Monday, January 5, 2015


HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! Hopefully you're in the swing of things now (and haven't flubbed your resolutions quite yet!), and are ready to sit down and write a fun story. I have a bazillion goals for this year, but I'll put those in a separate post eventually (Hmmm, apparently being more timely in my blog isn't one of them...). :) Go check out the prompt and get started on your story, while I go and actually write down all the goals I have for this year...

If you haven't read the full version of the rules, go here. Otherwise, here's the short version:

1. Start with the given first sentence.
2. Up to 500 words
3. Keep it clean (nothing rated R or above)
4. Optional Special Challenge
5. Stories submitted must be your own work, using characters and worlds that you have created. Sorry, no fanfiction.
6. Include: Twitter/email, word count, Special Challenge accepted
7. The challenge is open for 24 hours on Tuesday EST

Oh, and feel free to change pronounspunctuationtense, and anything in brackets to fit the story/pov/tone. I'm not going to be TOO picky... Our judge however...

Our Judge today is Suzie Jay, also known as @zeeyone3. Read her winning tale from last week here! Check out her blog here, and her facebook author page here. Suzie is a mum of six. She used to be a school teacher, but escaped. She lives in Adelaide, Australia with her husband and way too many children and pets. Now, while her youngest two babies are growing up, she's taking a shot at her dream and is in the process of publishing her first book. She would love the company of some semi-sane people on this adventure, so feel free to like her facebook page.

 Your first sentence for FINISH THAT THOUGHT #2-27 is:

[I'm] not much of a hearts and flowers type, so it had me wondering what spell had been cast to make [me] feel so [schmoopy].

 Your SPECIAL CHALLENGE from the judge is:

Include Coca-Cola.

Also, extra-special challenge: no fantasy or sci-fi 



  1. Sweet Romance

    Imogen’s not much of a hearts and flowers type, so it had me wondering what spell had been cast to make her feel so amorous. Not that I’m going to complain about the first kiss she’s rewarded me with since the infamous plucked emu incident of three November’s past.
    I brought over my monthly attempt to bribe my way back into her good graces, chocolates that a vendor sent the office and flowers from the graveyard on the way to her caravan, and arrived with typical despair. This is an exercise in frustration. It’s my monthly penance for ruining the best thing in my life.
    The door opened before I could knock. Imogen’s green eyes and purple hair appeared in the door. My voice cracked as I tried to say hello. The silence was broken as she grabbed the chockies from me and crammed a handful in her mouth. She chewed with her mouth open as she asked what the occasion is. Chocolate spittle fell onto her bronzed chest.
    “Ow ya goin Immy?”
    She murmured something through a second handful of chocolates. I was trapped between aroused and fright since Imogen never ate any of the chocolates I brought her — which is rubbish since I go through considerable risk to sneak those out. This time, she took to the box like Mentos in Coca-Cola.
    Imogen took the flowers from me and stared longingly at the Chilean roses. Then she pulled me close and let me taste the chocolate on her lips. Now I know why no one at the office takes those freebies.

    Her lips are touching mine again. I pull her into a hug. Cinnamon wafts onto me. The chocolate drool from her chest presses against my shirt. I’m proud to let it soak in.
    She leads me into the sitting room. Our breakup wasn’t good for her finances, but she has this place now.
    “Thank you. I love chocolates and flowers. Why did we ever give up?”
    Maybe because you tried to run me over with a Holden? I try to think of something clever to deflect that I was a drongo. Before I can get the meaningless lines out she says, “Never mind. The past weighs us down. How we live our lives is what matters.”
    “I couldn’t agree more.”
    We kiss leaning on the back of her chesterfield. It is magic.
    “Excuse me while I freshen up,” she says, disappearing into the back bedroom.
    My heart is still fluttering. I grab the remi to start music. She always has some K-pop loaded. I used to find it annoying, now I find myself playing it online as I think about her.
    An English female voice plays: “Hypnosis Lesson 12. You did great with the hypnosis to remove guilt. Now we shall wake… in 3…2…”
    I turn off the player as Imogen returns. We kiss and she runs to change shirts. I grab the disc out of the player and crush it before she returns.

    500 Words
    Both Challenges Accepted

  2. Spelling Lessons
    A.J. Walker

    “I'm not much of a hearts and flowers type, so it had me wondering what spell had been cast to make me feel so head over heels in lurve.” Sandra said, looking to the floor.

    Penelope looked at Sandra agape, almost dropping her skinny latte.

    “You’ve got the love bug hun?” Penelope said. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

    Sandra looked at her with a piercing gaze. “Exactly, it’s not me is it? I don’t do love. I don’t do relationships. It. Is. Not. Me!”

    Penelope pinched a crumb from her top lip and licked it off her thumb, the only remains of the giant double choc-chip muffin were officially microscopic.

    “I mean,” Sandra continued, “I do suspect something off.”

    “Like what?” Penelope said, leaning forward with interest. “You think he’s having an affair - already?”

    Sandra shook her head. “No, I mean he’s done something to me. How else could I have turned to this embarrassing marshmallow Loveheart confection that sits before you? I love him. I mean even more than that chocolate chip cookie.”

    Penelope looked at Sandra’s plate. “So, before moving on to the delectable Jonathan, can I confirm that you don’t want that cookie?”

    Sandra shrugged, Penelope needed no further confirmation.

    “Flip Sandra, no appetite for chocolate - you really have got it.”

    A far to young waitress came to the table to take away the detritus. Sandra looked at her empty mug and saw Sandra still had half her latte left and a few crumbs of cookie.

    “May I have a coke?” she said, to the waitress. “Want anything else, Pen?”

    “You getting another biscuit?”

    “No, I’m fine.” said Sandra.

    “Is pepsi okay?” Said the waitress.

    “If you don’t have coca-cola then yes. Full fat please.” Sandra said.

    Penelope’s shoulders sagged. “I guess I’ll just have another large skinny latte.” She said. “Oh, and another of those chocolate cookies please - they are SO nice.”

    Penelope felt the chocolate stamping all over her guilt in gloopy triumph. She smiled, despite the knowledge that guilt would be back later looking down on her from the top of a tower made of calories.

    They sat in silence.

    Penelope could see Sandra looked different, more comfortable in herself; and perhaps a little more distant from Penelope. She gobbled down the rest of the biscuit.

    “Anyway, what were you saying about your suspicions about Jonathon?” Penelope said, breaking the silence.

    “He must have put a spell on me. I mean - is that possible?” Sandra said.

    “No. Harry Potter is just made up shit you daft cow.” Penelope said, laughing.

    Sandra reached into her bag. “Well, what about this? I found all sort of strange powders in his house - look!”

    Penelope took the bottles and one by one opened them up.

    “Right, here starteth the lesson Sandra. You listening?”

    Sandra nodded.

    “Right to left that’s turmeric, garam masala, that’s cumin, coriander, mustard seeds and that last one is smoked paprika.”

    Sandra nodded again.

    Penelope sighed. “You don’t cook much, do you?”

    (500 words)


    1. really laughed out loud at this.... excellent story AJ.. well done

  3. I’m not much of a hearts and flowers type, so it had me wondering what spell had been cast to make me feel so schmoopy. All he’d done was bring me a Coca-cola, and a dang card with drawings of hearts and flowers. Hearts and flowers, geez, was I really going to fall for that? I’d been spending the better part of two weeks trying to forget about him, and here I was falling for him all over again because of a stupid Coca-cola. Heck, I didn’t even like Coca-cola. I’d always been more of a Dr. Pepper girl.

    I did wonder, briefly, if there was some truth to the fact that his mother was a Voodoo princess. I mean anything was possibly in New Orleans, right? And I knew his dad owned a shop, full of voodoo dolls, and what were they called? Essential oils--no that wasn’t right--they were some other type of oil used specifically for hexes. I’d been told from day one that he was no good. So, the only explanation was that he had put a spell on me. Some ancient Voodoo curse, passed down generation after generation, and he had finally used it to hold this magical power over me: love.

    He looked at me, dripping with anticipation, to see what my response would be to the card. When I looked up into his eyes, those eyes that held the secret between us, all I could think of was kissing his lips. I didn’t know how it would feel to have his lips on mine, but I couldn’t wait another minute to find out.

    Forgetting about the open Coke in my hand, I rushed into his embrace, and instead of a kiss I ended up with a stained and sticky shirt.

    “Oops,” I said.

    He laughed, and he took the now half-spilt coke from my hands. He set it down on the concrete beside us. Then, he gathered me in his arms, and he kissed me. Not a slow kiss, but an urgent one, and the surge of lust I felt rushed into me like a steam engine out of control and running off its tracks. That was all it took: one Coca-cola, a stupid bear card with some hearts and flowers drawn in it, and a kiss, for me to know I’d be under his spell forever.

    395 Words
    Both Challenges Accepted

  4. 480 words
    Challenge not accepted
    Extra Special Challenge accepted

    Rabbit Pause
    Pa's not much of a hearts and flowers type, so it had me wondering what spell had been cast to make him feel so schmoopy.

    He'd come creepin' slow through the kitchen door, a distinct departure from his usual, blustery, dinner-time entry. He had one hand under his jacket, and, for a moment, I thought he must be having heart trouble, again, 'til that big ole hand came out of that jacket, holding a baby rabbit.
    “Almost hit it with the tractor,” he said, as if that explained everything.

    I was stymied, thinking how If I had a dollar for every rabbit that man had me skin and fry up for him, I'd be retiring on a chaise in finery and lace, instead of puttin' up preserves on a 90 degree day in August.

    Pa didn't notice I was perplexed, or didn't care. He disappeared, then came back with an old crate. Pa placed that rabbit kit in the crate, then put it in a corner of the room, not far from the wood-stove.

    Later, as I got to doin' the dinner dishes, Tommy came in from Bible Camp, wearing the headdress he'd made there, whoopin' and hollerin' about being an “injun”. Particularly absorbed in giving my roaster a good scrub, I payed no mind to his war dance, but I perked up when I realized Tommy'd gone quiet.

    I looked to see what the boy had gotten up to. I didn't think about the rabbit until I saw that Tommy had something small and white in his hands. I cursed.

    “Preacher says you ain't 'posed to say that word,” Tommy scolded.

    “Preacher says you ain't posed to touch what ain't yours, too,” I said, crossing the room in a hurry to retrieve and examine the kit.

    “We gonna name it? Or eat it? Or what?” Tommy asked.

    “I reckon that's up to yer Pa,” I told him.

    He shrugged as he walked away.

    “You shouldn't name it if your gonna eat it.”

    I looked down at the creature in my hand, thinking about how I'd sat there during dinner, stupefied, as that heavy-handed man caressed and cuddled that baby rabbit all through the meal, carrying on like he'd never done for any of the 11 children I'd bore for him.

    I knew with too much of a squeeze, it'd be all over - the only baby Pa had ever shown any interest in would be buried under the poplar, next to Tommy's ten infant siblings.

    Thinking of the poplar, I looked through the window. Behind the tree, I could see the pink and yellow blaze of the sunset on the horizon. My thoughts turned to the artistry of the creator, and to all the many blessings I'd been given.

    The kit twitched in my hand, then. I kissed its soft, warm head.

    “Think we'll name you 'Grace'” I whispered.

  5. Penguin’s not much of a hearts and flowers type, so it had me wondering what spell had been cast to make her feel so tender. I had a guess though…

    -Earlier that week-

    I watched as my roommate wandered over to the tiny kitten in the road and snuggled it closely. “Penguin” I said, “put her down, she’s a stray.”

    Penguin glared at me, with her green eyes in slits. “She doesn’t have a home. I must rescue her.”

    “But Penguin, she might have rabies.”

    Penguin’s eyes grew wide and she stared at the furbaby. Large, watery droplets dripped from the almond shaped seers. “She can’t be sick! We have to do something!”

    I groaned. This wasn’t the first time Penguin had found an animal to be more important than a human.

    I stared at the matted fur on the trembling creature in Penguin’s arms. The cat looked at me and reached out with it’s paw, as though to touch me. Then came the most dreaded sound for anyone that didn’t want to adopt an animal - The Mew. One single syllable that shattered the eardrum of my heart.

    “Fine,” I muttered, “Let’s take it to the vet.”

    “Her.” Penguin corrected me.

    By nightfall we had checked the little thing into a local veterinarian’s office. She purred as I held her. I noticed Penguin watching attentively. “What?” I asked.

    Penguin just continued staring.

    The attendant at the desk came out with a little carrier and asked me to put her inside. Penguin’s tear ducts started trickling liquid love again. I don’t know why, but after I put the cat in the carrier, I had grabbed a kleenex and wiped the tears off Penguin’s face.

    When the vet called the next morning to ask if we planned on keeping the kitten or sending it to the shelter, I did something I didn’t expect. “When can I pick her up?” I asked.

    Within a couple hours I had gone to the local pet store and bought all of the materials a kitten could want.

    Since I knew Penguin would be at work I went about setting up everything. I worked fast.

    I installed the litter box in the bathroom and put cat toys everywhere. Lastly was the cat tree, which I set up in Penguin’s room, right next to the window.

    When Penguin got home she immediately found the tired fluffball sleeping in the sun. Suddenly she turned around, sprinted towards me, and hugged me so tightly that I couldn’t breathe.

    “What are you going to call it?” I asked, confused by the sudden affection.

    She looked at the Coca Cola she had brought home. “Cola.”

    I remember facepalming.

    Ever since then she’s been paying more attention to me. I expected it to be only because I let her have the cat, but I’m not so sure. Would you give someone a sparkly card with flowers that read “Will you go out with me?” just for giving you a kitten?

    498 Words
    Special Challenge Accepted

  6. Unrequited Love

    “I’m not much of a hearts and flowers type, so it had me wondering what spell had been cast to make me feel so schmoopy.”

    “Schmoopy?” Cassie asked.

    “Yeah, schmoopy. You remember Seinfeld, don’t you?”

    “Sounds vaguely familiar. It means all lovey-dovey, right?” Cassie said, voice flat, rolling her eyes.

    “Wow, spoken like a true romantic.”

    “Look who’s talking.”

    “Yeah, but I’m a guy. Don’t all girls like romance, pink unicorns, and rainbows?”

    Cassie rolled her eyes again. I should have known better. I’d never seen her wear pink and knew she’d rather watch a football game than the ballet.

    “So spill it,” Cassie said, gesturing for me to get on with my story.

    I snickered. “Funny you say that.”

    “Say what?”

    “Spill it. That’s how it all began.”

    Cassie gave me the gesture once more, absently blowing at errant strand of hair, as if to tell me that I was boring her.

    “Fine. So you know I had to work Friday, right?”

    “Of course, you bailed on our movie, remember?”

    “Yeah, sorry, but Chuck screwed the schedule. Anyway, that’s not important.”

    “There’s an important part?”

    “Ha-ha. It as a typical Friday night at the restaurant. Packed.

    Well, I come to get a drink order from my next table and bang. There she was. My legs went weak, I felt dizzy, and my heart slipped into overdrive. Then she smiled and it was all over.”

    “Love at first sight?” Cassie asked, once more rolling her eyes.

    “Yeah. I stood there like a moron, staring at her. Her friend cleared her throat four times before I was able to tear my eyes away. I probably had a goofy smile on my face.”

    “If it’s anything like the one you’re sporting now, I’d say more creepy than goofy.”

    “Thanks, knew I could count on you. Anyway, I asked for their order, and she asked for a Coca-Cola.”

    Cassie smirked, knowing what I was about to say.

    “I asked if Pepsi was okay, and she frowned, saying she guessed it was okay. I felt crushed, as if I’d let her down. I told her I’d get her one, not to worry, and rushed away.”

    “Get her friend’s order?”

    “Nope,” I admitted, “but I was on a quest.”

    “Ranks up there with grabbing the Holy Grail,” Cassie snickered.

    “True, but since we don’t have Pepsi, I ran next door and scored one from the 7-11. At the bar, I got a glass of ice and emptied the can into it, but as I was coming back, two guys got in a fight. One hit my arm and the drink went flying.”

    “No! It didn’t?”

    “All over her,” I said, dropping my head. “Naturally, they left almost immediately. But before they did, she said she appreciated the gesture and slipped me this.”

    Cassie looked at the slip of paper with the girl’s phone number on it, and I swear she almost seemed to be frowning.

    “I’m happy for you,” she said quietly and looked away.

    506 Words
    All challenges accepted

  7. Cancer

    She’s not much of a hearts and flowers type, so it had me wondering what spell had been cast to make her feel so enamored. Just three weeks ago Maria had thrown the expensive ceramic plates we received as a wedding gift at my head. One caught me over the left brow and split me open. The blow wobbled me. I went down. When I regained consciousness, I was on the kitchen floor with a bloody scab over my eyebrow. I pick at the scab now and look at her, my mind crowded with skepticism.

    “I really am sorry about that, baby.” She wraps her slim arms around my middle and squeezes. “It just wasn’t a good time of the month, you know what I mean?”

    I don’t respond. Instead, I pry her thin arms off me by pulling at her wrist. Maria and I have been married a long time, maybe too long. The passions been dead for a while, and we both regret getting married. It has been a long life of fighting, crying, and stubborn silences.

    “I need to talk to you about something, baby,” she says. I choose to use the stubborn silence.

    “Dave? Please don’t be like that.”

    I evade her hug and jet toward the kitchen. I cross the threshold and see the bowls, glass cups, and silverware set on the table. Damn, there are plenty of things for her to throw if matters were to escalate, which they surely would. They always did.


    “No, Maria. I’m not doing this anymore.”



    “David, I’m going to die. The Doctors gave me a couple of weeks.”

    My heart pulses through my scab, and I feel like the blood will burst through with one more pump. Maria mouths something, but I can’t hear. Everything is a mute ring and my legs give out. I go down.

    My forehead feels warm and wet. I think I busted it open again with the fall. I can’t seem to open my eyes but my hearing is coming back. It’s like someone is slowly turning the volume knob up. She is laughing. It gets louder and seemingly more maniacal. The smell of the Pine-Sol from the kitchen floor is churning my stomach. I feel her moist breath in my ear.

    “I was kidding,” she whispers and laughs.

    I want to yell at her, tell her I hate her and tell her it’s over, but all I muster before I black out is, “you’re toxic. “

    417 words
    Special challenge accepted

    1. Just kidding. I did not accept the special challenge. Thought it was simply to exclude fantasy, sci-fi. Sorry about that.

  8. Class Action
    @geofflepard 496 words
    Special challenge accepted
    I'm not much of a hearts and flowers type, so it had me wondering what spell had been cast to make me feel so schmoopy. “You have one hour.”
    Colin Clean and Neat looked at the blackboard and Mrs Grimshaw’s spidery writing. Was that last word really ‘schmoopy’? What the heck was ‘schmoopy’? He put up his hand.
    “Yes Colin?” Colin Clean and Neat sunk into his seat. “Do you need to go already?”
    Colin felt the eyes of the Three Medusas burn into his neck. “No, Mrs Gr…”
    “Extra paper, is it? Did you start already?”
    The Blond Basilisk hissed ‘cheat, cheat,’ as Colin Clean and Neat tried to control his bladder.
    Mrs Grimshaw continued. “Why is your hand up? Inspecting your armpit?”
    The Medusas began a chant, “He smells, he smells...”
    Colin Clean and Neat glanced to his right. A blond pigtail swung in and out of his peripheral vision. Alice the Wondergal smiled encouragingly.
    “What’s schmoopy mean, Mrs Grimshaw?”
    The class swooned as Mrs Grimshaw sucked in all the oxygen, maximising her majestic magnificence. “You don’t KNOW?” She hurricaned. “Does anyone else feel they need help with the essay?”
    Buffeted, the class stayed silent.
    “Stand Up Boy.” Her face twisted in a garrotte of displeasure. “You know what this means?”
    Colin Clean and Neat began to stand. Around him he felt everyone else hold the pose as if the calcified in terror. He was nearly upright when he sensed movement to his right. Alice the Wondergal had begun to stand. “I need help, too.” Pause. “Please.”
    Classroom atmospherics are notoriously delicate. As the class exhaled in shock, Mrs Grimsdale inhaled in disbelief. This result was an extraordinary and exponential engorgement.
    While Mrs Grimshaw took to the air, others rose to their feet. Gradually all the students (other than the three Medusas, of course, who continued to solidify) stood and watched her bob and bloat. The only thing that stopped the zeppelin being zephyred skywards was a strand of sinewy silk snagged to a splinter.
    “What’s schmoopy?” Alice the Wondegal intoned; soon the others took up her chant.
    Colin Clean and Neat wanted to relax. The Tyranny of the Teaching Tartar was terminating. But he could see the Blond Basilisk coiled and ready to spring. She mustn’t be allowed to deflate the demonic Didact. As the Blond Basilisk stretched Colin Clean and Neat leapt for her waist causing the serpent to overshoot.
    The class watched agog as two fangs pierced the extended epidermis that was now Mrs Grimshaw.
    Time hesitated, unsure whose side it was on. A rapidly deflating Mrs Grimshaw swooped in an erratic final pass across the children’s heads, before clattering into the blackboard. Flaccid and forlorn, Mrs Grimshaw slipped and slithered into a confiscated bottle of Coca Cola where she experienced an unexpected sugar high before drowning.
    Alice the Wondergal took the front of the class. In a confident hand she wrote on the blackboard Schmoopy means whatever you want it to.

  9. Foy

    word count: 499

    Special challenge accepted!

    Self-Recovery in a How To Be World

    “He’s not much of a hearts and flowers type, so it had me wondering what spell had been cast to make him feel so sentimental.”

    No. Crap. I can’t do Romance. I swipe down on the touch pad and four different windows splay out. The harsh glow from the laptop is setting fire to the space behind my eyeballs. I’ll take an aspirin before bed. I thumb over to Twitter. Nothing. Check Facebook. A message:

    “So when will you be filthy rich on book-money and buying a mansion we can share? I’m not getting any younger…”

    Edged out of her own profile picture by her 3 year old daughter, my sister-friend smiles from the screen. A fellow writer and wrangler, Celia and I both juggle writing and mothering. But instead of balls, picture a vacuum, scrambled eggs, a kettle bell, and a baby all passing from hand-to-hand while we write with our toes.

    Can’t publish anything without a book, I type back and wait. Two years I’ve sacrificed to this novel with still no end to the reading, editing, revising, re-reeading, re-editing, and re-revising visible. Everyone wants Romance but it’s not me. I drink Coke not coffee, eat chilies not chocolate. The only dress I own, has been shrink wrapped since a week after the first time wearing it. It’s an awkward shrine to a comfortably lukewarm marriage which further proves I don’t belong in this genre; lovemaking every month hasn’t happened for years, let alone every day (romance writers have sex every day, right?). Clearly, I wouldn’t know.

    Those 25 words stare back at me, waiting for a companion sentence. Why is this story so boring?

    “Mom.” I hear clambering and the back door bangs open. “Mom!”

    “In the den, Lovey.”

    My 5 year old trundles in, followed by the 2 year old, and every inch of snow in the wide-world. It drips from his jacket, mingling with fresh clay on an even fresher floor.
    “Can you fix my gloves?” Carter says. In fingers like a lobster’s, he pinches soaking gloves.
    “Why’re they wet?” I ask attempting to squeeze them dry before wrestling them on again. This is not winning me mother-of-the-year.
    “Diablo tried to eat them.”

    I feel a wall of cold air collide with my back - “Lovey, did you leave the door open”- and then it’s too late. The Heeler is sliding between my legs, going for the couch and the baby and the walls and the ceiling if he could reach. Salty words come rushing to my lips.

    “God–” my two year old stares up at me, blue eyes wide under his twelve year old sister’s hood “–biscuit!”

    “Diablo, get out!” Carter yells and they chase our furry terrorist back out the door. Grabbing the laptop, I try to gather the pieces of my brain.

    What if Mr. Sentimental had tentacles? I type into the Facebook message box.

    Blink. Blink. Blink.
    Seen by Celia.


    “Sci-Fi doesn’t sell.”

    Maybe that’s okay…

    1. loved where this was going... especially the use of the special challenge "Sci-Fi doesn't sell" ... wonderful tale Foy

    2. Thank you, Stella. :)

  10. Difficult Questions
    By Anna Elizabeth
    wc - 284
    Both special challenges accepted!

    I'm not much of a hearts and flowers type, so it had me wondering what spell had been cast to make me feel so schmoopy. I looked up from my cold glass of coke, the condensation on the glass making my already damp palms even more so, she was serving another table but I could see her smile at the customer from where I was sitting. The smile didn't seem to reach her eyes though, I wonder what's wrong? Her smile was beautiful though, it matched the rest of her too, but not what mot would call beautiful. Her nose was probably a little small for her face, and her pale skin had a smattering of freckles which made her look younger than he really was.

    As I finished my drink I felt my heart begin to thump harder and faster in my chest. It was strange, there was no one else who made me feel this way, let alone enchant me to sit in this dingy little cafe after school every day. Under the pretence that I had a book to finish. I needed to say something to her, but she probably already had someone, or she didn't swing my way at all.

    It was the fact that I was practically head over heals for her, especially as I was never really one for liking someone this way, let alone falling in love, which gave me the feeling this was a good idea.

    Praying that I wouldn't mess this up. I waved her over, pretending to need another coke, even though I hadn't finished the first. She smiled as she walked over to me, this time though, her smile reached her eyes.