Post by SomethingAboutTheStars on Jan 5, 2012 0:06:03 GMT -5
Thank you Greysonluvsme (Kailyn), WalktheRainbows, and Greysongal for commenting on the last chapter. (: Comments appreciated! Also, I do apologize for the large amount of text...oh, and to guest, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE I AM WATCHING YOU READ THIS GOSH DANG THING, I will KEEEL you.
Prologue: thegreysonchanceforum.com/index.cgi?board=fiction&action=display&thread=793
Chapter 1: www.thegreysonchanceforum.com/ind....play&thread=793
Chapter 2: thegreysonchanceforum.com/index.c....play&thread=796
Chapter 3: thegreysonchanceforum.com/index.c....play&thread=798
Chapter 4: thegreysonchanceforum.com/index.c....play&thread=807
Chapter 5: thegreysonchanceforum.com/index.c....read=809&page=1
Chapter 6: thegreysonchanceforum.com/index.c....tion&thread=811
Chapter 7: You're already here!
“Stephen, it’s another code,” I complain.
“We can figure it out,” Stephen says.
We’re driving back to the coffee shop after. I had thanked Ethan so much Stephen had to pull me away. And I swore to both of them I’d pay them back.
“But this one, this is, god, it’s really cryptic,” I’m reading the note again and again. This one says;
Laurence,
In the morning at 10, the vinyl spins, you danced to the music. You liked the shine of the records. Remember thinking about the artists who created them. Terror shot through your veins at the thought of being in the spot light. But you were there, my dear. You loved it there. You were above the world, on cloud 11. Thinking of minerals, the building blocks. Building blocks of what? The bugs that scared you, they stank if you scared them. Your mom said, Let it Be.
“I have to get somewhere at ten. Or at least dance,” I tap the paper. It’s thick, like parchment. And it’s very dusty. I’ve wiped it off and I’m rubbing the paper between my two thumbs and two index fingers.
“Let me look,” Stephen says.
“Nope, you’re driving,” I tell him.
“Fine. I’ll drive fast.”
“No!” I protest. “Drive legally, I’ll show you at a stop or something.”
“That works.”
Stephen drives legally until we get back to the coffee shop. And I doodle on the back of my hand with a pen. When we get back, Stephen’s dad, Mike, immediately jumps on him.
“Where’ve you been?” he asks. He’s not harsh, but he’s stern.
“I was helping Laurie with something….”
“Well, I needed your help here!”
“I’m sorry,” Stephen says. He’s like a puppy dog, caught in the act. My dog used to go off and sulk when she was in trouble. Stephen has the same look in his eyes.
“That’s fine. But, please, get to work.”
“Of course.”
Mike turns to leave.
“Hey, Mike, wait!” I call.
“Yes?”
“Would you like me to help?”
“You don’t need to—“
“But may I?”
Stephen’s shaking his head.
But both Mike and I ignore him.
“If you really want to.”
“There. Last night and today. If I work two shifts. Maybe more,” I count on my fingers.
“Oh you little,” Stephen is saying. I’m smiling at him in triumph an pulling a green apron over my head and tying it in the back. Then I pull my hair back into a pony tail and push a cap onto my head.
I’ve worked at the café many times; I’m used to it and it’s easy. People can be grouchy, but it’s better than the bookstore. There is a livelier buzz, there is a better vibe. People hang around and chat and most know each other and the staff personally. They even recognize me, which is pretty cool. But not as a worker—usually I’m the girl just sitting at the counter, talking to Stephen. There’s a little boy who seems to like me. When I work and his mom’s at her laptop, he likes to climb to my usual spot at the counter and talk to me.
I learn his names his Max, he’s eight years old, and turning nine in four months. He has a dog and a cat and a goldfish. He wants a snake but his mom won’t let him. I tell him that I wouldn’t let him either. His favorite color is purple and he wants to dye his hair purple too, but she’s not letting him do that either.
“I like your blonde hair, Max,” I say, ruffling his short, spiky blonde hair. “It looks good on you.”
“I like your brown hair,” he says, reaching out and grabbing a strand of my brown hair that’s come loose from my cap. “But you should wear it down more often. And maybe put purple in it?”
I laugh. “Maybe I could. Do you think purple and brown looks good together?”
“Purple looks good with pretty much anything.”
“You really think so?”
He nods. “I wish the sky was purple sometimes.”
I say, “Sometimes it is.”
My double shifts end, Max and his mom leave. He says he’s going to get me a Christmas present. I tell him there’s no need.
Stephen comes over and takes my hat and unties my apron so it hangs awkwardly in front of me.
“You’re done. You finished like, twenty minutes ago,” he says.
“So?” I steal my hat back and jam it onto my head.
“Your shift is over, Laurence,” he says.
“I’m paying you guys back,” I retort.
Stephen rolls his eyes and grabs me by the two apron strings. He pulls them tight like I’m wearing a corset and drags me off towards the back of the café. “You’ve done enough.”
“Hey!” I protest. I yank the strings back from him.
Stephen takes it from me again and then steals my hat.
“Don’t you want to work on whatever your manager left you?” he asks.
And he’s hit a chink in the armor. I don’t take the hat back; I let him pull the apron over my head. My hand reaches back and I take the hair tie from my ponytail. It falls down my back. I reach into my pocket and grab the tightly folded note.
“Yes. I do, you little stink,” I say. With shaky hands I open the note. I’ve read it before, but I’m having horrible visions of it changing and I don’t get it. I already don’t get it as it is.
Laurence,
In the morning at 10, the vinyl spins, you danced to the music. You liked the shine of the records. Remember thinking about the artists who created them. Terror shot through your veins at the thought of being in the spot light. But you were there, my dear. You loved it there. You were above the world, on cloud 11. Thinking of minerals, the building blocks. Building blocks of what? The bugs that scared you, they stank if you scared them. Your mom said, Let it Be.
“We got to something at ten in the morning, I dance or something.”
Stephen reads over my shoulder. “You were in the spotlight,” he says.
“Above the world,” I say, touching the words. “Maybe something tall?”
“Cloud 11,” Stephen points. “Know of anywhere called Cloud 11?”
Stephen nods. “Back to cloud 11,” he says.
I think. “There are 9 clouds in that religious thing,” I say.
“Right. So Cloud 11 must be something higher.”
“Cloud 9 is love, isn’t it? Cloud 11 could be more in love.”
“You were in love with your novel at the time,” Stephen remembers.
“So there’s something about records here,” I say, running my hands over the letters. “The vinyl spins…you liked the shine of records.”
“Maybe a record store?” Stephen suggests.
“A record store,” I repeat. I think he’s got it. My mouth opens wide into a grin. “A record store.”
“Yes? What about it?”
“The Spotlight, Stephen! That’s a record store in New York! John and I’d always go there when we were bored. John, he was friends with the people who owned it. We’re supposed to go there!”
“Then let’s,” he said. “Both of our shifts are over.” He winks at me.
“I’ve got an eternal shift to you guys,” I remind him.
“Whatever,” he says.
“Should we decode the rest of the note?”
“Are you trying to put this off?”
“No!” I shout, panicked.
“Okay, okay, calm down. We’re going, now.” Stephen takes the keys and we climb into his dad’s car.
Prologue: thegreysonchanceforum.com/index.cgi?board=fiction&action=display&thread=793
Chapter 1: www.thegreysonchanceforum.com/ind....play&thread=793
Chapter 2: thegreysonchanceforum.com/index.c....play&thread=796
Chapter 3: thegreysonchanceforum.com/index.c....play&thread=798
Chapter 4: thegreysonchanceforum.com/index.c....play&thread=807
Chapter 5: thegreysonchanceforum.com/index.c....read=809&page=1
Chapter 6: thegreysonchanceforum.com/index.c....tion&thread=811
Chapter 7: You're already here!
Chapter 7
Laurence
“Stephen, it’s another code,” I complain.
“We can figure it out,” Stephen says.
We’re driving back to the coffee shop after. I had thanked Ethan so much Stephen had to pull me away. And I swore to both of them I’d pay them back.
“But this one, this is, god, it’s really cryptic,” I’m reading the note again and again. This one says;
Laurence,
In the morning at 10, the vinyl spins, you danced to the music. You liked the shine of the records. Remember thinking about the artists who created them. Terror shot through your veins at the thought of being in the spot light. But you were there, my dear. You loved it there. You were above the world, on cloud 11. Thinking of minerals, the building blocks. Building blocks of what? The bugs that scared you, they stank if you scared them. Your mom said, Let it Be.
“I have to get somewhere at ten. Or at least dance,” I tap the paper. It’s thick, like parchment. And it’s very dusty. I’ve wiped it off and I’m rubbing the paper between my two thumbs and two index fingers.
“Let me look,” Stephen says.
“Nope, you’re driving,” I tell him.
“Fine. I’ll drive fast.”
“No!” I protest. “Drive legally, I’ll show you at a stop or something.”
“That works.”
Stephen drives legally until we get back to the coffee shop. And I doodle on the back of my hand with a pen. When we get back, Stephen’s dad, Mike, immediately jumps on him.
“Where’ve you been?” he asks. He’s not harsh, but he’s stern.
“I was helping Laurie with something….”
“Well, I needed your help here!”
“I’m sorry,” Stephen says. He’s like a puppy dog, caught in the act. My dog used to go off and sulk when she was in trouble. Stephen has the same look in his eyes.
“That’s fine. But, please, get to work.”
“Of course.”
Mike turns to leave.
“Hey, Mike, wait!” I call.
“Yes?”
“Would you like me to help?”
“You don’t need to—“
“But may I?”
Stephen’s shaking his head.
But both Mike and I ignore him.
“If you really want to.”
“There. Last night and today. If I work two shifts. Maybe more,” I count on my fingers.
“Oh you little,” Stephen is saying. I’m smiling at him in triumph an pulling a green apron over my head and tying it in the back. Then I pull my hair back into a pony tail and push a cap onto my head.
I’ve worked at the café many times; I’m used to it and it’s easy. People can be grouchy, but it’s better than the bookstore. There is a livelier buzz, there is a better vibe. People hang around and chat and most know each other and the staff personally. They even recognize me, which is pretty cool. But not as a worker—usually I’m the girl just sitting at the counter, talking to Stephen. There’s a little boy who seems to like me. When I work and his mom’s at her laptop, he likes to climb to my usual spot at the counter and talk to me.
I learn his names his Max, he’s eight years old, and turning nine in four months. He has a dog and a cat and a goldfish. He wants a snake but his mom won’t let him. I tell him that I wouldn’t let him either. His favorite color is purple and he wants to dye his hair purple too, but she’s not letting him do that either.
“I like your blonde hair, Max,” I say, ruffling his short, spiky blonde hair. “It looks good on you.”
“I like your brown hair,” he says, reaching out and grabbing a strand of my brown hair that’s come loose from my cap. “But you should wear it down more often. And maybe put purple in it?”
I laugh. “Maybe I could. Do you think purple and brown looks good together?”
“Purple looks good with pretty much anything.”
“You really think so?”
He nods. “I wish the sky was purple sometimes.”
I say, “Sometimes it is.”
My double shifts end, Max and his mom leave. He says he’s going to get me a Christmas present. I tell him there’s no need.
Stephen comes over and takes my hat and unties my apron so it hangs awkwardly in front of me.
“You’re done. You finished like, twenty minutes ago,” he says.
“So?” I steal my hat back and jam it onto my head.
“Your shift is over, Laurence,” he says.
“I’m paying you guys back,” I retort.
Stephen rolls his eyes and grabs me by the two apron strings. He pulls them tight like I’m wearing a corset and drags me off towards the back of the café. “You’ve done enough.”
“Hey!” I protest. I yank the strings back from him.
Stephen takes it from me again and then steals my hat.
“Don’t you want to work on whatever your manager left you?” he asks.
And he’s hit a chink in the armor. I don’t take the hat back; I let him pull the apron over my head. My hand reaches back and I take the hair tie from my ponytail. It falls down my back. I reach into my pocket and grab the tightly folded note.
“Yes. I do, you little stink,” I say. With shaky hands I open the note. I’ve read it before, but I’m having horrible visions of it changing and I don’t get it. I already don’t get it as it is.
Laurence,
In the morning at 10, the vinyl spins, you danced to the music. You liked the shine of the records. Remember thinking about the artists who created them. Terror shot through your veins at the thought of being in the spot light. But you were there, my dear. You loved it there. You were above the world, on cloud 11. Thinking of minerals, the building blocks. Building blocks of what? The bugs that scared you, they stank if you scared them. Your mom said, Let it Be.
“We got to something at ten in the morning, I dance or something.”
Stephen reads over my shoulder. “You were in the spotlight,” he says.
“Above the world,” I say, touching the words. “Maybe something tall?”
“Cloud 11,” Stephen points. “Know of anywhere called Cloud 11?”
Stephen nods. “Back to cloud 11,” he says.
I think. “There are 9 clouds in that religious thing,” I say.
“Right. So Cloud 11 must be something higher.”
“Cloud 9 is love, isn’t it? Cloud 11 could be more in love.”
“You were in love with your novel at the time,” Stephen remembers.
“So there’s something about records here,” I say, running my hands over the letters. “The vinyl spins…you liked the shine of records.”
“Maybe a record store?” Stephen suggests.
“A record store,” I repeat. I think he’s got it. My mouth opens wide into a grin. “A record store.”
“Yes? What about it?”
“The Spotlight, Stephen! That’s a record store in New York! John and I’d always go there when we were bored. John, he was friends with the people who owned it. We’re supposed to go there!”
“Then let’s,” he said. “Both of our shifts are over.” He winks at me.
“I’ve got an eternal shift to you guys,” I remind him.
“Whatever,” he says.
“Should we decode the rest of the note?”
“Are you trying to put this off?”
“No!” I shout, panicked.
“Okay, okay, calm down. We’re going, now.” Stephen takes the keys and we climb into his dad’s car.