Young Writers Society

Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed Part One!! Kudos to you. A quick note...you'll notice that this doesn't pick up exactly where I left Part One off. No sireeee! You are getting a taster of what I want to turn into a book, if things work out well. So there will be four parts, I hope you enjoy them. Please review as if your life is going to depend on it, it's the only way I can grow!! Thanks again!


“What are you in for?”

I look up from the trashy magazine I was reading, my eyebrows raised as I stared at the guy sitting opposite me. His wavy blonde hair and tanned face were strangely familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve seen him before. I look back down at my magazine before realizing he was talking to me. And he expected an answer.

“Leg reconstruction.” I didn’t bother to look up from the oh-so-interesting article about Brad and Angelina’s latest split. I flicked to the front cover, checking out the date of the magazine. It was dated back three weeks ago. Disgusted, I threw the magazine down onto the chair next to me.

“Nice,” Blonde-haired boy replied. I tried to think of where I’d seen him before. He looked as if he belonged on a lacrosse field.
I grimaced. “No, painful.”
He laughed. That wasn’t the reaction I was looking for.

“What about you? What are you in here for?” I asked, leaning my head back against the cream coloured walls. For a physiotherapy clinic, this place looked more like a psych ward than a place to heal body parts. A chrome clock ticked slowly on one wall. The chairs are black in contrast with the walls, and there is only one plant in the room, and that’s fake. Classical music floats around from speakers hidden around the room. Every week as I sit in the waiting room, I ponder whether or not that my parents have sent me to a shrink who is posing as a physio.

“Oh, I’m not here for anything. My sister’s in there,” Lacrosse Boy jerked his head towards one of the doors. “She fractured her pelvis a while ago, and I’m just waiting to drive her home.”
I winced, the thought alone painful enough. “Ouch.”

A door opened, and the head of a young man in his twenties appeared around the corner.
“Alexa?” He beckoned me over with a jolt of his head. I sighed, grabbing my bag and consigning myself to the fate of my over-eager college graduate physio.
“Bye, Alexa; have fun.” Lacrosse Boy held his hand up in a friendly goodbye. As I walked away, I threw my head back to glare at him with a stare I usually only reserved for my parents.



My therapist stretched my leg out with his hands, straightening my kneecaps as far down as he could. I winced a little at the dull ache that was still there.

“How does that feel?” He asked, looking up at me. Mr. Elliott, my therapist, looked like he should be working for a state football team, not at a exclusive physiotherapy clinic for West Point Harbour’s elite. He was young and tanned with blue eyes and sandy blonde hair. I could see why my mother had chosen this clinic to help my recovery.

“A little sore,” I replied truthfully. I actually didn’t mind him. Being young, he knew how I felt, apparently. The reason he’d gone into physiotherapy, Elliott had told me on day one, was because of a football injury that left him unable to play college football. At first I’d wanted to roll my eyes and tell him to cry me a river, but as our sessions went along, I had begun to warm up to him.

His hand ran down my calf, his fingers gently pressing against my muscles. If I were anyone else, I think I would have swooned and fainted on the floor by now.
“Can you point your toe for me, as strong as you can?”
I nodded. Tensing my leg under his grip, I arched my foot into a sloppy point. Pain shot through my leg and up my side.

I groaned. “This is useless.” I pulled my leg out of Elliott’s hand, pushing my tracksuit pants back down. I know I was being childish, but at this stage I was beyond caring. Why bother to heal the muscles in my leg when I was never going to dance again? What was the point?
Mr. Elliott sighed as he stood up. Walking back to his desk, he glanced at the silver Rolex on his right arm.

“We’re almost done for today, so we might as well stop here. Just a few questions though, Alexa, before you leave.” He leaned against his oak desk, staring at me with those blue eyes, the expression on his face making him look older than he really was. Now the therapist was starting to come out.

I sighed inwardly, heading back to the chair I had just vacated.
“Have you taken any more thought into taking the Beginner classes the Academy is offering?”
I scoffed, rolling my eyes. How did I know this was going to be brought up?

“I don’t need Beginner classes, despite what my parents say,” I said through gritted teeth. “I know Beginners. I was this close,” I squeezed my thumb and forefinger together,” to being accepted to the American Ballet School. I don’t need basics, I need my point back!”
Rage over, I flopped back into the chair, arms folded.

Mr. Elliot opened his hands up in defeat. “Okay. I understand where you are coming from. But think of it not as going back to the beginning. It would be a great way to strengthen your muscles again, ready for pointe work.”
He was right. A part of me - a very small part - agreed with him. The best thing to do would be starting at baby steps and work my way back up until I was completely healed. The thing that stopped me however was the completely part. Who knew if I would ever be completely healed? What if I tried to dance again, and I re-injured myself? That would be it. Gone forever.

Dr. Elliott shrugged his shoulders. “It’s up to you, Alexa. I can’t force you to take the classes, but if you want to think seriously about your dancing career…” His voice drifted off.
“I’d hardly call it a career,” I muttered, picking my bag up off the floor. The left hand on the clock hit the twelve, and I stood up. Dr. Elliott moved for the door, holding it open for me.
“At least consider it, Alexa.” He looked down at me with that puppy dog look in his eye that I’d been getting so fond of.
“Later Elliott!” I didn’t look behind me. I past the reception desk, picking up the invoice on the way out. I shoved it in my bag, and pushed the glass doors open with my shoulder.

Outside it was warm and sunny, with only a few clouds invading the sky. The boardwalk in which the clinic was located, in between the beauty salons and day spas, was teeming with people. Parents and their children, spades in hand, looked for ice-cream vendors. Old folk strolled leisurely along, while tourists crammed the restaurants and souvenir shops.

Resting up against the wooden railings was Seth, his black hair flopping all over the place as he inspected the skateboard at his side.
“Yo dude,” I said, taking the skateboard from Seth’s hands. I dropped in on the ground, placing one foot on the black grip and pushing it up and down.
“Hey Prima Donna. How’s the shrink going?” Seth was one of the only people who knew about my general resistance for the physio. Anyone else, and I’d be having ‘the talk’ with my parents about how they were paying thousands for my well being etcetera, etcetera.

Seth pushed himself off the boardwalk, stealing the skateboard from under my feet. We headed west towards the main hub of the boardwalk, where The Crab Shack was, a local restaurant that had the world’s greatest fish and chips - outside of England that was.

“They want me to go to classes,” I moaned to Seth. We weaved in and out of the crowds , taking it in turns to go on the skateboard. When it was my turn, Seth held me by the hand and pulled me along.
“Maybe that’s not such a bad idea,” Seth said, pulling me by the hand. The wooden planks made the ride bumpy, but it sped things up a bit.
“Not you too! Seriously, if it was a good idea, I would have done it long ago. But it’s not,” I argued. I put my shoulder on Seth’s stopping him in his tracks as we reached The Crab Shack. I flipped the skateboard up, holding it out to him.

As the skateboard passed between our hands, Seth gave me a knowing look. He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off as we entered the restaurant.
“Silence, or I shall kill you,” I warned in a mocking voice. “I don’t want to talk about this, not in front of the others.” I nodded my head in the direction of Katy, Chris and a couple of other people that we were meeting. Seth moved his fingers across his lips, motioning he’d keep quiet, but from the look in his eyes I knew it would be hot topic later on.

Seth slipped into the booth they’d reserved, bumping fists with Chris and messing up Katy’s straightened brown hair. Her squeals filled the restaurant as her hands flew to her hair, making sure it was damaged. I rolled my eyes at Seth, shaking my hand up and down, motioning if he wanted a drink. He replied with a thumbs up, turning back to Chris to discuss something that must have been highly important, judging by Chris’ reaction.
I rolled my eyes. If your eyes had muscles, then mine would be the fittest eyes in the whole world with the amount of rolling they’d been doing lately. I joined the queue, keeping my arms folded as I waited.

“Alexa Young?”

I pivoted on one foot, coming face to face with Lacrosse Boy. A wide smile played on his lips.
“You again - are you stalking me?” I asked, moving up in the line.
Lacrosse Boy laughed. “Something like that. Or it could be the other way around. Are you sure you aren’t stalking me?”
I laughed - was this guy flirting with me? And was I actually flirting back?

“Next please!” I moved up to the counter, placing my order for the two sodas before turning back to Lacrosse Boy.
“So why are you here, really?” I asked, squinting my eyes to get a better look at him under the glare of the bright blue Crab Shack sign. He was tall - a good six inches and something - and muscular. I put it down to all that stick and ball action. His blonde hair had speckles of ginger in it, kissed by the sun. His arms and face were deeply tanned, which drove home the lacrosse image even more.

“Carly - my sister - wanted ice-cream before we went home,” Lacrosse Boy explained. “What can I do but not say no? She’s seven years old and can cry a house down.” He shrugged his shoulders with a smile. The lady behind the counter set my drinks down on the bench, looking behind me for the next customer. I moved out of the way, hovering slightly near Lacrosse Boy. I’d never been interested in these jock type guys before, the ones who ruled the roost at school. Though our parents had the same lives - the same big houses, the same expensive cars, the same social events calendars - we didn’t.

“So…” I said, not really sure what I was doing. “I’ll see you around?”
Lacrosse Boy smiled that sexy smile, pushing his hands into the pockets of his khaki shorts. “Definitely Alexa Young.” He turned away, winking at me before placing his own order.

Walking to our table, I was dumbfounded. How’d he know my last name? Sure, I thought he looked familiar, but half the guys in West Point Harbour looked like him. I slid into the booth next to Seth, passing him his drink. He mumbled a thanks, before continuing his conversation with Chris.

“Oh. My. God. Alexa Young, you skank!” Katy leaned over the table to me, staring at me with wide green eyes, her voice a loud whisper. I glared at her, taking a sip of my soda.
“You and Shane Bridges! When did that happen?” She continued, ignoring my glare. She took a sip of her own drink, her eyes never leaving my face.
I sighed. “We are not together,” I said, very aware of the fact that Seth was sitting next to me. I pushed my blonde hair up into a messy bun on the top of my head, letting my fringe fall about my face.

“He was at the physio’s today,” I explained. “We just talked, that’s all.”
According to Katy, that wasn’t all. “Barbie’s found her Ken!” she laughed as I reached out to flick her forehead. I poked my tongue out at her before taking a sip of my drink.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Shane leaving the Crab Shack. It all came to me then, why he had been so familiar. He was the same Shane Bridges that went to West Point Harbour Prep. He played soccer with Seth, so we’d probably crossed paths once or twice there. And he was on the lacrosse team. They’d been State champions four years in a row.

That wasn’t all that bugged me though. At the clinic, Shane had said that he was waiting on his sister, who had fractured her pelvis. But he’d also just said that his sister was seven. A strange feeling, something that was close to guilt, curled through my stomach. Here I was moaning and moping about my leg, and a seven year old girl was having her pelvis re-set. I watched through the window as Shane walked a little way down the boardwalk, coming to a stop next to a small girl in a wheelchair. She had the same strawberry blonde hair as her brother, and her face was aglow as he knelt down and passed her an ice-cream cone. Next the girl stood a lady who I did know - Mrs. Bridges, one of my mother’s tennis partners. Shane stood up and gave her a hug, before they continued down the boardwalk.

“Hey, Alexa!” Seth had his hand in my face, and I blinked, moving my gaze away from the window.
“Sorry, what?” I asked, a bit dazed. Seth looked at me weirdly, his black eyes searching my face.
“We’re going to go to Rocky Point, are you in?”
I smiled - I loved Rocky Point, a secluded bay just far enough out of town to be discovered by annoying tourists.
“Definitely,” I replied, punching fists with Seth. He threw his arm over my shoulders, bringing me in closer to him. I could smell the scent of his aftershave lingering on his body, and everything seemed to fall into place. I leaped into the conversation, as preparations went ahead for the trek out to Rocky Point.

All thoughts of Shane and his sister were gone.

Hiya, austenite! KD here to review.
Overall, this was very nice. I especially like the dancer's personality/character, and her reactions to 'Lacrosse Boy'. I also actually found the short paragraph(s) about Shane and his sister fairly touching! You did a good job connecting with the reader.
The biggest problem you had throughout this chapter, was a capitalization error. Don't capitalize the 'beginner' in 'beginner classes'. Same with 'the academy'...don't capitalize 'academy'. They're not proper nouns.
Hope I helped, keep up the good work-

KD

Again, it's amazing! I like your idea of just giving a taster, it leaves us begging for more. The dialouge is believable and the story moves at a good pace. In a lot of stories, you get bored and start to skip parts, hoping to find something more interesting; but in this, it flowed very easily and smoothly. I found nothing really wrong with it. Good job.


~Jasmine Bells

Thank you guys!! I know this is quite long, so what you were saying Jasmine about the bored bit I really felt here, I hope it wasn't tooo long!! Thanks for all the advice as well

“What are you in for?”

I looked up from the trashy magazine I was reading, my eyebrows raised as I stared at the guy sitting opposite me. His wavy blonde hair and tanned face were strangely familiar, but I couldn't place where I’d seen him before. I looked back down at my magazine before realizing he was talking to me. And he expected an answer.

“Leg reconstruction.” I didn’t bother to look up from the oh-so-interesting article about Brad and Angelina’s latest split. I flicked to the front cover, checking out the date of the magazine. It was dated back three weeks ago. I would change this to read: I flicked to the front cover, checking out the date of the magazine. It was three week old. Disgusted, I threw the magazine down onto the chair next to me.

“Nice,” blonde-haired boy replied. I tried to think of where I’d seen him before. He looked as if he belonged on a lacrosse field.

I grimaced. “No, painful.” He laughed. That wasn’t the reaction I was looking for.

“What about you? What are you in here for?” I asked, leaning my head back against the cream coloured walls. For a physiotherapy clinic, this place looked more like a psych ward than a place to heal body parts. A chrome clock ticked slowly on one wall. The chairs were black, in contrast with the walls, and there was only one plant in the room, and itcolor]’s fake. Classical music floats around from speakers hidden around the room. Every week as I sit in the waiting room, I ponder whether or not that my parents have sent me to a shrink who is posing as a physio. [color=#FF00FF]Is all that description moving the story along? If not, then in my opinion it should be cut.

“Oh, I’m not here for anything. My sister’s in there.” Lacrosse Boy jerked his head towards one of the doors. “She fractured her pelvis a while ago, and I’m just waiting to drive her home.”
I winced, the thought alone painful enough. “Ouch.”

A door opened, and the head of a young man in his twenties appeared around the corner.
“Alexa?” He beckoned me over with a jolt of his head. When you say 'with a jolt' it makes me think that he jumps a bit or something of that nature. If I were you, I would change that to something like nod or tilt. I sighed, grabbing my bag and consigning The word consigning doesn't really fit the rest of the scene. It seems much too stiff and proper. myself to the fate of my over-eager college graduate physio.
“Bye, Alexa; have fun.” I was wondering if you would be able to tell the difference between a period and a semi-colon when it is spoken. I think that you can't really tell the difference so why even bother? You should probably change it to a period.Lacrosse Boy held his hand up in a friendly goodbye. As I walked away, I threw my head back to glare at him with a stare I usually only reserved for my parents. So, why is she glaring again? It's unclear, why she's angry at him other then the fact that he's merely there.


---


My therapist stretched my leg out with his hands, straightening my kneecaps as far down as he could. You say 'my' three times in that sentence and it gets repetitive quickly. I'm not sure if that's something you can change, but if you can you certainly should. I winced a little at the dull ache that was still there.

“How does that feel?” he asked, looking up at me. Mr. Elliott, my therapist, Since he's a doctor of sorts shouldn's his title be Dr.? looked like he should be working for a state football team, not at an exclusive physiotherapy clinic for West Point Harbour’s elite. I think that if you say he is exclusive, then it is redundent to say that he works for the elite. It has quite the same meaning, so if I were you I would take out exclusive. He was young and tanned with blue eyes and sandy blonde hair. That's too much physical description in one sentence. I can see what you're trying to do here, but I don't like it. I could see why my mother had chosen this clinic to help my recovery. Is the mother all about appearences or something? It's confusing as to why you put this because I don't really know what you mean here. Maybe you want the reader to assume something, but you should just tell them because they don't know the characters like you do.

“A little sore,” I replied truthfully. I actually didn’t mind him. The way she thought about him before was very sarcastic, and mean. Calling him over-eager and whatnot. Anyways, you should fix her opinions on one thing because it confuses the reader when the MC flip-flops. Being young, he knew how I felt, apparently. The reason he’d gone into physiotherapy, Elliott had told me on day one, was because of a football injury that left him unable to play college football. At first I’d wanted to roll my eyes and tell him to cry me a river, but as our sessions went along, I had begun to warm up to him.

His hand ran down my calf, his fingers gently pressing against my muscles. If I were anyone else, I think I would have swooned and fainted on the floor by now.
“Can you point your toe for me, as strong as you can?”
I nodded. Tensing my leg under his grip, I arched my foot into a sloppy point. Pain shot through my leg and up my side.

I groaned. “This is useless.” This should probably read like: "This is useless," I groaned. It just reads smoother.I pulled my leg out of Elliott’s hand, pushing my tracksuit pants back down. I know I was being childish, but at this stage I was beyond caring. Why bother to heal the muscles in my leg when I was never going to dance again? What was the point? It seems like nearly all of the sentences in this paragraph start out with 'I'. That gets really repetitive, annoying, and boring very quickly.
Mr. Elliott sighed as he stood up. You need to pick something to call him and stick to it: either Elliot or Mr. Elliot. Stop switching between the two. Walking back to his desk, he glanced at the silver Rolex on his right arm.

“We’re almost done for today, so we might as well stop here. Just a few questions though, Alexa, before you leave.” He leaned against his oak desk, staring at me with those blue eyes, the expression on his face making him look older than he really was. Now the therapist was starting to come out.

I sighed inwardly, heading back to the chair I had just vacated. I think that you should pick a word that is not vacated. It doesn't seem to fit the scene quite right.
“Have you taken any more thought into taking the Beginner classes the Academy is offering?”
I scoffed, rolling my eyes. How did I know this was going to be brought up?

“I don’t need Beginner classes, despite what my parents say,” I said through gritted teeth. “I know Beginners. I was this close,” I squeezed my thumb and forefinger together,” to being accepted to the American Ballet School. I don’t need basics, I need my point back!”
Rage over, I flopped back into the chair, arms folded.

Mr. Elliot opened his hands up in defeat. “Okay. I understand where you are coming from. But think of it not as going back to the beginning. It would be a great way to strengthen your muscles again, ready for pointe work.”
He was right. A part of me - a very small part - agreed with him. The best thing to do would be starting at baby steps and work my way back up until I was completely healed. There is something about that sentence that I don't quite like. You should re-read it and see if you can point it out because I can't. I think that it sounds a little awkward especially the 'starting at baby steps' part... The thing that stopped me however was the completely part. Who knew if I would ever be completely healed? What if I tried to dance again, and I re-injured myself? That would be it. Gone forever.

Dr. Elliott shrugged his shoulders. Ok, this is really getting on my nerves now. First you call him Elliot, then Mr. Elliot and noe Dr. Elliot. He's not three different people so just pick a name and stick to it. “It’s up to you, Alexa. I can’t force you to take the classes, but if you want to think seriously about your dancing career…” His voice drifted off.
“I’d hardly call it a career,” I muttered, picking my bag up off the floor. The left hand on the clock hit the twelve, and I stood up. Dr. Elliott moved for the door, holding it open for me.
“At least consider it, Alexa.” He looked down at me with that puppy dog look in his eye that I’d been getting so fond of.
“Later Elliott!” I didn’t look behind me. I past the reception desk, picking up the invoice on the way out. I shoved it in my bag, and pushed the glass doors open with my shoulder. Again, here is another example of the repetitive "I" beginnings of your sentences. There are hundereds of different ways to start a sentence that are not I. This also makes your sentence structure the exact same every time. You need a little 'sentence diversity.'

Outside it was warm and sunny, with only a few clouds invading the sky. The boardwalk in which the clinic was located, in between the beauty salons and day spas, was teeming with people. Parents and their children, spades in hand, looked for ice-cream vendors. Old folk strolled leisurely along, while tourists crammed the restaurants and souvenir shops. Unnesscesary description. That's what this whole paragraph is. My motto is 'If the description doesn't move the story along, then to the shredder it goes!'

Resting up against the wooden railings was Seth, his black hair flopping all over the place as he inspected the skateboard at his side. Is he just randomly there? That seems a little bit odd and too coincidental.
“Yo dude,” I said, taking the skateboard from his hands. There, you can change Seth's to his because you already identified him in the previous sentence.I dropped it on the ground, placing one foot on the black grip and pushing it up and down.
“Hey Prima Donna. How’s the shrink going?” Seth was one of the only people who knew about my general resistance for the physio. Anyone else, and I’d be having ‘the talk’ with my parents about how they were paying thousands for my well being etcetera, etcetera.

Seth pushed himself off the boardwalk, stealing the skateboard from under my feet. We headed west towards the main hub of the boardwalk, where The Crab Shack was, a local restaurant that had the world’s greatest fish and chips - outside of England that was. It's a bit awkward when you say 'outside of England that was' when everyone knows that it should read: outside of England that is. So just change it otherwise it'll mess up the flow of the story and seem a bit goofy.

“They want me to go to classes,” I moaned to Seth. It seems a little off that she would continue the conversation randomly after they've been walking for a while. I would but this bit of dialogue before you say they walked to The Crab Shack. Because as it stands, the pause makes me think that she isn't going to answer at all. We weaved in and out of the crowds, taking it in turns to go on the skateboard. When it was my turn, Seth held me by the hand and pulled me along.
“Maybe that’s not such a bad idea,” Seth said, pulling me by the hand. You already said that Seth was pulling her by the hands in the last sentence. You can cut out the entire dialogue tag. The wooden planks made the ride bumpy, but it sped things up a bit.
“Not you too! Seriously, if it was a good idea, I would have done it long ago. But it’s not,” I argued. I put my shoulder on Seth’s stopping him in his tracks as we reached The Crab Shack. I flipped the skateboard up, holding it out to him.

As the skateboard passed between our hands, Seth gave me a knowing look. He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off as we entered the restaurant.
“Silence, or I shall kill you,” I warned in a mocking voice. “I don’t want to talk about this, not in front of the others.” I nodded my head in the direction of Katy, Chris and a couple of other people that we were meeting. Oh! Okay, I see now. Seth didn't just randomly meet her. I think you should say this all the way back there. Also when she says 'the others' it seems odd like she's talking about some occult group or something. xD You could just change it to everybody or something along those lines. Seth moved his fingers across his lips, motioning he’d keep quiet, but from the look in his eyes I knew it would be a hot topic later on.

Seth slipped into the booth they’d reserved, bumping fists with Chris and messing up Katy’s straightened brown hair. Her squeals filled the restaurant as her hands flew to her hair, making sure it was damaged. I rolled my eyes at Seth, shaking my hand up and down, motioning if he wanted a drink. He replied with a thumbs up, turning back to Chris to discuss something that must have been highly important, judging by Chris’ reaction.
I rolled my eyes. If your eyes had muscles, then mine would be the fittest eyes in the whole world with the amount of rolling they’d been doing lately. I joined the queue, keeping my arms folded as I waited.

“Alexa Young?”

I pivoted on one foot, coming face to face with Lacrosse Boy. A wide smile played on his lips.
“You again. Are you stalking me?” I asked, moving up in the line.
Lacrosse Boy laughed. “Something like that. Or it could be the other way around. Are you sure you aren’t stalking me?”
I laughed - was this guy flirting with me? And was I actually flirting back?

“Next please!” I moved up to the counter, placing my order for the two sodas before turning back to Lacrosse Boy.
“So why are you here, really?” I asked, squinting my eyes to get a better look at him under the glare of the bright blue Crab Shack sign. He was tall - a good six inches and something - and muscular. I put it down to all that stick and ball action. I know that this might sound immature or whatever, but when you said stick and ball action my mind turned into the gutter and all I could do was thing That's what she said! and giggling. Sorry, but I just had to say that. His blonde hair had speckles of ginger in it, kissed by the sun. His arms and face were deeply tanned, which drove home the lacrosse image even more.

“Carly - my sister - wanted ice-cream before we went home,” Lacrosse Boy explained. That nickname-Lacrosse Boy-is really getting on my nerves right about now. “What can I do but not say no? That seems way wordier than nescessary. Change it to: I couldn't say no. She’s seven years old and can cry a house down.” He shrugged his shoulders with a smile. The lady behind the counter set my drinks down on the bench, looking behind me for the next customer. I moved out of the way, hovering slightly near Lacrosse Boy. I’d never been interested in these jock type guys before, the ones who ruled the roost at school. Though our parents had the same lives - the same big houses, the same expensive cars, the same social events calendars - we didn’t.

“So…” I said, not really sure what I was doing. “I’ll see you around?”
Lacrosse Boy smiled that sexy smile, pushing his hands into the pockets of his khaki shorts. “Definitely Alexa Young.” He turned away, winking at me before placing his own order.

Walking to our table, I was dumbfounded. How’d he know my last name? Sure, I thought he looked familiar, but half the guys in West Point Harbour looked like him. I slid into the booth next to Seth, passing him his drink. He mumbled a thanks, before continuing his conversation with Chris.

“Oh. My. God. Alexa Young, you skank!” Katy leaned over the table to me, staring at me with wide green eyes, her voice a loud whisper. I glared at her, taking a sip of my soda.
“You and Shane Bridges! When did that happen?” She continued, ignoring my glare. She took a sip of her own drink, her eyes never leaving my face.
I sighed. “We are not together,” I said, very aware of the fact that Seth was sitting next to me. I pushed my blonde hair up into a messy bun on the top of my head, letting my fringe fall about my face.

“He was at the physio’s today,” I explained. “We just talked, that’s all.”
According to Katy, that wasn’t all. “Barbie’s found her Ken!” she laughed as I reached out to flick her forehead. I stuck my tongue out at her before taking a sip of my drink. I changed poked to stuck because it just doesn't seem right.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Shane leaving the Crab Shack. It all came to me then, why he had been so familiar. He was the same Shane Bridges that went to West Point Harbour Prep. He played soccer with Seth, so we’d probably crossed paths once or twice there. And he was on the lacrosse team. They’d been State champions four years in a row.

That wasn’t all that bugged me though. At the clinic, Shane had said that he was waiting on his sister, who had fractured her pelvis. But he’d also just said that his sister was seven. A strange feeling, something that was close to guilt, curled through my stomach. Here I was moaning and moping about my leg, and a seven year old girl was having her pelvis re-set. I watched through the window as Shane walked a little way down the boardwalk, coming to a stop next to a small girl in a wheelchair. She had the same strawberry blonde hair as her brother, and her face was aglow as he knelt down and passed her an ice-cream cone. Next the girl stood a lady who I did know - Mrs. Bridges, one of my mother’s tennis partners. Shane stood up and gave her a hug, before they continued down the boardwalk.

“Hey, Alexa!” Seth had his hand in my face, and I blinked, moving my gaze away from the window.
“Sorry, what?” I asked, a bit dazed. Seth looked at me weirdly, his black eyes searching my face.
“We’re going to go to Rocky Point, are you in?”
I smiled - I loved Rocky Point, a secluded bay just far enough out of town to be discovered by annoying tourists.
“Definitely,” I replied, punching fists with Seth. He threw his arm over my shoulders, bringing me in closer to him. I could smell the scent of his aftershave lingering on his body, and everything seemed to fall into place. I leaped into the conversation, as preparations went ahead for the trek out to Rocky Point.

All thoughts of Shane and his sister were gone.

All in all,
this story certain;y has the potential to fall into a deep pit of cliche! You need to do something so that it stands out from the average teenage love story. At this point the only thing that I see happening is that it becomes a twisted love triangle and she loses Seth to be with Shane and then realizes her mistake and goes back to Seth. Please don't let that be so! Also, I noticed that there were some spots where your tenses were a bit wonky, so I fixed those for you. Also, the grammar on some of your dialogue tags could've been better. I also fixed those for you. Any other comments I had are up there, you'll just have to read them all. One more thing that really upset me is that the only reason that I know that your MC is a girl is because her name is Alexa. That was really disturbing me in the first part because I just had no clue. You need to giv e a few hints to the readers to clue us in that she's female. Also, it seems a bit wierd when you have Alexa and Seth playing with the skateboard. It seems to switch hands to many times to keep up with, so it gets distracting and annoying.

PM me if you have any questions. Keep writing!

Always,
Danie