Young Writers Society

Author's Note: Hello, everyone! I've been sooo busy this last few weeks and I just haven't gotten around to drafting this until now. But here's chapter 3, primped and primed! It's a shorter chapter, so it's a nice little read on it's own too. Enjoy! :)

Chapters 1 and 2 are here in case you either haven't read them or need a refresher. :)

Ch. 1: http://www.youngwriterssociety.com/work.php?id=109331

Ch. 2: http://www.youngwriterssociety.com/work.php?id=109858

Reflection

"K.C! Hey, K.C! It's time to wake up." I let out a loud yawn and rubbed the sleep from my eyes as I rolled over to find a blurry image of Chris towering over me. His lips were curled into that same sly grin and his eyes were wide with pitiful amusement. I think, dear reader, that now would be a good time to let you know that my brother's reign of terror was in full operation every day of the week, including Saturdays. Now that I think about it, Saturday might've been my least favorite day during my time at Brimmley. Scratch that; it definitely was.

"You know, buddy," I yawned as I sat up on my bottom bunk, "this sucks. I actually used to think that even a hard-ass like you would take the day off on Saturdays. But no. Instead of sleeping in 'til one, making thirty runs down to the cafeteria for those poppyseed bagels I like, and watching Nick Jr. like the good old days, the Crowley twins get to go scrub some algae off of a grimy-ass toilet bowl." Chris shook his head and sighed lightly before responding.

"No, numbnuts." he snickered, "You get to scrub some algae off of a grimy-ass toilet bowl. I get to see the smiles on people's faces when I hand them their soft-serve ice cream cones." As much as I wanted to burst his bubble right then, he wasn't wrong. The Brimmley Commons Country Club was always trying to employ academy students, no matter what kind of b.s jobs they had to create to make that happen. I remember hearing from Chris and some other boys that the academy kids had become infamous among the Club's directors for their "gift of gab" and "sunny disposition." Whatever the hell that meant, I was stuck on toilet duty and all Chris had to do was play tic-tac-toe with those pricks in the kitchen and pull the right lever on the soft serve machine. Not to mention that most of the tightwads who came to this forsaken brothel never spent their hard-earned money on something as "trivial" as ice cream. Please believe me when I say that they had absolutely no problem going to the bathroom without flushing. I've often contemplated how people could live as they did; you know: with a thousand gold bricks stuffed up their asses. If I learned anything from working at the Country Club, it was that rich people like to have those asses kissed...a lot. Lucky for Chris, he was good at sucking up to authority...very good.

"Here," snapped my brother as he threw what seemed to be an enormous pile of rags onto my lap, "hurry up and get dressed so we can go. You know what happens if we're late this morning." No matter how hard I tried at that moment, I couldn't bring myself to understand what Chris was talking about. This job wasn't like going to school at Brimmley. Nobody was going to chew you out if you were late. At the Country Club, there were really only two rules: smile at all the adults and don't, absolutely don't get caught making moves on any of the girls, no matter how fine they were. Let's just say the members put a price on everything, and I literally mean everything.

As I stood up and began to change my clothes I could see Chris's turned back out of the corner of my eye. The sight of my brother with crossed arms, his foot tapping nervously against the blue carpet floor made me want to double over with laughter. It was just like it had always been: Chris getting his panties in a wad over something that didn't even matter and me, the wild tiger in the woods, basking in the glow of the tropical sun. By "tropical sun" I mean the half-functional desk lamp in our suite and by "woods" I mean a pile of Adventure Time-themed pillows.

"K.C," whined Chris, "you need to hurry up. This may not be important to you but it's-"

"Relax, buddy." I teased him, "You'll get to your little ice cream machine in no time. Just gimme a couple minutes to prime and primp."

"I've honestly never heard any other dude say they need to prime and primp."

"Well, young Christopher, you've also never met another dude as awesome as your brother. Everyone practices basic hygiene. I just like to take it over the top because that's the only way to be exceptional." Chris nearly gagged as he sat up in the blue beanbag chair and began to wag his finger at me.

"What on Earth do you know about being exceptional?" he snapped in the most unintimidating tone I'd ever heard, "It's not like you ever do anything in your classes."

"You don't know that!"

"Yes, I do."

"Meh. Good point."

"Just put your club shirt on so we can go already."

When I had finally finished preparing myself for another Saturday morning scrubbing the pots, it was 6:45. I knew Chris had woken me up well before I wanted him to, but I never could've figured he would have the audacity to wake me up at that ridiculous hour of the morning, especially after our little walk in the park the day before. Not only had he interrupted my pancake dream, but he had also acted like we were running behind schedule. Something was fishy here; fishier than a salmon. I was determined to find out what it was. Then, I would make him pay.

---

No matter how crappy the rest of my Saturday morning experiences were, the walk to Brimmley Commons Country Club wasn't so bad. As a matter of fact, it was the best part of the day. I always enjoyed seeing what kinds of birds would come and perch themselves upon the branches of the Brimmley Pine Trees. The light, billowy rhythms of their chirping songs floated gingerly atop the morning breeze while the playful fluttering of their wings created a radiant mosaic of brightly-colored feathers, all against the backdrop of a pink-clouded sky. I often wondered how something so alive could ever exist within such a dismal space. The town of Brimmley, Washington was dead to me; the people, their homes, and their money. The Brimmley Commons Country Club was where the final fragments of the dreams that brought them here went to die away too. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, listening closely to the sounds that danced around me like little girls around a maypole. Just as I felt myself begin to nod off, I heard Chris's voice cut through the air like a knife through wet paper.

"C'mon man!" he scolded me, "You really ought to stop trying to go back to bed every time we're trying to get someplace. Sometimes I feel like it'd be best just to leave you at the dorm." My brother swung his backpack off of his shoulder and sat it down in front of me. Little did I know that what he would do next would change my entire morning...for the worse. Chris unzipped one of the smaller compartments and pulled out a small sheet of yellow paper. My brother smiled devilishly at me as he waved it back and forth in front of my face.

"What's that?", I asked meekly.

"This," he began in an authoritative tone, "is your report card."

"My what?"

"Your semester report card." replied Chris, his eyes wide with anticipation. "You ended up with a D in Biology, a D- in Shakespearean Literature, and another D in Introductory Statistics.

"What about Spanish and History?"

"I'd rather not say. Don't even ask me about teacher reflections." I crossed my arms and stared blankly at my brother, all the while wondering why he had my report card in the first place and why he hadn't shown it to me earlier. I couldn't quite put my finger on the reason why, but for the first time ever, underperforming in school actually felt bad. Before I could muster a response, Chris stuffed the sheet of paper back into his backpack and zipped it shut. Every part of me wanted to rip his head off for having kept this from me, but I couldn't shake the feeling that it really made no difference whether he had shown it to me or not. My brother threw his backpack over his shoulder and turned to keep walking towards the club. I wanted to keep walking too, but my body wouldn't budge.

As I closed my eyes once more, I was greeted with a sight that mere words would never suffice to describe. Right in the center of the deep and heavy blackness of my closed eyelids stood Abby, her emerald irises peering vehemently into my brown ones and her cherry red lips curled into a warm smile. I took a deep breath and clenched my fists in blissful anticipation of what would come next. Her golden frames sat playfully upon the bridge of her nose and her red-orange hair fell gently over her delicate shoulders. "How beautiful she is," I thought, "How damn beautiful." Before I could allow myself to further indulge in the lovely daydream that was my only connection to the last inkling of sanity in this God-forsaken town, I heard Chris yell to me from down the trail. When I finally opened my eyes and looked up into the pine trees, all the birds had gone. I wiped a few beads of sweat from my forehead and patted my amazing hair a few times before beginning a full sprint to catch up with my brother. 

"What's this?" he teased, "You're actually in a hurry to get someplace?" I clenched my fists and gritted my teeth hard at the thought of Chris talking crap to me any more that morning. My face felt hot and I could feel the pangs of anger begin to lash out at my bewildered conscience. Before either of us could say "milkshake", I had grabbed him by the collar and was holding him at least a few inches off of the ground.

"Listen up, kid!" I shouted, "I don't know who you think you are, but I'm not gonna stand here and let you make a fool out of me just because a dumb piece of paper tells you it's okay. The entire reason I came out here to this wasteland with you was to get away from that crap. Now I suggest you go back to the Silent Treatment because I like that one a hell of a lot better than whatever you've got in action right now." Chris's lower lip began to quiver and his large, brown eyes started to water. I took a few deep breaths and scanned the area for witnesses before dropping my brother from my awesome clutches. No matter how angry he had made me and no matter what a egregious tool he'd been about my report card, seeing Chris on the edge of tears was difficult for me to swallow. One of the worst things about having a twin brother is that it makes you feel the other guy's pain. Now I'm not talking about that "If you punch one in the stomach in New York City, the other one feels it in L.A." kind of crap. I'm talking about the fact that it looks like it's you when the other guy's hurting. I guess you could say it's like looking into a mirror from a really obscure angle and without a lot of lighting. You can't really make out all the details of your reflection and it's a bit rough around the edges, but you can tell it's you; it's definitely not someone else. I sighed deeply as I helped my brother up from the ground and dusted him off. Chris wiped his eyes and bit his lip as he turned to look me in the eye.

"You know, K.C." he sniveled, "Mr. P comes to the country club for breakfast early on Saturday mornings. I've been wanting to catch a conversation with him for a while now, but I've always figured you'd just make us too late anyways." I normally would have yelled at him again after he said something like that, but the look in his eyes made me want to hug him instead. That doesn't mean I did of course, but you get the point. Even after all that fruity-smelling demon had put him through the day before and even after the late-night sobbing, caused by her that had kept me awake half the night, Chris was willing to get up at some early-ass hour on a Saturday morning just to meet her pops. I shook my head as I took another deep breath and placed my hand on my brother's back.

"Tell you what, buddy," I began in a low and apologetic tone, "maybe we can still catch him this morning. Do you know what time he usually leaves the club? Chris's solemn expression was fixated upon the ground and he didn't move a muscle. I thought for a second that he hadn't heard me, but before I could repeat myself, Chris spoke in the same authoritative tone he had used to blast me for my report card earlier.

"7:30," he ejected, "she told me he usually leaves around 7:30." To be completely honest, I found it creepy as hell that my brother actually knew that. There was a very large part of me that was hoping he wouldn't know. Just as I was about to ask him who had on Earth had told him this, I realized that the answer was pretty obvious. Jamie was just about the only girl on campus who'd ever talk to Chris about things like when her dad liked to finish breakfast on Saturday mornings. As a matter of fact, she was the only girl who'd ever talk to anyone about things like that. Any other time, it would have been funny as all get out, but given the circumstances, mentioning her by name probably wasn't the best idea.

Chris smiled from ear to ear as he peered excitedly down at his watch. Now that I think about it, having a watch was something else I could've made fun of him for back then. The only people our age who wore watches were major tools who wanted to show you how rich their parents were. As you probably figured out from that last bit, most everyone at Brimmley wore a watch. Jamie wore a bright pink and purple one.

"So," I inquired, breaking out of my watch-crazed stupor, "what's the big deal? Can we make it?

"Yes," replied my brother calmly "I think we can. It's only 7:10."

"Alright then. Grab your backpack off the ground and I'll race you to the club."

"It's not like you're going to win, K.C."

"Don't push it, buddy." Chris let out a light chuckle as he picked up his bag and began a full sprint down the narrow dirt road. Even to this day, my brother's emotions are nothing but an enigma to me; an annoying, dramatic, feminine enigma. That morning, however, I learned that he and I just weren't as different as I had thought. I, too, had someone whose pops I wanted to meet. (I mean that figuratively and certainly not literally because Mr. Gabardine was probably a sweater-vest wearing, WWII memorabilia-collecting creeper.) Even so, I couldn't deny that I wanted a sure-fire way into Abby's life. No, into her heart.

The cool morning breeze whispered sweet nothings into my ears as I raced to catch up with my brother. Radiant streaks of vibrant color whisked by the outermost walls of my line of vision and the sweet sounds of the birds' chirping songs seemed to be playing on fast-forward. Even though I was running towards the world's dirtiest toilets and towards a man whom I had not the slightest possibility of finding likable, I felt like I was running towards something more stirring and beautiful than any man or woman could fathom. I was running towards the side of an emotion greater than all the others combined, and then some; I was running towards the side of love. Then I tripped on a big-ass rock.

To Be Continued.