar, pungent flavors, and set the sandwich down. The man chuckled. "Oops, forgot to warn you about the wasabi mayo and English mustard. Adds a little kick, it does. Well, enjoy." He stood and walked away. Annalysse made sure that he was out of sight before spitting the mouthful of food out. "What the hell! *****'s tryin' to kill me!"

She had to settle for raiding the forgotten leftovers from a barbeque. Six chunks of watermelon in a buffet tray, a sealed water bottle in the grass, and a small burger made up her dinner, and the food burned all the way down. Fighting a horrible sense of shame, she looked around for an open business. She couldn't return to the plot of land as it was still technically city property, but there was no way she was sleeping on a bench in this park.

In the end, she ended up slipping inside the gymnasium and dozing off in a lounger near the pool. The smell of the chlorine gave her a bad headache and a queasy stomach, but it couldn't be helped. It didn't matter if she was homeless. She wasn't sleeping on a public bench, and that was that.

[spladoum]

Annalysse woke after just a few hours and wandered out, following the main road for nearly two miles before she reached the beach. She sat next to the crumbling piers and watched the sun rise before fingering the strings on the guitar. She had nearly put it back in tune when her phone rang. The caller ID displayed Mama.

"Morning. How are you? ... well, I'm sorry to hear that. Maybe you should have spoken up when Rico was practically throwing me out of the house in public." She listened as her mother protested, insisting that Fredrico was only trying to provide some structure for her life and give her the discipline that she needed to grow up well, and rolled her eyes. (62) He was a complete bully, a carbon copy of her grandfather. No wonder Mama was so enchanted with him! "He closed my bank account and stole my money, and you're defending him by saying he's disciplining me? It's a good thing you're too old to have babies with him. I'd hate to think of some poor kid being raised by that guy. ... you know what, Mama, I don't even care what he does with any of my stuff. Hell, you've pretty much let him just take over the whole house anyway. If he wants to throw it away, let him. I'm not coming back. I'm going to work out the situation with Aunty's land and I'm going to stay right here."

She hung up and shoved the phone in her bag. At least the guitar was back in servicable shape. No matter what was happening during the day, as long as she could still play tunes, all was well. She returned to the park and found a quiet spot near the entrance where she could play.

the long and winding road that leads to your door
will never disappear, i've seen that road before
it always leads me here, lead me to your door

A small crowd had gathered. (63) She recognized several faces that had looked at her with disgust barely twenty-hours prior. Now they were smiling, entertained by the music. She could hardly keep from grimacing. Phonies.

the wild and windy night that the rain washed away
has left a pool of tears crying for the day
why leave me standing here, let me know the way

Usually she couldn't hear a thing when she played except the song in her head. Then again, she didn't usually play in public places for an audience of strangers. Maybe it was her unfamiliarity with the instrument, or her high-strung nerves. Maybe it was just fate. Just as she reached the crescendo, a passerby said into his phone, "Sorry, I can barely hear you. Let me get away from this chick, she's murdering the song. Man, I hate coming downtown nowadays."

Maybe it was just fate, or that she had just learned the song two days ago. In any case, she flubbed the last few notes and blushed fiercely as the bystanders clapped politely and scattered. The man was still nearby, talking. As soon as he hung up, she was in his face.

"So you don't like my singin', huh?"

"I'm sorry, but who are you?"

"I'm 'that chick murderin' the song!' Not that I'd expect you to notice since you were too busy yappin' 'bout somethin' that wasn't ya business." He bristled; she glared right back. (64) "And who the hell are you to be talkin' about anyone, looking like you stepped right out of the 1980s? I ain't seen pants that high on anyone since kindergarten."

"Wait a minute," he interrupted. "First off, who are you? I was having a private conversation and you've come over here to pick a fight with me? Over what?" He turned to walk away. "Geez, you--"

Don't you say it! Don't you dare call me a--

"--crazy bum."

She caught his shoulder and spun him around so violently that he nearly fell over. (65) "How dare you! I'm not crazy and I'm not a bum! And if even I was, I would still be a human being! You goddamn yuppies ... you're all alike!"

She was so angry that the shocked expression on his face didn't even register. Nor did she realize until much later that she had dropped her wallet.

[spladoum]

"Identification?" the clerk asked for the second time. Annalysse frantically patted down her pockets and fumbled through the pockets on the guitar case. "I've got it. I know I do."

The clerk watched her with something like sympathy on his face. Finally he asked, "What's the name on the account?"

"Graciella Castillo." She continued to look, but the truth was dawning. Her wallet was gone. That meant no money at all. She wouldn't be able to redeem the land. She really would be homeless. The clerk was typing, keys clicking indifferently.

"... ooookay. Looks like they granted your petition, so all you need to do is fill out this paperwork and you'll be all set. You'll need to pay the back taxes on the property with a check payable to the clerk of courts. And find your picture ID, of course."

"Do I have to do it before I can take possession?"

"I'm afraid so. And they're closing in fifteen minutes, so you'd better hustle."

"Thanks," she said listlessly. What an awful day it'd been. She picked up the guitar case and left, passing by the park and all of its terrible memories, and headed straight for the beach. A lone fisherman stood by the rocks, casting into the surf (66), but the boardwalk was deserted. She headed there and opened up the case. The metal detailing glowed red in the setting sun's light.

She picked it up and began to strum. Sweet, lonely notes poured out, mingling with the sound of the surf. The sun dipped into the ocean and the stars slowly emerged, followed by the moon. Her fingers grew cold and numb. But still, the music continued.

"I thought that was you." (67)

Twang! She popped her index finger into her mouth. The nail was broken, deep into the nail bed--she could taste blood. She winced.

"Did you hurt yourself?" He came a little closer. Annalysse snatched the finger out long enough to snap, "Back up, mister."

"Hey, easy now. You're not giving me much credit for being a human being, are you? Do you need a band-aid? I have some in my case."

She stood in stiff silence as he wrapped the finger. "Here's some more in case you need them before tomorrow. And ... oh! Almost forgot why I came over." He reached into another compartment and pulled out a small vinyl wallet. "I found this on the ground in the park after we, err, met. And yes, I looked inside, that's how I knew it was yours."

She gave him a bit of a dark stare, but finally relented and mumbled. "... Annalysse."

"Oh, that's how you pronounce it. I'm Christopher. And just so you know, I'm hardly a yuppie. Just a guy who does a lot of hiking and fishing and needs to wear outdoor-type clothes. Well, good night." He took a few steps away before turning back around. "... are my clothes really that bad?"

Despite everything, she half-smiled.

[Coo]

Hahahaha, nothing says "Be mine" like a nice, quiet, confrontational first impression. Christopher seems very patient. And yes, his clothes really are that bad! Those shorts are terrible.