Young Adult / Gifted, Chapter Eight (Analysis)
The creaking door woke her. She heard the shuffle of feet and heard the a pop as someone flicked the light switch. The florescent lights flickered, then shone at their full strength, which was a sickly pale green. Charlotte shielded her eyes with the damp cloth. She couldn’t tell what time it was. The clock on the wall had been broken for weeks, and nobody cared enough to fix it.
“Randall? I thought you’d forgotten about me. How long have I been back here?”
“Sorry, it’s not Randall. And I didn’t forget about you.” The door shut, and Seth stood across from her.
“What are you doing here?” The throbbing thunder was still in her head and had managed to push out her manners. Charlotte was aware that she was sprawled out in an unattractive position—one leg dangling halfway off the couch, the other propped up on the arm—but the pain kept her from moving.
Seth shoved his hands into pockets of his cargos and rocked back and forth on his heels. “Randall’s car’s in the shop, so I came to pick him up,” Seth said quietly. “He told me about your headaches. How are you feeling?”
She winced, then inhaled and exhaled sharply. Women in labor were always being instructed to inhale and exhale when they were in pain. She couldn’t imagine that labor pains were much worse than what she felt, if only in a more awkward location. Maybe if she were lucky she could breathe away the pain that throbbed in her temples.
“Miserable. I can barely stand the lights. If you wait around a few minutes, you may get to see my eyes explode,” Charlotte said. “If it weren’t for the pain, I could actually enjoy the fact that I’m not working.”
“At least you can still joke,” Seth said. “That’s a good sign.”
Charlotte laughed a little, and then groaned when the laughing hurt. “Any chance you’ve got a large quantity of pills on you?” The light was too much again, and she covered her eyes with the cloth.
Seth grabbed a plastic chair from the table and moved it closer to the couch. He straddled it and draped his arms across the backrest. As he watched her lie on the sunken plaid couch, her breathing slowly evened out. The old refrigerator hummed and rattled. The water stains along the ceiling were the most decoration the room had seen in a long time. Seth tapped his fingers in time with the refrigerator’s sounds. The room, he realized, smelled of failure.
When he didn’t speak for several minutes, she pulled the cloth back from her eyes and squinted at the sudden rush of light to her sore eyes. Even with the pain in her head, he was more beautiful than she’d first seen. It startled her. She didn’t want him to see her staring, so she covered her eyes again.
He finally announced, as if he had been debating the matter with himself, “You won’t be able to drive like that. Let me take you home in your car and Randall can follow in mine and pick me up there.”
“That’s too much trouble. I’ll be fine,” she protested from under the cloth. She couldn’t imagine why she was saying no.
“I know it’s not out of our way. I can’t leave you to drive home with a dishtowel on your face.”
Charlotte didn’t have the energy to argue, and honestly, she didn’t mind the thought of Seth driving her home.
“Okay.”
He stood up, putting the chair away and taking her hand, which felt unusually cold against his. She felt him squeeze her hand, encouraging her to stand up. Charlotte let him lead her through the store and didn’t care that Cole saw them and would have plenty of ammunition the next morning. If not for the pain, she would have risked flaunting the situation. The most gorgeous guy she’d ever seen was taking her home. Not in that way, but she could pretend.
The cool blue darkness outside relieved some of the tension in Charlotte’s head, but the throbbing pain made her weighs the pros and cons of clawing her eyes out. They let the music fill the need for sound. She shielded her eyes against the headlights of oncoming traffic. She wanted to shut down, sleep for three days without interruption. Seth remained quiet, hoping the silence would ease some of the pain he saw on her face. Watching her made it seem like she was hurting for someone else.
“We’re almost there. Which dorm are you in?” Seth asked her.
“What? Oh, sorry.” Charlotte opened her eyes and tried to orient herself quickly. She saw the freshman dorms. “Last one on the right.”
He eased the car into the closest spot he could find. It was getting late, and the parking lot was almost full.
“Do you want me to walk you upstairs?” Seth asked.
The easy answer was the one she couldn’t say out loud. “I…I appreciate it, but I’ll be okay.” She could see that he wasn’t convinced. “My roommate’s probably asleep. I don’t want to disturb her.” Charlotte suddenly wished she’d been able to afford that private room.
She reached for the handle and felt Seth’s arm reach across her body. “At least let me get the door for you. My mother did teach me a few manners.”
He stepped in front of the car, and one hand brushed the hood. He opened her door, careful not to hit the car next to them, and held the handle as she stepped out. When she stood, he was there, just hovering over her. The car door was the only thing between them. She could feel his breath on her face, sweet and slightly warm. A surge of energy welled up from somewhere near her stomach. She thought knew what might happen, but couldn’t be sure she was right. This can’t be happening, she thought, this kind of thing doesn’t happen to me.
He didn’t move. Charlotte waited a few seconds longer, looking at the old gum stuck to the sidewalk instead of where she wanted to gaze. Even as she tried her best to deny his presence a few inches away, she knew it was happening. He was so close she could smell the laundry detergent on his shirt, and the smell instantly fused with the memory.
Charlotte wasn’t dumb enough not to recognize the signs. Every chick flick montage had told her what to expect in the crucial moment when two people who are no more than friend cross the into greater, either for a lifetime or the duration of the film. Like those movies, she knew it seemed too easy, too soon. But propriety didn’t really matter here; she wanted to know what it would feel like to let him kiss her. As much as she didn’t believe in those montage moments, she wanted one right now, complete with acoustic alternative music in the background. But the splitting headache and the whooping of frat boys in the parking lot didn’t exactly cement the moment as one she wanted in her collection.
She pulled back, creating space between the two of them. The scape of gravel underfoot was like a record scratch, yanking them from the moment. Her lips tasted like rubber bands. She heard herself praying, Please, not yet.
He gently shut the door and handed her the keys. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?” he asked again, even though he knew the answer wouldn’t change.
There are only two options, she thought, and one of them will probably make me hate myself tomorrow.
She stared at the gum and nodded.
“Here’s my number. Promise you’ll call if you need anything.” A scrap of paper moved from his hand to her appeared in his hand and was slipped into the front pocket of her backpack. He gently kissed her temple, and she could swear that some of the pain went away. She dreamed foggy London dreams in the early morning hours where he took her away from her sludgy days.
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This is the first chapter of this I’ve read, but it is truly amazing writing. The flow is great, the characters are lively and believable. Even the dialogue sounds realistic. I love this story!
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I am new to the story. Although I have joined your story in chapter 8, I find myself easily able to identify with the charaters. I fell right in with the story line and will be going on the site to play catch up with the first 7 chapters. Your description of Charlotte and her mysterious headache had me almost feeling what she was feeling. Bravo, can’t wait to read more from you.
The entire sense of how obvious the montage scene is contrasted with the girl’s former beliefs that these kinds of event did not happen could be built upon to give a little more depth.
I like the description of the migraine and the comparison to a woman going into labor; somewhat over the top humor, but hey; I think we are all looking for some sarcasm when we read a novel of this level!
I would love to read the rest of this story. It seems to be very well written and the characters were believable and well fleshed out. Meaning they seem real.
I liked it well enough, but you need make the following more understandable..it’s awkward:
‘A scrap of paper moved from his hand to her appeared in his hand and was slipped…’
The last line sort of popped the whole dream state narrative for me though. It sort of chopped off and I was left thinking…’huh?’ Try easing the endin goff…get us to her room, have her collapse in exhaustion…THEN dream her foggy dreams.
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