Sunday, June 5, 2011

4 1st 5 Pages Workshop - June Entry #2

Feliza David - YA Mystery

CHAPTER ONE

This wasn't good. Not from any angle.

An ambulance and a police car huddled nose to nose, like they were
sharing secrets as they sat together in the otherwise vacant parking
lot. Both pitched blue and cherry lights that mingled with the early
morning sunshine and bounced over the glass-fronted swimming complex
facing the lot.

I caught the scene as I rolled down the street. I had come to school
extra early to snag a computer at the library, since mine had bricked
out two days ago.

I should have ducked into that shopping complex with the gourmet coffee
place and all those little consignment shops, then doubled back and
returned home. Instead, I coasted forward, maybe gunned it a little,
although I couldn't tell you why. Maybe I was like one of those
migrating birds that couldn't figure out how to change their map.

Soon enough, the distance between me and the school parking lot had
disappeared.

I halted a few yards away, off to one side. A plain of asphalt spread
out before me. The only things interrupting the smoothness were me, the
squad car, and the ambulance. Three spots of color. But even without the
benefit of working strobe lights, my vehicle was the loudest. The dusty
pink, retro styling of my motor scooter (a fortunate gift from my
grandma made unfortunate by its color palette) seemed even more
ridiculous than usual.

I don't know how long I sat there, waiting. At first, it was just cold
enough for my breathing to come out in little clouds. But by the time
the doors to the swimming complex swung open, I couldn't see my breath
anymore.
Two paramedics stepped out of the swimming complex wheeling a lumpy,
sheet-covered gurney. Something black and lacy dribbled out from one
side, like an oil slick.

Later, I would find out that the lump was my classmate, a goth girl
named Anna Levine, and the oil slick was her skirt--the one that had
caught in a pool drain and sucked her to the bottom to drown.

But in the chilly quiet of the morning, all I knew was that something
had happened and someone was dead.
I should be screaming, I thought. Yelling my head off and making a scene.

Anything but sitting there on my bike and just watching, like this was
something happening on TV instead of a real corpse.

I registered a dark uniform and the shiny wink of a badge--Officer Ryan,
still looking almost too young to be sporting a holstered weapon. He was
an old friend, of sorts.

I noticed him at the same time he noticed me.

The greeting we exchanged was a quick lock of our eyes. Not like I
expected more. For some reason, though, the brevity of it left a
coldness gnawing at my insides.

The paramedics loaded up the gurney, huffing as they lifted its bulk
into their ambulance. Even though I was expecting it, the sounds of
their slamming doors made me jump.

Officer Ryan and I watched them drive away. When the ambulance had
disappeared around the corner, he turned to me.

Go home, said his expression. I could imagine the sentiment in buzzing
blue neon, the same color as his eyes. He didn't need to open his mouth.

I had revved up my scooter to do just that, when something caught my eye.

Someone stood just inside the still-open doors to the pool complex.
After a moment of squinting, I recognized Coach Laughlin.

I shivered as I imagined him driving to work, sipping some coffee and
humming along with the radio.
Parking his car.

Then walking into school and finding someone dead.

If I stared at the coach for a second longer, I'd be able to make out
his expression. And if I did that, maybe something really would come
crashing down inside me.

So I gunned my engine and zipped away, like a scared bunny who'd been
paralyzed with fear, but had finally gotten her speed back.

#

Anna Levine died early Thursday morning. From what I could tell from the
news, it had happened not too long before I had arrived. An hour, maybe
two. If I did the math for too long, my chest started to ache.

The district gave us Friday off, and the weekend rolled in after that.
The whole thing was kind of like an unexpected snow holiday, but with
less sledding and more tearful memorials. When Monday came around,
Augustine High was back in session.

I came in late. Not on purpose, as far as I know, although so far my
track record with coming into school early didn't bode well.

As usual, first-period Journalism was pretty low-key. You tended to get
that in crowds where most people had known each other since nursery
school. We kicked things off in the usual way: a round-table meeting
with Samantha Curtis, the student editor--and my best friend, up until
the trouble last semester.

Today, Samantha looked neatly pressed as always, her blonde hair as
sleek and straight as a ruler, but her voice was missing its usual crisp
cadence.

"So, we don't have a new edition for this week. You know, obviously."
She sighed. "I'm going to try to get the memorial edition out soon. For
now, I guess we're supposed to keep working on things and..." She
frowned at her PDA. "Ian says he's got the flu and he can't cover the
girls' basketball game tonight. Any takers?"

No thanks. Suddenly, I felt a surge of concern for the state of my
cuticles. I could live without a two-hour bus ride and, from the hush in
the room, it looked like everyone else could, too.

Samantha sighed. "Come on, guys. Anybody? Bueller?"

"Why don't you just give it to Prudence?" said Lauren King.

I didn't bother to ask her to call me Mallory. My plan to ditch my old,
boring name for something a little more presentable had been about as
successful as my mother's advice to "just be yourself." Even after a
year in Augustine, I still hadn't convinced anyone to call me by my last
name.

Lauren turned to me, her curly hair bobbing. "I mean, you've got like,
one article this week. No offense or anything."

"None taken," I said. It was no secret that, these days, most of the
staff thought I was a roving reporter who didn't rove very far.

To my surprise, Samantha rescued me. "Chris can do it. I've got Prudence
on another project this week." She caught my eye for a slip of a second
before looking back at her phone.

A few months ago, Samantha had given me the job as Dear Audrey, the
paper's anonymous advice columnist, for two reasons: first, because she
was too swamped to do it herself anymore; and, second, because it was
the most thankless job on staff.

I also liked to think that my air of gravitas had something to do with it.

Or not.

Before this, Samantha had me on the entertainment beat. Not exactly
hard-hitting journalism, but the free movie passes were nice. These
days, that cushy position was property of Lauren King, who had the
unfair advantage of not having ruined Samantha's life a few months ago.

As Samantha handed Lauren another set of free movie passes, I resisted
the urge to pull one of Lauren's curls and watch it bounce like a Slinky.

4 comments:

  1. I like your character's voice, but I want it to come across more forcefully. Like this line: "my vehicle was the loudest. The dusty
    pink, retro styling of my motor scooter (a fortunate gift from my
    grandma made unfortunate by its color palette)" Nice. Or this one: "I resisted the urge to pull one of Lauren's curls and watch it bounce like a Slinky." More of that please!! :D

    The whole later I would find out thing pulled me out a bit. In fact, I think you can cut down a bit. What info is important here? Is this the story about solving the goth girl's murder? I imagine so. Though her skirt getting caught made it feel open and shut.

    I would like to be more invested in the whole morbidity of the scene by knowing what your MC feels watching it. I know she's eluding to being in shock, but a thought about what it means to the girl's family or what if it was someone she was close to, something along those lines. I definitely want to know her relationship with the policeman.

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  2. There some wonderful moments in this opening. The voice is great, when it shines through. I found the whole beginning a little cold though. She's watching a body being brought out of the school pool, the body of someone she no doubt knows, yet we get no sense of her thoughts or feelings about it. Maybe it's shock? But if so, we should sense the shock.

    I'm wondering if you should mention that the girl's skirt was caught in the drain. The reference really caught me out and I had to go back and reread a whole chunk. If this is a mystery, I'm guessing it's about this girl's death. So should we know how she died right up front?

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  3. Hi Feliza,

    You write beautifully, and there are some gorgeous moments in here. I agree that I love the voice, and I'd love to see even more of it, but I wonder if that's because it got a little drowned in the pacing. This is potentially a very dramatic scene and it seems remote and dry, which makes her feel a little unsympathetic.

    I'm wondering what would happen if you started here:

    Anna Levine died early Thursday morning. I arrived at school not too long after, in time to see the ambulance and police car huddled nose to nose, like they were sharing secrets as they sat together in the otherwise vacant parking lot. Both pitched blue and cherry lights that mingled with the early
    morning sunshine and bounced over the glass-fronted swimming complex. Next you might put something with emotional reaction and judgment about why she's at school so early, maybe something like the lights warning off anyone stupid enough to arrive at school this early blah, blah. Then maybe a line about why its clearly a bad omen, how it makes her feel and why. Then when she slows the scooter and waits, its clearly in reaction to dread, and she come across more sympathetically.

    If she knows the policeman, his reaction can tell her a lot. Similarly, since she is obviously going to solve the mystery, we need to see her detective skills, which means we should be seeing her thought processes coming across as inquisitive and insightful. I'm not quite getting that yet.

    Hope this makes sense. I love, love your writing but I think you need to reorder this beginning and make it more active and engaged. Can't wait to see the rewrite!

    Best,

    Martina

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  4. Lisa, Kate, and Martina,

    You all deserve cupcakes from me. Thank you, thank you, thank you for the advice. I see what you guys mean about adding a little extra sympathy, plus tweaking the pacing just a bit. I feel like the scene is there, but it's just not THERE yet, you know? Guess I just needed some new eyes :)

    Thanks again.

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