#ch: sam doyle

[motownfiction]

ongoing drama

This ongoing drama inside himself is driving Sam insane.

He knows this is not how he should feel. It’s not how he should feel about anyone, much less his own best friend. It was easier when he just looked at pictures in magazines and television screens … could pretend it was just about admiration, about aspiration. But when he’s around Will … there are times where they are not just friends. At least, not in Sam’s imagination.

Will loves Lucy. They may only be thirteen, but he knows it’s love. There’s no getting in between that, and Sam wouldn’t even want to. Except for the moments when he does. Sure, he spends more time thinking about Steph Armstrong and his old babysitter and Princess Leia. There are still times where his mind jumps to Will, and it’s almost better than when he thinks about Steph or some other girl. Not better. Maybe that’s not it. But there’s something exciting about it, something fresh, something terrifying and comforting all at once. He wants to scream, but if there’s anything Sam has ever needed to keep a secret, it’s the way he can sometimes – sometimes, really, he said sometimes – feel about Will.

Sam’s not really sure what to call it, except for the fact that he is. It would just kill him to say it, would kill him to know he’s different after all. He thinks about that time Dad took them all to see Lawrence of Arabia on the big screen, and Lawrence said, “I’m different.” Sam’s pretty sure he’s the only one who knew what he meant. He doesn’t want to admit why.

Because then it would be real.

It’s not that it would be gross or wrong or bad.

It would be real.

And liking Steph and his old babysitter and Princess Leia … that’s all real, too. It’s the kind of mess they don’t warn you about because they must not know how. Sam hopes that if he has kids of his own one day (if, right, if), he can explain it to them. Maybe by then, there will be a word for the way he thinks and feels.

For now, it just feels like drama.

And a …

Crush.

And Sam smiles a little.

Not as scary as he thought it would be.

(part of @nosebleedclub february challenge -- day 20!)

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Thursday and Friday, February 29 - March 1

MAYOR: Ah. And you say he has the Books of Ascension, or will soon, and he was, what, willing to sell them? FAITH: That's what I said. MAYOR: Hmm. You know what I wish? I wish you'd pull your hair back. I know, I know, fashion's not exactly my thing, but, gosh darn it, you know, you've got such a nice face. I can't understand why you hide it. FAITH: Yeah, sure. Whatever. It's just a matter of time before this demon guy is gonna spill. Then Buffy and the superfriends are gonna... MAYOR: You know, you worry too much for a girl for your age. That's unnecessary stress. Luckily, I've got just the thing. (pours a glass of milk and hands it to Faith) There you go. Now, first you load up on calcium. Then find this demon, kill the heck out of him, and bring the books to me. (Faith looks at the milk and sets the glass down, untouched.)

~~Enemies ~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Blood, Salt, and Heartflesh by CoffeeHunt (Angel/Darla/Drusilla/Spike, other pairings within group, E)

Hunter x Slayer by FairlandFae (Buffy, Dean and Sam Winchester, Supernatural xover, G)

Deadline Misses and Vampire Kisses by Greensword101 (Angel/Wesley, T)

I'd give you the world if you wanted to by punch_kicker15 (Willow/Giles, T)

Nothing Not Romantic by nursinggeek (Willow/Kennedy, G)

Musings from the Bronze by Lori2279 (Willow/Oz, G)

Go To Page... by cmk418 (Willow, G)

there's a reflection (mine or yours) by ripslayer (Buffy/Faith, G)

indulgences by CindFourth (Buffy/Faith, T)

You are the bad girl I always dreamed of by doumekiss (odd__girl) (Buffy/Faith, G)

Tangled in HelLA by all_choseny (Buffy/Spike, M)

Bite Mark by Maxine Eden (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Warlock by ClowniestLivEver (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

[Chaptered Fiction]

Ever After After The Fall - Ch. 1-2/30 by aboutafox (Buffy/Angel, M)

WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN SUNNYDALE??? - Ch. 1-2 by Humanzoul (Willow/Tara, Angel/Spike, Cordelia/Doyle, others, M)

Lie to Me - Ch. 14 by In Mortal (Buffy/Spike, Adult Only)

A Little Poet in Her Monster - Ch. 6 by Desicat (Buffy/Spike, R)

To All We Guard - Ch. 17 by simmony (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Dusk Rising - Ch. 29 by HappyWhenItRains (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Rise - Ch. 27 by CheekyKitten (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Burn - Ch. 3 by violettathepiratequeen (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Seeing Clearly - Ch. 1 by JoeB (Buffy, Willow, Dawn, Anime xover, FR13)

Burn - Ch. 3 by violettathepiratequeen (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Service Unit - Ch. 1 by hulettwyo (Buffy/Spike, Adult Only)

Oblivious - Ch. 8 by hulettwyo (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Lie to Me - Ch. 14 by In Mortal (Buffy/Spike, Adult Only)

Coming Through - Ch. 45-46 by hulettwyo (Buffy/Spike, Adult Only)

Love Lives Here - Ch. 29 by Passion4Spike (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Cherry On Top - Ch. 28-31 by Maxine Eden (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Massacre at Carabon Hill - Ch. 4 by myrabeth (Buffy/Spike, M)

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork: so i've got a very specific pitch for you by genericaces (Fred, Illyria, Wesley, worksafe)

Artwork: no thoughts are happening behind either of their eyes. by yarboyandy (Spike, Angel, worksafe)

Artwork: You Shouldn't be anything like me, You'll never be anything like me by yarboyandy (Faith/Xander, cartoon violence)

Fanvid: If That Worth Dying For | Buffyverse by Taco_ld

Gifset: darla/drusilla + pink&blue, for a dreamwidth event by sunbelieved (Darla/Drusilla, Angel, worksafe)

Gifset: Things change. Yeah, they do. If you make them. Buffy the Vampire Slayer | 1997 - 2003 by spikedaily (Buffy/Spike, worksafe)

Gifset: Buffy the Vampire Slayer Alphabet ↳ Z ✫ The Zeppo by buffysummers (Xander, worksafe) Series Complete!

Manip: It's A Rom-Com! by all choseny (Spuffy, worksafe)

Artwork: Stab in the back - Ch. 19 by MelG_2005 (Spuffy, NSFW per Adult Only rating)

Manip: It's A Rom-Com! by all choseny (Spuffy, worksafe)

[Reviews & Recaps]

random 'Inca Mummy Girl' thoughts by inconsistentlywritten

I think Buffy and Angel as shows ultimately reject the concept of the "redemption arc" as a journey from point A to point B... by justafriendofxanders

[worldbuilding and character consistency from S1 to S7 in BTVS] by coraniaid

What is everyone’s opinion on season 4? [BTVS] by ukcountrylover

S4. So upset. [ATS] by Maybe_Warm

[Community Announcements]

Discord Server [link and instructions] by Buffy-Boards

[Fandom Discussions]

[Buffy movie] Whedon's Version Part 1/3: Changes to the Script and Story by shortlyafterthat

POLL: Vampire Media Guys Round: Spike or Severen? by vampirewrestlinglover

[Buffy and Xander end S7 as best friends but they would be so good together romantically] by suncaptor

I feel like Buffy ignored a lucrative career option in season 6 [spuffy] by aphony-cree

[parallels between Jack and Xander in The Zeppo and Faith and Buffy in Enemies] by shewhosleepalotincemeteries

the thing is that while gunn staking [his sister] alonna is a great character beat for him... by moistvonlipwig

the buffyverse... largely manages to avoid moral reductionism... by justafriendofxanders

theory - dawn haters are more likely to be younger siblings who hate the reflection of themselves... by justafriendofxanders

the tragedy of dawn btvs and connor ats is that their lives are both "lies"... by justafriendofxanders

Ive been thinking about the parallels between buffy and the potentials. by finalgirl1984

Don't worry, Amy Madison, one day I will retroactively give you something resembling a consistent characterisation... by coraniaid

[Amy Madison: did she only become a witch to survive her mother?] by coraniaid

[if there was a reboot here's how to improve several minor characters: Jesse, Amy, Owen, etc] by coraniaid

Make the comments look like Cordelia Chase's search history by jdpm1991

It’s movie night, what movie do you think everyone would pick? by Heart_Throb_

How long would Buffy and thee Scoobies survive on Angel without main character plot armor? by sadhungryandvirgin

Buffy and the Scooby Gang... decides to explore Smith's Grove Sanitarium and run into CoT Michael Myers. Who’s winning? by Walter_Stennes_15

Slaypires by Ghostsintheafternoon

Spike love by Slayer_fit

Enemy to lover doesn't work for me [Spike focused] by M2yvesthegamer

I think what makes Buffy so amazing is also how beautiful each of the “first” romances were. by redditwatcher11

Who would be more interesting for Toth to split? by DifficultRice7075

Magic in the Buffyverse by Eldon42

A New Man - S4E12 - Treacle and a Headmaster meaning by Nearby_Competition49

Lyric to Xander/Anya duet... by _Skayda_

What piece of advice would you offer to your favorite character? by jonaskoelker

[Articles, Interviews, and Other News]

If you haven't seen James' [Marsters] 2007 horror movie SHADOW PUPPETS, it will be available to stream for free on @Crackle_TV from March 1! via dontkillspike

Submit a link to be included in the newsletter!

Join the editor team :)

[sunnydale-digest]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Monday-Tuesday, May 29-30 Part I

Angel: I know you've been researching the Master. Giles: Yes, the vampire king. I've tried to learn as much as I can about him for the day that Buffy must face him. Angel: Something's already in motion, something big, but I don't know what. You've read all the Slayer lore there is, right? Giles: I-I've studied all the extant volumes, of course. But the, uh, most salient books of Slayer prophecy have been lost. The Tiberius Manifesto, the Pergamum Codex... Angel: The Codex? Giles: It's reputed to have contained the most complete prophecies about the Slayer's role in the end years. Unfortunately, the book was lost in the 15th century. Angel: Not lost. Misplaced. I can get it.

~~Buffy Episode #11: "Out of Mind, Out of Sight"~~

The Sunnydale Herald is looking for at least one new editor! Contributing to the Herald is a great way to get your Buffy on! Find out more here. If you saw the phrase "HTML template" in our previous calls for editors and that was what made you decide that Herald duties aren't for you, you may be glad to hear that we've set up an alternative posting process!

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Not a Joke (Xander, T) by madimpossibledreamer

What We’re Fighting For (Xander, T, multiple xovers) by [personal profile] madimpossibledreamer

the cuts that runs deep (Buffy/Spike, unrated) by thatsadunstablegay

Threads of Redemption (Giles/Reader, unrated) by lokidokieokie

The Dance of the Shadows (Spike/Reader, T) by lokidokieokie

You're a Poem (Spike/Reader, unraated) by way2geeky

Glamorous Assistant (Angel/Reader, unrated) by prose-for-hire

[Chaptered Fiction]

Fuel’s Aflame Ch. 1 (Buffy/Spike, unrated) by wickedrum

Moments that Make You: The Hero and The Princess Ch. 1-2/101 (Cordelia/Doyle, T) by myheadsgonenumb

kinda Ch. 1 (Faith/Willow, M) by romanticinpanic

Ninety-Nine Days Until Ascension On the Wall Ch. 20/? (Ensemble, M) by FlightlessMan

Cause I'm Beggin' Ch. 2 (Buffy/Spike, E) by Ifeelittoo21

Divide & Conquer Ch. 35 (Buffy/Giles, E) by Removes_and_Cleans_Glasses_00

The First Apocalypse (Book Three of the Reunion Trilogy) h. 12/25 (Buffy/Faith, E) by Alwaysandforevermylove

The Wedding Ch, 5 (Buffy/Faith, E) by

The Suite Ch. 8 (Buffy/Spike, E) by hulettwyo

The Scoobies Ch. 4 (Buffy/Spike, T) by heckate

A Reincarnation in Sunnydale Ch. 8 (Buffy/Angel, M) by DracoRim98

One Girl in All the World Ch. 35 (Ensemble, T) by BrennaLynn

Encased by Sunshine Ch. 12 (Buffy/Spike, unrated) by Acb6293

The Coven Ch. 6 (Willow, Giles, T) by heckate

it's the principle of the thing Ch. 10 (Giles/Jenny, M) by The_Eclectic_Bookworm

Orvieto Ch, 10/15 (Buffy/SPike, M) by TuesdayGirl

Bound Chapter 42 Cabin Fever (Buffy/Spike, M) by spnae

Fathers Ch. 18 (Buffy/Faith, M) by Forgotten Conscience

One night together Ch 4 (Spike/Xander, M) by Dean-and-Sam's-Dreamgirl

Encased by Sunshine, Chapter 12 (Buffy/Spike, E) by acb6293

Hold My Hand Even Though I‛m a Sinner!, Chapter 32 (Buffy/Spike, E) by CheekyKitten

Across Ages, Chapter 24 (Buffy/Spike, M) by Isabeau

The Time We Had, Chapter 39 (Buffy/Spike, E) by Dusty

Those 2 again, Chapter 24-25 (Buffy/Spike, G) by Julikobold

Frosty, Chapter 26-30 (Buffy/Spike, E) by ClowniestLivEver

The DeSoto, Chapter 26-30 (Buffy/Spike, M) by ClowniestLivEver

A Place in the Sun, Chapter 10 (Buffy/Spike, E) by honeygirl51885

Stab in the back, Chapter 3 (Buffy/Spike, E) by MelG_2005

105: Intro To Vampyre, Chapter 9-10 (Buffy/Spike, E) by Desicat

The Suite, Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, E) by hulettwyo

something wretched, something precious, Chapter 16 (Buffy/Spike, M) by LittleTayy

Bring Him Home, Chapter 22 (Buffy/Spike, M) by acb6293

Rising Dawn, Chapter 1 (Buffy/Spike, E) by Jws1993

The Time We Had, Chapter 40 (Buffy/Spike, E) by Dusty

Float, Chapter 4-5 (Buffy/Spike, E) by Grief Counseling

The Mystery Of..., Chapter 3 (Buffy/Spike, M) by LittleTayy

Dust, Chapter 3 (Buffy/Spike, T) by flootzavut

Welding a Family Ch. 28 (Willow, T, MCU xover) by Buffyworldbuilder

The Key To Being Buffy Ch. 6 (Buffy, Dawn, M, SG1 xover) by BlueZeroZeroOne

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork:My newest Lego Buffy animation! by tmcarlee

Artwork:BTVS Phone Wallpapers by Forkboy_Ink

Artwork:Buffy & Spike by pinrut

Artwork:Buffy & Spike by isevery0nehereverystoned

Artwork:Buffy & Faith by lehaneisms

[Reviews & Recaps]

Rewatch: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, "The Puppet Show" (S1Ep9) by mothman-rewatches

Video: Buffy Season 5 Deepdive/review by Bored Now

Video: Buffy Season 5 Deepdive/revieww by Bored Now

Video: Buffy The Vampire Slayer 7x19 "Empty Places" Reaction by naj

[vmheadquarters]

Welcome to… 

We're going to play a game of written hot potato! Dozens of your favorite authors will take turns telling this story. Each writer will craft a chapter (with no prior planning) and then "toss" the story to the next person to continue the tale. No one knows what will happen, so expect the unexpected! Follow the “vmhq presents” and “murder we wrote” tags for all the installments, or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Chapter One of MURDER, WE WROTE is written by @susanmichelin​ (a/k/a CMackenzie). 

And stay tuned next week for Ch.2 from @nearfantastica​ - tag, you’re it! -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER ONE by CMackenzie

“Welcome aboard!” The captain of the luxury trawler, ominously named Irish Wake, greeted them on the dock with individual thermoses of hot cocoa, and dire predictions about the weather. “There’s a snow squall coming so we best be on our way– you’re my last two passengers for the night.”

Veronica managed to contain her eye roll- barely. This was going to be a very long weekend if all she had to look forward to were predictable ‘it was a dark and stormy night’ cliches. How Wallace had convinced her to make this trip North was still unclear. “Why are we doing this again?”

“Because I’m tired of watching you mope.” Wallace, following the captain’s orders, headed below deck to the saloon. It was paneled in teak and outfitted with leather banquettes and an actual, working fireplace. Wallace dropped onto the bench, leaving the seat closest to the fire for Veronica, and tugged off his gloves.

“I’ve only been home for THREE days,” Veronica said, reluctantly joining him on the sofa. She loosened her jacket and stared morosely through the windows at the gray water.

“Exactly. Three days of unwashed you walking around in a robe, wearing a sad face, and acting more pathetic than Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree. I will not spend the rest of winter break listening to you sing Unbreak My Heart.”

“As if.” She leveled Wallace with a hard look. “And for the record, my heart’s NOT broken.”

“Sure, V.” Unfazed, he pulled out the multi-page invitation for this party and started reading. “The island has its own pond for ice skating, and there are--”

“Hello? Grew up in Southern California, I don’t skate.”

“You don’t surf either, so what’s your point?” He waved the expensive vellum invite at her. “They have snowmobiles, a heated pool, an extensive library, a wine cellar--”

“What no conservatory and billiard room?”

“Plus,” he continued, undeterred. “There’s a murder mystery for you to solve. You can show off your detective prowess, while I play your devastatingly handsome side--”

“Devastatingly handsome?”

“The Watson to your Holmes.”

“This is more Christie than Doyle-- And Then There Were None ring any bells? Do you even know who owns this mansion?” Her best friend was being VERY cagey about this entire weekend. “And why were we invited?”

“WE weren’t invited, I was, and you’re my plus-one.”

“So why were YOU invited? Since when do you have rich friends who can throw Gatsby-like part—” Veronica’s eyes widened as realization dawned. “NO, absolutely not, I’m not going to be trapped on an island with HIM.”

“Totally over him, my ass,” Wallace muttered, shaking his head. “You know Logan Echolls isn’t the only rich guy in the world, right?”

Veronica humphed. She could count on one hand—on one FINGER—the amount of wealthy people Wallace knew well enough he’d consider traveling to this desolate place, and risk incurring Veronica’s wrath. 

There was NO WAY she was staying. She rebuttoned her jacket, and folded her arms across her chest. As soon as they docked, she’d make the captain return her to the mainland. If Logan…  Veronica frowned. “Let me see that invitation.”

“I thought you weren’t interested?”

“I’m not.” But her curiosity was getting the better of her. There was just no way Logan Echolls would throw a lame THEME party. 

She held out her hand, and Wallace hesitated, staring at the card like he was trying to come up with a good reason to say no; but when none materialized, he relented, and passed it to her. 

This time Veronica didn’t hold back the eye roll. The first line read: ‘Mistress X’ (Seriously? What is she, a porn star?) ‘cordially invites you to a mysterious good time.’ As far as Veronica could tell, the only ‘mystery’ was the identity of their hostess (and why she loved stale cliches). And maybe-- “Who else will be there?”

Wallace shrugged. “It’s a party, Veronica. Did you forget how those work? We eat, drink, and have fun- the only mystery for you to solve is a fake one.”

Sorry, BFF, but you’re wrong-- there was NO mystery solving in her future, fake or otherwise. Even if her curiosity was demanding to be satisfied, she would NOT be staying on this island, which is exactly what she told the captain after he docked the boat, and she scrambled topside.

“We need to go back to the mainland.”

The man continued to wind the dock line around a cleat in a tight, figure-eight pattern, ignoring her demand. Or maybe he just didn’t hear it? Frigid January air howled around them and buffeted the sides of the boat, making it thump against the wood pilings. Veronica tried again, a little louder. “You have to take me back to shore.”

“Sorry miss, no can do,” he said, shaking his head. “They’ve upgraded the storm to include white-out conditions and at least a foot of heavy snow.” He stopped adjusting the boat fenders long enough to squint uphill at the imposing limestone mansion. “I just hope you kids will be safe up there all alone.”

Veronica followed his gaze. Copper-trimmed windows glowed from inside, and several chimneys dotted the black slate roof, all of them puffing billows of gray smoke into the night sky. It was both inviting and foreboding. She shook off the ridiculous thought, stomping the cold from her feet and shoving gloved hands into her parka. “Aren’t you returning to Rollins?”

“‘fraid not; I’m gonna have to hunker down in the caretaker’s cottage till the storm passes. ”  The captain glanced at Wallace who was still standing on the boat, luggage at his feet. “Let me help you with those bags, son.”

“We good, V?”

“It’s not like I have a choice.” Too bad she hadn’t paid more attention to Duncan when he’d tried to teach her how to sail, then she could take the—skiff? Scow? Sloop?—berthed next to Irish Wake, and make her own way home. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Without waiting, she left him to carry both duffels, and marched toward the house. Wallace stopped her at the front door. “Uh, Veronica, before we go in, you should know there’s a story to follow.”

“Say what now? A story?”

“Yeah, for the mystery. It’s called Murder at the High School Reunion.” He dropped the bags, and withdrew a blood-red envelope from his coat pocket. “You’re supposed to be Enid Curtis,” he added, handing her the sealed letter.

Veronica groaned. As if this wasn’t bad enough, now she had to be called Enid AND attend a pretend reunion. She ripped open the character summary. 

Enid Curtis was the high school outcast. She couldn’t wait for senior year to be over so she could escape her hometown. Immediately after graduating, she fled to New York and became a successful lawyer, but she never got over her one true love, Mason. Enid is attending this weekend in the hopes of rekindling their relationship, but a dark secret—

“You are so going to owe me for doing this,” Veronica said, skimming the rest of the contents to confirm she wasn’t the killer. “I’m thinking YOU will be the one driving to Stanford every single weekend from now until the time I graduate.” 

“Haven’t I been doing that?” 

“Yes, but now you’ll do it without complaint.” She shoved the red card into her messenger bag. Depending on how many guests and bedrooms, she could have this solved in under an hour. All she needed was to search everyone’s things to read their dossiers. “So which high-school stereotype are you? Wait, let me guess-- class president? Teacher’s pet? No, no, I’ve got it, you’re the new transfer student!”

“You disappoint me,” Wallace said with a sad head shake. “Obviously, I’m the lovable jock- Brady Huddle.”

“Bad puns too? Could this weekend get any worse?” She entered the house and got her answer-- yes, it could. In fact, the party completely bypassed ‘worse’ and went straight to intolerable as she crossed the threshold into the living room. Dick Casablancas was behind the bar (natch), pouring a liberal amount of vodka in a collins glass. A probably-tipsy Gia, who was draped over Luke Haldeman, giggled at Dick, and Veronica’s eye twitched. Hell. I’m in hell.

She scanned the rest of the room, searching faces. Very familiar faces. 

Cole was lounging on a leather Chesterfield the color of old parchment, his arms spread across its back like he was trying to redeem the lost souls of Rio, and blathering on about the Ivy Club at Princeton. Listening to him with rapt attention was Kimmy, who looked eerily like a dead Meg. Obviously she was still going to Fantastic Sam’s with Meg’s picture (and maybe even a trip, or ten, to Dr. Griffith’s office).

Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the far wall and in front of them stood Carrie Bishop, sipping a white frothy confection from a punch cup.  Her bored expression was reflected in the darkened panes as she absently nodded at Susan Knight.

“Who’s the girl about to be swallowed by the fireplace?” The carved-limestone monster was massive. Its mantle towered over the unknown brunette’s head and the firebox was tall enough for a man to stand inside.  

“That’s Alexis Link,” Wallace said, wearing the same moony expression from senior year when he pined after the perky cheerleader.  His sudden interest in this party now made sense. 

“Don’t even think about leav—” The warning was too late. Wallace was already on the move. She sighed. If the weather wasn’t clear by tomorrow morning, she was going to need a new escape plan.  

Someone playfully bumped her elbow, and a frisson of excitement shot down her spine. Please let it be, Logan. Her eyes flew to the window to see the person behind her, and she had to fight to control her disappointment when she identified Casey Gant.

“Welcome to Whispering Rock, Veronica.” He jutted his chin toward the non-existent view. “It’s not much to look at right now, but during the day it’s pretty impressive-- a pond, trees, mountains.”

“Is this your house?”

“God no, it’s way too rural for my parents. I think my mother might literally die if she was this far away from civilization… and a Starbucks.” He smiled. “I got here early and went skating with Susan.”

Veronica nodded, then schooled her features into a mask of disinterest. “So is this everybody?”

“You and…”—not remembering Wallace’s name, he skipped right over it—“...were the last to arrive.”

“Oh.” Any interest she may have had completely evaporated. What was the point without Logan? Could she swim back to shore? Throw herself into the freezing water and hope for the sweet escape of death by exposure? “Guess I’ll go find my room.”

“Do you want me to get one of the maids to bring your stuff up?” Casey glanced at the lone duffel at her feet. “Or did the butler already take your bags?”

“Veronica travels light.”

Logan. She whirled around to face him. It had been over seven months since she’d seen him last (seven months, nine days, and five hours, give or take) and she deserved a little ogling time. She drank in the visual. His hair was shorter, his shoulders a little broader, and his arms… woof. 

Her head tilted. “Hey.”

His smile was slow. “Hey.”

Her fingers itched to touch him. To reassure herself he was actually here. Missing him these past months at Stanford had been a physical thing. Before she did something foolish, she tore her eyes away, and leaned down to grab her bag. Straightening, she blurted, “Are you Mason?”

“Echolls. Logan Echolls.” He pulled a mock-sad face. “Have you forgotten me already?”

As if. She was never going to forget him. Or get over him. Or move past him. She knew this. Even if she’d never tell him. “I meant your character.”

“Shouldn’t you know? I mean I am your great love.” 

“True love.” She frowned. “And Mason is Enid’s true love.”

“Tomato, to-mah-to.... But I am surprised you had to ask. Haven’t you already searched everyone’s rooms, or were you going to do that next?”

She flushed at how quickly he’d guessed her strategy. Was there such a thing as knowing someone too well? “Says the original snoop.”

“Takes one to know one.” His hand closed over hers and he took hold of her bag. “I’ll show you to your room-- it’s right next to mine-- and I can tell you about the other players.”

Logan took a step toward the stairs and the lights went out. A scream pierced the sudden silence. Veronica identified the direction of the ear-splitting sound (near the windows) and her head swiveled in that direction. It was too dark to identify the person (her guess was Susan), but the cause of her fright was plain to see. 

With the darkness inside the house equal to the night sky, the view through the windows had changed. Moonlight and a battery-powered lantern illuminated the pond. A body lay in the center of the ice, still and unmoving.  

“The game is afoot,” Logan whispered near her ear.

“Who’s the dead dude?” Dick asked, as he passed in front of the dim-glow of the dying fire to move closer to the windows. “We’re all in here.”

“Maybe it’s one of the staff?” The suggestion came from the vicinity of the bar; Veronica guessed the speaker as Gia. 

“That’s lame.”

Veronica was forced to agree with Dick. It was lame. Why bother to set up all the backstories and character histories if you weren’t going to use them for the plot? She unsnapped the front pocket of her messenger bag and withdrew two LED flashlights. After clicking on hers, she passed the other to Logan.  “Guess we’d better go take a look.”

A smile flirted across his lips as he took the Maglite and tipped his head towards the door. “Lead the way.”

Wind whipped through the entrance, tearing the knob from Veronica’s grip and pushing the door wide. Logan caught it mid-swing before it hit the wall and held it for her. Obviously the captain’s weather report wasn’t just part of the story. Heavy snow was beginning to fall and a thin shroud of white already covered the ground. 

Veronica slowed her pace, taking tiny steps across the slick flagstone to the lawn. Icy flakes pelted her face, stinging her cheeks and making her eyes tear. A wide path was cut through the center of the grass leading directly to the water’s edge. 

They trudged along. Each slippery step treacherous as the snow continued to build. Veronica kept her eyes focused ahead. The body on the pond had yet to move. Its stillness rang warning bells in her brain. It was too cold out here for a partygoer, or even an actor, to remain that motionless. 

She stopped on the berm and glanced over her shoulder. Everyone had grabbed coats to follow her and Logan outside. All of them still believed this was a game. “I think you need to stay here,” she shouted over the wind. “And I’ll go—”

“Steal all the clues?” Cole scoffed. “We should all go examine the body.” He moved around her and took a step onto the ice.

Logan angled the light to see Veronica’s face and frowned. His gaze slid toward the body. “Let me go first,” he said, brandishing the flashlight in Cole’s direction. “No sense for us to be wandering around in the dark.” He enveloped Veronica’s hand in his. “Ready?”

Together they started across the frozen pond, inching closer to the body.  It was bathed in light from a camping lantern. The green lamp was on its side in a puddle of red. 

Blood. 

Veronica tightened her grip on Logan’s fingers when she saw the face of the corpse. A bloodied ice skate was near the top of his head, and a deep gash ran across his neck.

“Nice makeup job, dude.”

“I don’t think that’s makeup, Dick.” Logan played his flashlight over the scene. There wasn’t much to see. 

“Hey, that’s my stalker from senior year- Leo somebody,” Gia gushed. “Well, he wasn’t like, you know, an actual stalker, stalker, but he followed me around, and I definitely think I was his type.”

“Young?” Carrie said, without any trace of humor. 

Veronica didn’t have any doubt, but she needed to be sure. She let go of Logan’s hand and used her teeth to pull off her glove. Gingerly, she stepped closer to the body. Careful to avoid the blood, she bent down and felt Leo’s wrist for a pulse. “He’s dead.”

[motownfiction]

vivisection

When he was little, Sam heard a lot of stories about teenagers in high school dissecting frogs in their science classes. His babysitter (the one he was in love with, or at least as much in love as a little kid can be) told him about how when she had to dissect a frog in school, she got a lady frog. Sam wasn’t sure why that mattered until she told him that she and her lab partner, a surprisingly squeamish football player, had to scrape out all the eggs by themselves. The visual never left Sam’s head. For a couple years, he was picturing scrambled eggs inside a frog. When he found out they really looked more like caviar, he almost lost his mind.

Somehow, though, no one remembered to tell him that you dissect dead frogs. Until the day he and his lab partner, a quiet girl with Coke bottle glasses, found themselves face-to-face with their frog, he was pretty sure he’d have to do a whole vivisection. For a second, he’s relieved. And then he sees the frog on the sterile plate in front of him. Cold. Lying there. Dead. All dead. No. Not even Brian May could fix this one.

Sam is pretty sure nothing should ever have to be dead. Nothing and no one. He’s not sure he sees the point. He can’t say that in a Catholic school, of course, where he’s supposed to look forward to death – so long as it’s natural, so long as you don’t steal God’s thunder (another phrase he’s probably not supposed to use – too Greek, too pagan). But what’s the point of being dead? What can you enjoy? What can enjoy you? He looks at that frog, and he knows. If that’s what life means, why would anyone give it?

He agrees to slice open the frog.

About a million eggs spill out of her guts.

(part of @nosebleedclub poetry month challenge -- day 9! i know how late that is, but please see my last text post for explanations, apologies, insecurities, etc.)

[motownfiction]

burning skin

Steph tries to make a roast chicken for Valentine’s Day. She’s trying very hard to make up for the summer (with Daniel, whom she still can’t look at, even six months later), and she decides that a roast chicken is the way. It feels romantic. Domestic. Something she’s not good at, but she should be. She should be, she should be.

Before her mother leaves the house, Steph does not ask her for help. Susie Armstrong, of the “I just swung by Kentucky Fried Chicken” dynasty, would be no assistance here. Any roast chicken she’s ever had is from Boston Market, or someone else’s kitchen. She figures she can do it herself. After all, she can read. How hard can it be?

Apparently, it can be very hard. Steph stands in the kitchen, miserable and sad, pulling at a failed chicken with burning skin. She was going for crisp, but it didn’t have to be like this.

She decides it’s karma. For the past six months, Steph has been very big on karma. Karma for cheating on Sam with Daniel, karma for not telling him, karma for not being able to fake it when she has to see Daniel at parties and dinners. She doesn’t know how Sam hasn’t noticed. He’ll be here any minute, expecting roast chicken, like Steph promised. She swears to herself she’ll never be this stupid again. You don’t tell your date what you’re doing. You tell them it’s a surprise. That way, they can’t be disappointed when you make a phone call to the Chinese restaurant one suburb over. Surely, everyone else in the world knows that.

Steph is not everyone else in the world. If she was, she wouldn’t be a cheater.

For a second, she thinks about picking up the phone and calling Daniel. Apologizing for what she put him through for not turning him down when he kissed her in the park last summer. She thinks about asking him what the hell he was thinking, making a move on his best friend’s girlfriend. She wonders what the hell is wrong with her, too, thinking about one of her boyfriend’s best friends when he’ll be here in any minute for the roast chicken that isn’t.

She knows none of them are thinking at all. That’s how Lucy Callaghan wound up pregnant at the end of the summer, and that’s how Steph ended up with a chicken with crispy burning skin. Delicious.

She sees some movement outside her window. When she pulls back the curtains, she sees Sam walking up the porch, carrying a large pizza box. It makes her giggle. And it makes her terribly sad.

That’s always how it is.

She opens the door for more of it.

(part of @nosebleedclub february challenge -- day 1!)

[motownfiction]

one year after the accident

One year after the accident, Lucy still can’t even think about Cherries Jubilee at Baskin-Robbins. It’s not that she’s ever actually eaten it. As a matter of fact, she’s not sure she’s ever known anyone who’s eaten it. It’s just that whenever she would go into the Baskin-Robbins down on the corner with Sam, they’d make jokes about “obviously getting a scoop of Cherries Jubilee.” The joke began sometime in the ninth grade, when Lucy was going through a phase, trying to find the most unique names for a baby girl in her future. How insightful of her, really. When she read Cherries Jubilee on one of the ice cream tubs, she thought one of those would make a great name. Probably Jubilee. She made the mistake of saying it loud, and Sam – never one to miss a beat – immediately said, “Why not both?” Thankfully, Lucy laughed, and it spiraled into a joke that lasted until the day he died. No one else was ever really in on it. That’s what made it special. Lucy and her friend of distinction.

One year after the accident, Lucy can’t think about “Angel Baby” without remembering that time at her parents’ Fourth of July barbecue. It was the summer between ninth and tenth grade, right after she got the guts to tell Sadie that she was in love with Will. But she didn’t need to admit to Sam. Sam understood everybody. The minute that strange song by Rosie & the Originals began to play from the Callaghans’ turntable, Sam knew what was going on. Will didn’t. He was minding his own business, eating a hot dog, assuming that Lucy could never do something romantic for him, not after all this time. But Sam knew. He sprung into action, spilling some of his Coke on the vinyl tablecloth, and met Lucy in the middle of the driveway for a slow dance. He sang the song in a high falsetto because of course he knew all the words to it. He said they’d make Will jealous. Lucy laughs now, thinking Sam must have wanted to make Will jealous of Lucy, too. Maybe. What a sweetie he was, even then. Especially then.

One year after the accident, Lucy tells herself that she doesn’t have the right to miss Sam. Sure, they had a few special moments, but everyone else in her life was closer to him. Sure, they loved each other as friends, but that’s not the same as losing a son, a brother, an in-law, a godfather, a best friend whom you’ve loved even longer than the wife you’ve known since first grade. None of those people want to see her grieve for him. She’d be making it about herself. It’s not that she didn’t lose Sam. It’s that the people she loves lost him more.

One year after the accident, Lucy tries to pretend like there isn’t a hole in her heart … like her soul doesn’t scratch like a record after it’s been left on the wrong side too long. One year after the accident, she doesn’t even think about whether she should be feeling any way else. That’s just not what you do.

It’s not what you do.

(part of @nosebleedclub poetry month challenge -- day 6!)

[motownfiction]

latte

Sam’s not much of a coffee guy. Never has been. Even when they make it sweet, it’s still bitter. He still remembers the first time he tried coffee. He and Sadie were ten years old, and they were trying to stay up for Saturday Night Live for the first time, without their parents’ permission. Sadie, always competent, always thinking, knew how to brew a pot of coffee, just like Mom and Dad did every morning. They’d never had it, but they knew what it was supposed to do. Sadie, always sophisticated, always better than her own life, loved it. Sam spit it right out and went back to shotgunning cans of Coca-Cola.

It was cute when he was a teenager. Everyone else would drink coffee, and Sam would hang back with whatever pop he liked best that day. As he got older, though, he realized what a shitty date it made him. He doesn’t drink coffee, so he’s a bad morning date. He doesn’t drink alcohol, so he’s a bad nighttime date. Essentially, you can only take Sam out to lunch, which is great for his girlfriend, Valerie, because she’s off most afternoons.

The thought of Valerie makes Sam smile from ear to ear. She’s younger than he is (five years), but she’s working on a master’s degree and is smarter than Sam will ever be. At least, that’s what he says. They both know that when Sam goes with Valerie to her get-togethers at the university, he holds his own, sometimes even looks better than the other grad students. But if he can be in her orbit at all, in any role, he’ll do it. Valerie is the kind of person you want to be around. Sam knows. He just knows it.

Valerie drinks coffee, of course. She’s a self-respecting ethnomusicologist, after all. Liking things like coffee, wine, and cheese are in the fine print of her contract. And while Sam just got around to opting for certain kinds of tea (the fruit ones, none of that leafy-looking stuff), he will buy Valerie a caramel latte everyday.

It has nothing to do with keeping her. Nothing to do with convincing her to stay. Sam learned his lesson from Steph. You can’t keep anybody if they don’t want to stay. Even if they want to stay, sometimes, they still have to leave. He learned that one from Steph, too. But it’s not like that with Valerie. No. It isn’t. When Sam buys her a caramel latte, it’s because he loves the look on her face when she takes the first sip. She’s probably had a million of them, but every time, it’s like new. Her hair is blue, but her whole life is green.

Sam’s never told her that he loves her.

As he picks up her caramel latte, he wonders if maybe he’ll say it today. But as he drives away, away and toward Valerie’s apartment, he hasn’t decided yet.

(part of @nosebleedclub march challenge -- day 19!)

[motownfiction]

dogtooth

As they sit across from each other at the diner, Sam watches while Steph sketches. He even thinks about it in those words. Sam watches while Steph sketches. It’s like an SW tongue twist, and he loves it. He says it about ten times before Steph slams her pencil down on her sketchbook, leaving a graphite smudge where Sam is pretty sure she doesn’t want one.

“I’m trying to work,” she says. “We have this architecture assignment due next week in AP Art, and if I don’t do well …”

“Then you’ll fail?” Sam asks.

“No. I’ll look bad in front of Miss Wozniak. That’s worse than if she just failed me.”

Sam shrugs. He’ll never understand it – that need to impress a teacher. He’s never worked in the art room, never said any words to Miss Wozniak that weren’t about Steph, so maybe she’s different from the other teachers, who will only look twice at you if you’re good at filling in bubbles. None of these teachers are smart enough to know that Sam is smart all by himself, just like they’re not smart enough to know that Steph is more than the crown jewel of the art room.

But she is pretty that way.

“Can I see what you’re drawing?” Sam asks.

“You know I don’t like to show you what I’m working on until it’s finished,” Steph says.

“Just this once?”

Steph sighs. She turns the sketchbook over and slides it to Sam across the table. Sam looks down at it – the most beautiful building he’s ever seen, almost like out of a game or a fairytale. Steph could always do that. Pin down a world and give it to you like it was nothing.

“It’s supposed to be a church,” Steph explains. “I’m not … exactly sure what era I’m going for. I’m just drafting from my mind’s eye.”

“I love it,” Sam says.

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m not. Who am I? Sadie? Please. Steph, this is … this is really beautiful.”

Sam means it, too, though he’s not really sure why. There’s something about this building … something that makes him so, so sad. Maybe it’s that he’ll never walk through its doors. Maybe it’s because he knows what he would do there if it was a real place. He doesn’t know. They are playing “Sunday Will Never Be the Same,” and Sam feels like he will cry.

He points to some jaggedness on the walls.

“What’s this?” he asks.

Steph leans over and nods.

“Oh, that’s dogtooth,” she says. “Kind of an edgy style. Gothic.”

“Are you going goth on me, Steph?”

“No, but I’m always about an inch away from that option.”

Sam laughs. He lifts himself up in his seat a little bit to kiss her on the other side of the table. Sometimes, he forgets how much smaller she is compared to him. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to feel about that, either.

“This is beautiful,” Sam says again. “When it’s done, can we build it?”

“Depends,” Steph says.

“On the money?”

“Well, yeah. But on whether or not we can build it together.”

Sam swallows hard. He’s not as dumb as his teachers think he is. He knows how to spot a worn-out metaphor when one comes his way.

“OK,” he says.

And right now, Steph does not seem hurt.

(part of @nosebleedclub january challenge -- day 23!)

[motownfiction]

the last you saw of her

In a fit of strange inspiration, Sam decides to clean out all the drawers in his dresser. It’s a feeling he gets every three to five years, and 1986 must be right on time. It’s February, early for spring cleaning, but something tells him he has to do it. It does not take him long to figure out why the task must have been calling to him.

Sam goes through a few shitty report cards from eleventh and twelfth grade, and underneath them, there it is. Casually, like it means nothing. It’s a Polaroid taken on the night of the homecoming dance, 1982, tenth grade. He and Steph are laughing together on the front porch – she in her pretty blue dress, he in a tie to match. It’s not posed. Sam remembers that. Steph’s mother, Susie, snapped the right picture at the right time. Susie’s a painter by trade, but if that Polaroid is any indication, she would have made a brilliant photographer.

But it’s not just the picture – not just the light or the shadows or any of it. It’s that for years, all of high school, Steph Armstrong was Sam Doyle’s friend. She wasn’t just his girlfriend, wasn’t just his guaranteed date to a school dance, wasn’t just the first person he had sex with to “get it out of the way.” They were friends. They knew how to make each other laugh, and they loved it. So many couples in high school don’t really like each other. They wouldn’t know how to be friends if it killed them, and yet, they’d be the first to use the phrase just friends. That phrase means nothing. There’s no just about it. Not where Sam and Steph were concerned.

Sam looks at the picture, not sure whether to laugh or cry. He asks himself, What was the last you saw of her? but of course, he already knows the answer. At Christmas Eve Mass, he saw Steph from the back, and even then, she was beautiful. Even then, he wanted to be her friend, to make her laugh, to apologize. It was never the distance between Detroit and Mount Pleasant that drove them apart. Sam was afraid. He is afraid. But, shit – afraid is better than alone, especially when it comes to Steph. Life is better with Steph in it, even if she’s just a voice on a phone call.

Sam thinks about calling her again, but he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t pick up. Steph has pride, and she should.

He tucks the picture back in the drawer where he found it.

Maybe he can wait for spring cleaning.

(part of @nosebleedclub february challenge -- day 6!)

[motownfiction]

girl names

Sam would be lying if he said he never thought about having children one day. He did think about it. As a matter of fact, there was a time when he thought about it a lot.

It seems almost funny now. To remember that once, as a teenager, he swore to high heaven that he and Steph Armstrong would be together forever. They’d be a brand new family with brand new rules, and no parent would love or praise any child more than another. They’d have a bunch of kids. As many as Steph was willing to carry. They’d have a bunch of kids, and they’d be happy, teaching them how to love themselves and each other. Maybe they’d even be like the Von Trapp Family Singers, without all the fleeing from evil dictatorships. It’s not the best reference Sam’s ever come up with, but he’s under a lot of pressure. He’s under a lot of pain.

One would think that after fourteen years since he and Steph broke up over the phone, he’d be able to stop thinking about her and how he fucked everything up. But that would be too easy. She haunts him most days, and that’s to say nothing of all the times they still find each other, the occasional night they’ll still spend together. It always flames out, but Sam knows it doesn’t have to. Why else would he be lying awake at night at the end of the century, thinking about how they used to lie here together and plan for the world?

Their boy names were etched in stone. George Bailey Doyle and Matt Garth Doyle, after It’s a Wonderful Life and Red River, two movies they always watched whenever they came on TV. It was the girl names that were always in flux. Sam was a big fan of Beatles girls. Probably because that’s what he knew with Sadie, Lucy, and eventually, Elenore. His favorite was always Julia. It sounded like a name for a girl who should always descend a spiral staircase. Julia, Julia.

Steph liked trendier names. Sam remembers because it always sort of pissed him off. He said he couldn’t imagine having a daughter named Tiffany or Madison because those names wouldn’t age well. He couldn’t imagine Tiffany Doyle ever being anyone’s grandmother. Steph was a good sport about that. It always made her laugh. She asked him once if they could compromise with Audrey. Sam liked that one. He’s thinking now maybe it was his real favorite.

He’s not sure why girl names are keeping him up at night in 1999. Something tells him he should need one.

He falls asleep before he can think of a good reason.

(part of @nosebleedclub poetry month challenge -- day 2!)

[motownfiction]

school bag

Sam’s school bag doesn’t look like Sadie’s.

Mom evaluates them everyday on the first day of school, even now that they’re going into their senior year. Sam wants to roll his eyes. You’d think with their eighteenth birthday looming, with their married best friends down a few streets, and their general trustworthiness, she wouldn’t have to inspect them like this. But she does it, anyway. Amazing what a little power trip can do for you.

Every year, it’s pretty much the same. Sadie packs all the books she needs for all of her classes that day, a plastic water bottle, and an apple in case she gets hungry at her locker. She’s perfect. She’s perfect, and Mom gives her a pat on the head to tell her so, sometimes literally.

Sam’s school bag does not tell the same story.

He hasn’t figured out how to get his textbooks yet. He usually borrows from Will or Daniel, whichever one he isn’t in class with during that period. Instead, Sam carries his subjects differently.

English is Dire Straits, Making Movies. No better understanding of Romeo and Juliet.

Math is The Exciting Wilson Pickett. No numbers more important than “634-5789.” Jenny and Tommy Tutone can both eat it!

Science is Sam Cooke, The Man Who Invented Soul. He might not know much about biology, but he knows enough. So does Sam. Just ask Steph.

He has the nerve to say that last one out loud in front of his mother. He deserves the daggers she’s staring at him now, but they are so sweetly worth it.

“I don’t know why you won’t just take your education seriously,” Mom sighs, still rifling through Sam’s school bag. “After that meeting with the professor in Ohio, who said you had more potential than some of her senior students … I don’t know why you wouldn’t take that to heart.”

“I tried to take it to heart, but I think I have a murmur,” Sam says.

Mom rolls her eyes. Typical. Even when he’s funny, it’s wrong. She pulls out the only book in Sam’s bag and shakes her head at it.

“And what’s this?” she asks, holding up his copy of Things Fall Apart. “I know this isn’t one of the required books for your English class this year.”

“No, it’s not,” Sam says. “You know my system.”

Mom scoffs a little.

“How could I forget?” she asks. “You do all the reading a year in advance, which actually puts you behind the other students, who are reading it fresh.”

“That’s how it seems to you. Anyway, I’m still getting a head start. I talked to Lucy’s mom, and she said she likes to assign this in freshman lit courses. Like college.”

Mom’s eyes light up a little bit.

“Is this your way of telling me you’re going to college?” she asks, too much hope in her voice.

But Sam just shrugs.

“It’s my way of saying I’m interested in what they read,” he says. “I’m less interested in shelling out all that money for classes when I can just walk into a library and read for free.”

Mom probably doesn’t need to look that devastated, but she can’t help herself. Sam understands that by now.

“All your potential,” she mutters. “All your potential, stuck in between cardboard and vinyl.”

Sam grins from ear to ear, and only part of him really means to smile.

“I know,” he says. “Isn’t it great?”

(part of @nosebleedclub september challenge -- day v! yes, i am a week behind. this is what happens when i go back to work)

[motownfiction]

exposed throat

To the rest of the world, Sam’s going through a phase where he just really doesn’t like scarves.

Just last year, it wasn’t like this. He was a junior in high school, going on seventeen, and willing to dress for any permutation of a Michigan winter. Mittens, hats, scarves. You name it. Sam knew how to be prepared for it, and he didn’t think twice about it. That’s just what you do here. You dress warmly for the brutal nine-and-a-half-month winters. Sam never questioned it before.

This year’s different. This year, Sam doesn’t mind having cold fingertips and an exposed throat. He’s a senior now, going on eighteen, and he says he’s protesting the winter. It stays too cold in Michigan for too long, and he’s tired of giving the weather its way.

You’re going to be more tired of lying in bed sick for a week, his mother warns him one morning when he refuses his scarf yet again. Trust me.

But that’s it. And that’s what the rest of the world can’t see. What they won’t see.

Sam would wear a hat, scarf, and mittens all day long if it were just up to him. It’s just not. It doesn’t matter that soon, he’ll be eighteen. He’s still under his mother’s roof, and as long as he lives with her, it’s her domain. Her rules apply. Maggie Doyle claims she’s not a strict mother. Maybe that’s true. But she has rules, and one of those rules, apparently, is to treat Charlie with more respect than her other kids.

It’s been almost a full year since Sam found out his mother’s been giving Charlie solid chocolate bunnies for Easter since he was born. A full year since Sam found out he was only worth hollow candy in his mother’s eyes.

He just doesn’t have it in him to listen to her anymore. She can claim all the worries she wants. She can say she’s worried about Sam catching a cold, a flu, and pneumonia. It will not matter. As long as he receives hollow candy, he receives hollow advice, hollow compassion.

The hat, scarf, and mittens stay in his closet and under his bed, and Sam will not go looking for them.

He knows his mother will not go looking, either.

(part of @nosebleedclub june challenge -- day xiii! i can’t even lie and say i’m on time today, but i’m not far behind, either)

[motownfiction]

steam

As far as Sam’s concerned, the best Christmas nights are the ones where he gets to stay up with Uncle Roy.

Roy doesn’t spend every Christmas night with them. They usually just see him in the late mornings, when they go to Grandma and Grandpa Brady’s house for brunch. But sometimes, if things get a little boring for him, Roy comes by in the evenings, after dinner, before dessert. Says he’d be a fool to miss out on his big sister’s French silk pies.

But Sam knows it’s for the kids.

Mom and Dad always excuse themselves first. They spend all day working, and by the time the sun goes down, they’ve had it. Charlie tires himself out on the piano. Apparently, a kid can only play “O Come All Ye Faithful” on the piano so many times before he starts to feel like a very special episode. That leaves Sadie, Sam, and Uncle Roy, all up with the TV, watching It’s a Wonderful Life. Sadie eats from a big bowl of popcorn. Sam drinks more hot chocolate than he should be able to handle. Roy does a damn good impression of Jimmy Stewart, which he’s hard pressed to drop once he gets going. When Sam brings him a cookie from the kitchen, he thanks him just like he was really George Bailey.

“Why, thank you, Sammy,” he says after one bite. “You know, nothin’ does an old man good on Christmas night like peanut butter and sugar crystals. Makes ‘im good. Makes ‘im strong. Like when he was just a lad.”

“What old man?” Sadie asks. “You’re thirty-four.”

“That’s old,” Roy says, still not dropping the impression. “When you’re this old, you’ll understand.”

“I think thirty-four is as old as I’ll ever get,” Sam says. “Metaphorically, anyway.”

Roy shakes his head, finally letting go of Jimmy Stewart.

“Oh, please, Sam, don’t,” he says. “Thirty-four is way too old, even metaphorically. People ask you too many questions about why you won’t settle, you’re expected to make a certain amount of money every year, and the words blood pressure will start to mean something you never thought they would before.”

“Hmm,” Sam says. “So, if I’m gonna get to a metaphorical age and stick to it …”

“Nineteen,” Roy says. “It’s nineteen.”

“But what about twenty-one?” Sadie asks. “Don’t most people like to be old enough to order drinks?”

“Most people,” Roy says. “Sam shouldn’t, though. And neither should you, or Charlie, or anybody else you know. Get me?”

Sam nods. He doesn’t know much, but he’s heard a few things about Roy’s drinking habits. Something about when the going gets tough, the Roy gets drinking. That’s what Mom said after a late-night phone call with her little brother a few years back, anyway. She didn’t know Sam was listening, but she should have. If it’s about Uncle Roy, Sam always listens.

“What’s so special about nineteen?” Sam asks.

Roy smiles.

“You’ll figure it out when you get there,” he says. “It’s probably a little different for everybody.”

“I don’t know how I feel about this,” Sadie says.

“What’s the matter, hon?”

“Nineteen seems like a stupid age to be stuck at. I mean … don’t you want maturity? Don’t you want wisdom?”

Sam and Roy look at each other like they’ve understood the same plot all along. It makes Sam feel like he’s flying. Imagine being on the same page as someone as smart as Uncle Roy. It could never been Sammy Slacker, and yet, it always is.

“Sadie, look at me,” Roy says. “Think about everything you know about college freshmen. Now. Do I seem like I’m stuck as one?”

“No,” Sadie says. “You have a clue. More than one, actually.”

“Mmm-hmm. But am I boring? Or do I still get excited about things, even when they seem normal? Or even when they seem dumb?”

“You applauded for a Rankin-Bass special earlier tonight.”

“And I’d do it again. That’s what I mean when I say nineteen. That’s what I think you’re gonna mean when you get there, too. The verve. The verve!”

He walks into the kitchen, probably for no other reason than dramatic effect. Sam laughs. That sounds about right for Roy. He’ll do anything just for the gesture, just to seem grand.

Sam looks across the room at Sadie, through the steam from his hot chocolate.

“Hey, Sadie,” he says.

“What?”

“Uncle Roy’s pretty funny.”

“Of course he is. Do you have a point, or are you just saying things I already know?”

“I have a point. I think I’m kind of funny, too.”

“You’re funnier than I am. That’s for sure.”

“Debatable. But I think … I think I’m a lot like Uncle Roy. And I think … I think when we get older, even more than nineteen, I’m going to be even more like him.”

Sadie laughs, almost like she doesn’t believe Sam. He frowns.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

“Sam, you have a lot in common with Uncle Roy, but I don’t think you’re going to be just like him,” Sadie says.

“Why not?”

Sadie sighs.

“Well, for starters,” she says, “Uncle Roy is very private. There are things he only knows about himself. I don’t think they’re bad things. I just think he wants to keep them that way.”

“And what about me?”

“As long as I’m around, it’ll never work.”

Sam sighs. He pivots toward the kitchen with the mug of hot chocolate still piping in his hands. Roy comes out of the kitchen, and Sam stares at him through the steam, trying to figure out if Sadie was right.

(part of @nosebleedclub december challenge -- day 5!)

[motownfiction]

mahler's fifth

Sadie is trying. It’s a little hard, given her loyalties must always lie with Sam, her twin, her other self, but she is trying. Tonight is Charlie’s first concert in his new music program at school, and she is going to be happy for him.

They have special guests from the local symphony orchestra to open the show. It’s kind of them, as all the awkward patrons in the audience whisper to another. Daniel leans over to Sadie and asks, “Remember when the best part of our DSO field trips was going to McDonald’s afterward?” Sadie laughs even though she’s not supposed to – even though Mom shoots her a look of daggers to be quiet. The orchestra is playing a selection from Mahler’s Fifth, but Sadie is pretty sure Mom wouldn’t know that by ear.

Sam and Dad do, though, for whatever that’s worth.

Charlie has a piano solo. It’s a very big deal, despite the fact that he’s had piano solos since he was six or seven. Maybe even younger than that. Sadie can’t keep track of all the Christmas concerts, spring flings, and graduations. Whenever St. Catherine’s needed a pianist, there he was, ready for Mom to volunteer him. This time, his solo is a big deal because he got into a music program, because he’s in college, because he got to choose his song. He’s playing “Blackbird.” His choice.

When Charlie sits down at the bench to play, Sadie looks over at Sam. He is mouthing the lyrics that are not there.

As Charlie plays, Sadie notices she’s doing the same thing. She’s probably sung “Blackbird” a million times before, but listening to Charlie play it here – watching him – it just means something different. Something better.

You were only waiting for this moment to be free.

She swears she can hear the birds chirping on the track.

He finishes the song. Usually, it’s Mom who stands up and claps, ruining the sophisticated element of classical concert-going. But this time, Sadie has her beat.

She rises to her feet and cheers for Charlie like she didn’t know she could do.

He turns around and sees her there. At first, he smiles, probably thinking she’s Mom. Sadie knows they have the same voice, which she pretends does not bother her. But when he sees that it’s Sadie, he looks … strange. Almost panicked.

Sadie stops clapping and locks eyes with her little brother – a rare thing between the two of them.

She’s not sure what they’re communicating, but damn, if it’s not something.

(part of @nosebleedclub january challenge -- day 22!)

[motownfiction]

the gray coat with the red lining

Sam goes with Sadie to shop for a new winter coat. Her old one, which she’s had since she started her master’s program seven years ago, is finally falling apart. Sam hates the mall, but he loves spending time with his twin, so of course he goes. It’s been forever since they’ve had any time together, just the twins, without Daniel or the kids or anyone else. Maybe if they’re lucky, they’ll get to have the cheese soup at lunch.

“Oh, I’ll get the cheese soup,” Sadie says. “And I won’t tell Daniel about it, either, because I’m pretty sure he’ll divorce me if he finds out.”

“I wouldn’t blame him,” Sam says. “Might even tell him to seek full custody of Michael and Rose. Will could make sure he won.”

“Will is not a member of the Michigan State Bar.”

“Just wait. I’ll start slipping the idea to him subliminally, over the phone. We talk almost everyday. He’s open-minded. Pliable.”

“This sounds really gross.”

“It could get grosser.”

Sadie sighs and resumes looking for coats. Sam eventually finds himself drifting to the men’s section. He doesn’t need a new coat, but he likes to pretend that all the coats have people in them already. Likes to wonder what kind of guy would buy which coat. He makes up rich businessmen, harried humanities professors, dorky high school students whose mothers bought them the first thing that fit without a second thought to what might look cool. There is such a thing as looking cool in a winter coat. Sam wouldn’t have believed it when he was a teenager, but he knows it now.

He remembers the gray coat with the red lining.

It wasn’t his coat. Sometimes, he tried to wear it, but it was always too small for him. No, the coat was Eddie’s. He loved that thing. Told Sam he saved up for a year just to buy it. It wasn’t that expensive, he said, but when you get paid grad student peanuts, even peanuts are expensive. Eddie loved that coat, and Sam loved it, too. It made him look a cut above the rest. Made Sam proud to know him … proud to be in love with him. He remembers when they’d go to dinner and Eddie would take off the coat. People would look, struck by the red, struck by him, really. Just like Sam was. Sometimes, when Eddie would fall asleep in the living room, Sam would cover him up with a blanket and the coat, just so he knew. That he knew he was loved.

Whenever Sam thinks about Eddie, he thinks about that coat. He wonders if it’s doing him any good in Tennessee. He thinks it would be better if it was right here, at home, where it was always supposed to be.

Of course, if it was supposed to be here, it would be.

He thinks about Leonard Cohen for a moment. Ah, the last time we saw you, you looked so much older, your famous blue raincoat was torn at the shoulder. Hell of a song. But L. Cohen didn’t know about the gray coat with the red lining. If he had, he wouldn’t have written about anything else.

Sam searches high and low for a coat like it in the mall this afternoon, but none exist.

Sadie finds him in the men’s section with a bag and a look, like she knows what he’s doing there.

“Come on,” she says carefully. “We don’t want them to run out of soup.”

Sam follows her, trying to apologize for wandering off, but she doesn’t let him. She knows that sometimes, he needs to go.

“Just don’t go too far,” she says. “Or for too long.”

Sam nods. He’s pretty sure he can do that.

(part of @nosebleedclub january challenge -- day 16!)