Young Writers Society

Seth~

Seth had mastered acting nice, for the most part he never voiced his opinions. After all, ugly people did tend to get temperamental when you pointed out the fact that they were ugly. The truth will set you free? Nonsense. Human beings were incapable of handling the harsh truths of reality.

So as he dealt with these people, he acted the part of a friendly person. Now that he had got a good look at the boy, he had to admit he was intrigued. He had a nice face; evenly proportioned, soft features. Seth observed beauty in all of it's forms and honestly the boy was the most interesting thing to look at around here. Much better than slug lip girl anyway. Seth had a photographic memory and filed the boys face away. He'd have to draw him later. He had the urge to reach out and touch the boys face, but he refrained.

He tried not to get annoyed by the fact that the two were ignoring him. He was used to being the center of attention, he was not used to it. He did not like it. In fact, he loathed it. "Well, I simply thought we should all get to know one another, be friends and such. I mean, who knows how long we will be out here. He stepped close to the girl so his face was inches from her face.

Apparently she had personal space issues, because the next thing he knew, he was on the ground with his nose bleeding. How dare she try to ruin his perfect face? How dare she make him bleed? If his nose was broken, there would be hell to pay. He cataloged all of this quickly and used his actual pain, along with some acting lessons to create tears. He began to sob like a baby that had scraped it's knee. It would not help to act aggressively in such a situation. She was a girl after all, and he had class. He wasn't about punch her back. Plus, he could not risk further damage to his face. He had always been about passive aggressive action.

Seth cried harder, real tears that made his eyes red and blotchy. Fine, he had planned on being nice. A new environment dictated he at least try to be friendly, but people trying to damage his face could not be tolerated. It was time to bring slug girl down.


Sidney~

"Oh, sorry. My brother always says I talk too much. I'm sure none of us will become cannibals. I don't even like meat. Beef gives me gas. Not that humans taste like beef. Not that I know what humans taste like. For all I know, they do taste like beef, but I doubt. I bit my arm once, it did not taste much like a hamburger. Then again, it was not cooked."

He looked down at the pudding. "Okay, I shall save it."

Sid nodded. "I can help build things, I built a whole castle out of legos once, although I could not fit in it. But another time, me and brother made a tree house. Okay, it collapsed and I nearly died, but I was only seven, so I think my building skills would have improved. I think...."

He glanced over at his brother just as he saw one of the other people punch him. His eyes widened and he ran over to him, flailing his arms. "SETH!" He dropped on his knees by his brother and hugged him while trying to take a look at his face. His brother was crying and his tears were mixing with his blood. "Remember what mamma said about bullies, they are just insecure people that need friends" He glared up at the girl. Sidney was rather naive, and never really saw the bad in his brother. If his brother was crying then he believed him and the other person had to be in the wrong.

"Why did you do that meanie girl. You are a meanie!" He cradled his brother's head. As usual his attention span shifted. "Oh, a puppy. He reached out his hand to the dog and patted it on the head. "I like doggies. I don't like you meanie girl." He glanced at the other boy who appeared to own the dog. "You seem nice. You should not talk to meanie girl. My brother is very sensitive. He would not hurt a fly." This was true as far as Sid was aware. Seth never did physically hurt anyone, he usually went for emotional and mental pain. Sid was not astute enough to ever pick this up when he did it.

He thought for a moment; music usually calmed Seth down. Sid ran to get his violin and glared at the girl once again when he came back. "I'll play your favorite song." He closed his eyes and began to play. All his usual randomness melted away into a simple melodic tune.

Brady

Brady was frozen now- shocked at what had just happened. There were too many people too soon in too strange a place that obviously wasn't home. He sat there for a second, moving nothing but his eyes, staring at the boy, and then at his... brother, and then at Rogue. She didn't look happy at all. In fact, she looked like she'd rip anybody's head off without a second thought.

Angry people meant that it was time to leave. Being overwhelmed meant it was time to leave. Both put together meant that it was time to leave right now. But still... he had to say something to Rogue, because he wasn't angry at her. She gave him his blanket back, which meant that she couldn't be mean all the time.

"I don't think you're mean all the time." He kept his voice low, lower than a whisper because he didn't want anybody else to hear him.

He grabbed the handle of his bag, comforted at how familiar it felt, and pushed himself up. Without another peep, he slipped away, Blue at his heels, and flopped down under a different tree- one that was further away from all of the commotion. He stole a quick glance at Rogue, quickly looking away when she caught his gaze. (He just wanted to make sure that she wasn't punching anybody else)

Maybe she was just scared- Mrs. Fry always said that some people deal with fear like that- they hit and kick and do mean things. Most of the time, though, they don't mean it, and if they do, it's just because they were afraid of the person. Or maybe she was the kind of person who got angry when she got scared- angry at herself- and took it out on other people. Or... maybe she was just angry in general. If that was the case, Brady should do something to make sure that she got happy again, shouldn't he?

He sighed, touching Blue's head gently. Blue liked Rogue, which meant that she really was a nice person. Didn't it?

He told himself to stop thinking about it and unzipped his bag. He had decided that he needed a distraction. A few pieces of blue paper, all pre-cut into perfect squares, came out, and Brady set to work folding them all into boats. Maybe he'd give them to everybody, so that they wouldn't all be angry anymore.

Maiara:

I groaned, rolling over. Something was sticking into my side. I shifted and someone yelped, "I'm s-sorry."

With a start, I shot upwards and then grabbed my head. Throbbing, not good. Not to mention I felt sick, again. I opened my eyes and looked around. Green blurred around me. Trees, not good. Then I noticed the boy beside me and yelped, scrambling away from him in a panic. He seemed to stare at me for a minute.

"Who are you?" I whispered, peering at him close, suspiciously. I didn't trust guys. Ever. 'Cept for one or two I really got to know. This...boy. I didn't know him. He was about to answer me when I felt the nausea kick in. I felt sick. Really sick. I stumbled to my feet. "Excuse me," I muttered and bolted for the edge of the clearing I realized I was in. And promptly threw up.

"Eww."

Micah

The urge to take notes on her state was almost overwhelming, but he'd learned the hard way that that wasn't a good idea. Memories of a hungover brother and a broomstick made him wince and rub the back of his head. That had been painful.

Cautiously, trying not to inhale through the nose, he stepped over to the sick girl. She was pretty. That was an opinion. Micah blinked. He wasn't supposed to have opinions. "I'm Micah Lewitt. I'm from Las Vegas, Nevada, United States, Earth." He felt the need to specify. What if she was a creature from another planet who was having unhealthy reactions to the new atmosphere? It was a perfectly stable argument.

He almost put a hand on her back, curled into a fist, and swung it back. "What's your name? And... and do you feel okay?" In his head, his father's voice roared that that was a stupid question, and he flinched. "I mean, is there anything I can do?"

He felt the tip of his pen make letters on the page, and he really didn't mean to. By now, it was a nervous habit, one of the many he had.

Rogue

Half of her wanted to take out the brother, too, and toss them both in the river, but the sensible half of her reminded her none too gently that she was in a completely foreign situation with no way out. She couldn't be labeled as a killer. She was a lot of things, but not that. Instead, she got up, took in her breath, and said a simple, mostly true, "I'm sorry. Didn't know what I was doing."

She swung her bag over her shoulder. She could've given him something to stop the bleeding, but she honestly didn't think he was worth her only Alexander McQueen scarf. She shoved that to the bottom of her bag and took out her sketchpad instead, twisting a pencil under a finger. She found a spot to herself, away from the crazy and conveniently located to the boy who was currently the only person who liked her. Well, he and the dog.

She flipped past the designs that she'd worked on back home and stared at the blank page. She'd have an idea... now. Now? Now! No. At least the effort was calming her down. In desperation, she threw a bunch of lines on the page, hoping they overlapped in a semi-decent design. She tilted the pad. A coat and a dress? No, a coat and a skirt with a shirt underneath. And shoes. Good shoes.

It was a start. She pinched the eraser between her teeth for a second before continuing.

Her mother said that expression was therapeutic. It ran in Rogue's blood to express through clothing. So it was time for some fashion therapy.

(Oh, God, she was never thinking that again. The cheesiness of it all was suffocating.)

Maiara:

I groaned, wiping a hand across my mouth and spitting out the foul taste of last night's dinner. Ugh, so disgusting. I turned and leaned against a tree, eyeing the boy who had followed me. What had he asked while I had been busy throwing up? Oh, yeah. "My name's Maiara Ashton. Los Angeles, California," I muttered, a hand hovering in front of my face. "I think I'm going to be sick again."

Several minutes went by but nothing. No more sick feeling, no more nausea or anything else, really. My head still throbbed, though. After a moment, I leaned back against the tree more and relaxed. Okay, so I wasn't going to throw up again. Good. I so did not need that right now. Frowning, I returned to eyeing the boy--no, Micah. He seemed sweet...and not at all threatening, really. My frown deepened.

"Nevermind," I said. "Not going to throw up now." My gaze dropped to his hands. He was writing in what looked like a notebook. Interesting boy. "What're you doing there?"

Carla

Sat silently near the centre of the group, Carla's gaze skimmed the small crowd again. There was no way they were ever going to survive in this kind of chaos, with people fighting and crying only two minutes after waking up. Great.

Count to four. Deep breath. She ran a hand through her hair once more, exhaling deeply, then stood up, her brow furrowing slightly as she looked around. It was definitely getting warmer, the air getting thick with humidity despite the lack of direct sunlight visible through the trees. Shrugging off her jacket, she continued her search, straining her neck to look around the small groupings of people wandering the clearing. There had been a boy with a notepad, she remembered distinctly, peering around again to search for the mess of dark curly hair above the crowd.

Hmm. Several more minutes of searching proved fruitless, and Carla made her way out of the crowd slowly, glancing behind every few moments, eyes alert for the tall figure with the notebook who had been scribbling things down intently.

A short yelp from the edge of the clearing caught her attention, and she turned to see the source of the noise, stepping forwards slowly. Ah. There was the boy. Carla continued watching for a moment as he examined the girl, only for her to run off and crouch in a bush several metres away. She was... oh. A grimace flashed across her face as she realised what the other girl was doing, subconsciously taking a half-step backwards as she did so.

"Ew."

Neither of the pair seemed to notice the outburst, and Carla remained a short distance away, watching as the two of them spoke to each other long enough to exchange names, before seeing the boy take out the notepad again. Throwing one last glance behind her at the group of other teens, she shook her head lightly, then approached. At least someone else here was trying to make some order. Carla crouched down by the two of them, face set in a serious expression, and inclined her head towards the notepad.

"Hey Micah, I'm Carla. Sorry to interrupt this," -she waved a hand absently- "but we need to start getting organised or it's going to be chaos for as long as we're here." Nodding towards the pad once more, she met his eyes warily. "Maybe we could... try and make some sense of this place." She paused, then glanced towards Maiara. "You aswell, if you aren't feeling too sick."


Jonathon

Jonathon awoke a short distance from the rest of the group, the soft murmur of distant voices drawing him from sleep. He sat up slowly, reaching for his bag and drawing it closer before throwing it onto his back, then looked around once more. There had been shouting voices, he recalled distantly, but they seemed to have subsided for now. A shadow fell on him, and he glanced upwards to see a hand extended towards him, a blue object held in it's palm.

Jonathon blinked once, then looked again, following his gaze to see a boy crouched beside him with a serene expression, head tilted to one side expectantly. Fixing his gaze once more on the blue object, Jonathon realised belatedly that it was in fact a small folded paper boat, the edges slightly crumpled. He let out a small cough, then reached for the boat, peering up at the strange boy warily.

"Thank you?" Jonathon murmured uncertainly, and the strange boy nodded in reply. A terse silence passed, and Jonathon stared at the boat blankly for a beat, before putting it in his bag with a slight disbelieving shake of the head.

"I'm Brady." The voice caught Jonathon's attention, and he looked up sharply to see the boy still staring, his legs now folded around one another neatly and his gaze as intense as ever. There was a flash of blue in his lap, and Jonathon watched for a moment, brows furrowed, before seeing the shape of another paper boat start to form, the motion fluid and clearly well-practised. He watched for a moment more as the next three boats were crafted and carefully placed in a growing pile to the left of the boy, each one as skilful as the first, only glancing up when the movements stopped.

"Why did you-" He broke off, looking up to meet the other boy's mildly confused gaze, noting absently that one was ever-so-slightly greener than the other. Brady tilted his head again, a frown flickering across his features, then reached for another piece of paper, speaking quietly as he did so.

"You stare a lot."

Jonathon blinked, thinking that this was somewhat hypocritical of the strange boy, then lay his forehead against the ground and rolled over sleepily. "Sorry. I didn't mean to."

Maiara:

I shot the girl--Carla--a glance. Me? Sick? I was so not sick... Then what do you call the throwing up just now? I sternly told that little voice to shut up. She just kept looking at me and I narrowed my gaze. "I'm not sick," I muttered. She raised an eyebrow. "I'm not," I repeated, stressing the word.

Then again, even I doubted that statement. If I wasn't sick, then why was I throwing up?

"Well, we better join the others," Carla said and turned towards the small crowd now gathered near the middle of the clearing. I frowned at them. Strange, so many strange teens in one place. Frowning, I moved to join the crowd, hugging myself so no one would bump into me.

"What's going on here?" I muttered, glancing towards Carla and Micah. Micah looked distracted and Carla just frowned. I sighed. We were never going to get anywhere with this, were we?

Tarrion

Tarrion could have sworn that he had heard somebody utter the phrase get organized. His ears perked immediately, and he turned towards the source of the feminine voice. "I was just thinking that we should probably build some sort of shelter... we don't know how long we're here for," he offered pleasantly. His tone definitley did not match his mood. Truth be told, he was still scared- who wouldn't be? But showing fear wouldn't do much to soothe the others' nerves, not would it help his pride.

"I was thinking that we could just throw together a couple of lean-to's until we can figure something else out. One for the girls and one for the guys should do it for now." For being stuck on an island, he sure was in a talkative mood. He took a couple o steps closer, wrinkling his nose and dodging a pile o vomit in the process. He decided not to ask questions. "I'm Tarrion, by the way. And that's Venus." He gestured behind him.

"Carla," the first girl answered. Tarrion recognized her voice as the one who ha preached organization. "We might need a fire, too."

Tarrion nodded. "And food- but we should have enough of that to last us until at least tomorrow."

Now they were getting somewhere. He glanced at the other two- the redhead and the boy with the notebook- half expecting them to introduce themselves. The boy seemed preoccupied with scratching notes of some sort. Tarrion'd leave him be for now. " And your name is?" He tried to sound as polite as he could, but he was getting eager to start building.

Brady

He smiled at the boy's back, even if he couldn't see it. "That's okay. I don't mind too much." he stared down at his newest boat, deciding that he had finally made one good enough to give to Rogue. She looked like she needed a special one, so that she wouldn't feel so angry anymore. "I'll be right back... maybe. I have to go and give this one to my friend."

Brady pushed himself to his feet, cradling the little blue boat with extreme care. He didn't want to break it before he could get it to her. he couldn't help but notice the Seth-boy and his brother on the way over, and decided that they both needed boats, too; even if Seth was scary.

"Hi, Rogue," Brady said cheerfully, offering his friendliest smile and a glance down at the sketch book she was holding. "What are you drawing? Can I see?" He sat down next to her, adjusting hi blanket carefully. "It's okay I you don't want to show me, though. I made you something, too."

It all came out in a rush- he didn't give Rogue the time to respond, or even return his hello before he held out the boat for her. "It's an origami boat," he announced, unable to hide the bit of pride in his voice. "I made this one a little special for you." He knew that she probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference between hers and the ones in the pile a several feet away, but he could, and that's all that really mattered to him at the moment.

Rogue

Rogue's attention was being dragged a million places at once. Brady first. It was, actually, a nice boat. No one had ever made her a boat before. And there was something so achingly innocent about his smile. It broke her heart a little.

Cautiously, oh so cautiously, she took the boat out of his hands and cradled it in her palm. She smiled just looking at it. She looked back up at a worried-looking Brady with the kindest look she could muster. "Thanks Brady. Here, look." She turned the sketchpad out so he could see. "There, that's an a-line, it's a classic. On top, that's lace, I think, and I was trying some new angles for the coat." She turned it a little more and winced. "But those aren't going to work. The shoes are decent."

God, she sounded like her mother. It was frightening.

A part of her registered that someone had probably asked for her name. She looked up and used her best projection. "I'm Rogue Green, if it helps."

Behind her, the spindle-boy with the mop hair looked up from his notebook, back at it, and up again. "Um, um, I'm Micah. Lewitt. Micah Lewitt. Sorry."

She turned back to Brady, trying to keep up the caring attittude. The last thing she needed was a lost alliance.

Clare

Finally some kind of order was being brought to life. I looked over at Tarrion again, taking a half-step closer to discuss plans. "We'll have to try and gather any food and water up so we can ration it properly - there's no way to tell what kind of food is going to be available here."

The boy nodded seriously, glancing around again. "I'll try and round up a group to find some firewood and some kind of building materials - if you stay here with Micah and note down what everyone's brought with them, then by tomorrow we should be in a more stable position."

"I'll go with you," Maiara said quickly, seeming anxious to get away from the clearing

I mulled this over for a moment, then nodded in approval. "That sounds like a good idea. See if you can get some others... but make sure you don't go too far." My gaze strayed to the edge of the clearing, where the horizon was hidden by a thick mass of trees and plant-life, obscuring the light. Tarrion let out a grim half-smile, then set off in search of volunteers with Maiara at his heel. I watched pensively as he walked away, then turned my attention back to Micah, waving a hand in front of his distant expression.

"Come on. Let's go see if anyone brought anything helpful with them."

Tarrion

Well, at least this was a start to things. Of course, as soon as they finished building the huts, they'd find out that they were being taken home this afternoon, and all of their efforts would have been entirely pointless. Wasn't that the way it usually worked? Somebody ends up inconvenienced, they fix it, and then as soon as they've worked their rear end off, another inconveniently easy solution pops up? Better safe than sorry, he supposed. It could work the other way around, too- they don't even attempt to improve their situation, and they'd still be stuck there by the end of the day. Unprepared.

And he was overthinking things again; for no other reason than he needed something other than the situation itself to think about, or he'd start to panic. There were dozens of things that he couldn't think about right now. Like his mom and his sisters, and Ryder, and his sister-in-law and their kids.... oh God. He almost missed his fiance. That was not a good sign- not a good sign at all.

And he was thinking about it. Also not a good sign.

He cleared his throat, mustering another grim smile before turning to the... Maiara girl. Maiara? That had to be right. "You feel okay?" Because she didn't look okay. In fact, she almost looked like she would vomit all over him if he didn't move out of the way... hopefully she'd be able to keep that down.

"I'm fine."

Obviously not, but he didn't feel like pushing. Not now. If she actually barfed, then he'd pester her about sitting and resting. For now, he just shrugged at her and reached out to tap Venus on the shoulder as he passed. "Wanna help?" It surprised him that he could still sound cheerful at that point.

"With what?"

Just keep smiling. Everything always seems less serious when somebody's smiling. "We're looking for people to help us find stuff to build a shelter with."

He was already eyeing people- some boy playing dreaded soft music on a violing (he's have to introduce him into the wonderful world of fiddling at some point), and somebody who could have been his twin with him, holding a bloodied nose in one hand. Now, normally, this would have been something that Tarrion felt the need to question. Right now, however, he would avoid asking questions as much as humanly possible. His gaze skipped to another group- the boy, the dog and the girl with the sketchpad. Rogue, she had said her name was. Odd name, but then, Tarrion could hardly talk. Then there was another boy- a brunette, laying on the ground. Poor guy still looked pretty groggy.

"You want to take violin-boy?" he muttered, glancing at Maiara.

She shrugged. "I suppose."

He turned to Venus, frowning a bit. She seemed preoccupied with staring at something at the edge of the clearing. "Venus? You wanna ask Rogue and the other boy if they want to help out with some shelters with me?" There was something about Venus that made it seem like a bad idea to let her go off on her own. Maiara looked semi-sick, but at least he wouldn't have to worry about her running off and getting mauled by a bear or something.

They'd let groggy-boy just sit for a couple more minutes.

Brady

"I don't actually know what an a-line is, but it looks nice." It was the best he could offer at this point. He rested his ear on his knees and managed a bit of a half smile. "I can't draw things that good, I don't think." Truth was, he didn't know if he was good at drawing or not-- he had never really tried that hard. Paper was better for oragami, in his opinion, but if Rogue liked to draw on it, then that was okay, too. At least she made it look nice.

Rogue looked like she was going to say something, but two feet that were suddenly in front of them made her stop. No- four feet. Brady didn't bother looking up just yet.

"Excuse me, we're making a list of what everybody brought."

Now Brady looked up, still only half-smiling at the Clare-girl (or was it Clara? Or did it matter?) and the other boy. Did the other boy tell Brady his name yet? Yeah, he did- it started with an N or an M or something. Micah? Micah. "I brought my blanket." He gave the corner a tug just for good measure. "My dog came, too. She has some food and stuff in my bag, and there's a little bit of food for me, and I think there's a little bit of clothes." He did pack clothes, didn't he? It would be kind of bad if he didn't. "I brought some glue, too, and some other things. I don't know what lots of them are called, but I know what to use them for. And Mrs. Fry packed me some soap and stuff." He craned his neck to look around Clare/Clara/It didn't matter which one he used and looked at his pile of boats. "I have paper, too." He pointed at the pile of less-special oragami. "You can have one of those, if you want. I was making them for everybody."

He pressed back further into the tree, pulling at bits of grass with both hands. He was getting his blanket dirty, but that was okay, he didn't mind if it got a bit messy. Brady glanced at Rogue, and then back down again, cheeks coloring a little. "Sorry, did you want to go first?" That was rude. He should have let her say something first- she looked like she had been about to say something. And what if Micah had wanted to say something, or Clare wasn't finished? He wrapped his blanket up more tightly and decided not to talk anymore for a little bit.

Sidney~

Sidney stopped playing when someone approached. Maybe they wanted some pudding. He had the taste for another cup, but the other boy had been right, they needed to conserve their stock. He wasn't really worried about being here long, but still it was better to be safe than sorry.

"Hello," he said to the girl that approached. He said it in his usual loud cheery voice. Maybe he was being too loud, he didn't want to attract some hairy beast to their position so it could eat them. Well, if that happened he'd distract the creature with a pudding cup. He was sure all creatures on life liked pudding. People that did not like pudding had no souls as far as he was concerned. They were like soulless vampires sucking joy and happiness from the world. Stupid pudding hating vampires.

"Hey, Tarrion thinks we should look for some supplies to build a shelter."

"Oh, okay." He got up and looked down at his brother. "Will you be okay by yourself?"

Seth nodded.

"Good, now lets go find some shelter building stuff. He jumped forward as if he were about to dive in a pool. He landed on his hands and quickly righted himself so he stood perfectly vertical on his hands. He began to walk forward on his hands towards some trees. They would need a lot of wood, and some leaves. Maybe he could find some coconuts and make a radio like he saw once on Gilligan's Island. "You should walk like this. It helps you think," he said to the girl. She just gave him a odd look.

"No thanks," she said.

"What's your name. My name's Sidney, but my friends call me Sid on account Sidney is a girls name. The only person who calls me Sidney is my grandmother, and that's because she's deaf in one ear and never hears me when I correct her. She makes pudding from scratch. She made me banana pudding once, but it had raisins. I don't like raisins. They look like shriveled up rat poop. Not very tasty either. I like putting Sunflower seeds in my pudding, or once I put in gummy bears. That was really good. I don't like gummy bears in ice cream, because the coldness makes them all hard and tough. Pudding doesn't do that; the gummy bears stay gummy and nice." he picked up a piece of wood and examined it. Yes, this would make a really good piece to a shelter.

Maiara -- The Clearing:

"Maiara," I said and fell silent again, slowly picking at the stuff near the edge of the clearing. This Sidney kid talked too much for my liking. At least he didn't intimidate me like some of the others. Tarrion was another story...but he was nice. He actually seemed concerned about me.

Sidney rambled on about pudding or something, but I wasn't listening. I was too busy examining the bits of wood and foliage littering the ground. I pointed to a long, thin stick. It would make a good pole. Looking at Sidney, I noticed he hadn't seen me.

"That one," I said and tried to sound confident. Instead, I sounded quiet and shy. Sidney glanced at me and then picked it up. I went back to looking for stuff to build a shelter with.

Micah

He relaxed his grip on his notebook as the girl with the hard face -Rogue, that had been her name- told the other boy -Brady, right- that no, she hadn't wanted to go first. The boy relaxed- so there was something there, maybe a friendship. Micah loved to observe friendships. He scribbled a quick note of it down in the margins of his book.

But then she was looking straight at him and it was making him squirm, and his fingers tightened.

"Okay, let's see..." Her voice sounded kind of cold, and Micah flinched. Maybe they should have left her alone. She pulled her bag over to her and looked in. "Looks like I brought a sketchpad, pencils, clothes, a knife, shoes, a brush, and, um..." She was pawing through her bag, but one hand was tugging at something Micah couldn't quite see under her collar. "I think that's it."

The second she looked up, Micah stopped wobbling on tiptoe -even with his gangling height, it was hard to see things that were tucked under other things. Sometimes he could find a shadow, or even a reflection if the person was pale enough, but the light wasn't good enough. Instead, he added a last curl to the last "h" and shoved his hair out of his face as best as he could. Of course, it just fell right back to where it had been.

"Okay," he mumbled. "Thank you."

Except he didn't have much to thank for, and what was he supposed to do now?