Young Writers Society

I've had massive writer's block for a couple of days; See, I've been working on a story for three years and just recently I've been very eager to tie up the loose ends and finish it. I know if I post this scene, none of you will understand it because you haven't read the chapters prior to it, but that's okay. I want to know if you think that this is good quality writing, not cheesy, and intriguing. That's all. Thanks!

“The one that I want,

The one that I need,

Oh, yes, indeed!”

Jack and I finished the song with a flourish, our voices harmonizing fluidly and evenly. We finished strong, each of us with a hand on the other’s shoulder (a difficult feat for someone with my height) and our other hands stretched in the air as though we were reaching out the audience. Apparently, they got the message, because all of the cast members and crew, who were watching our rehearsal of Grease’s final number applauded, cheered, whistled, and screeched, rising from the dimly lit sea of seats in front of the stage and jumping up and down excitedly. Jack and I allowed our hands to drop to our sides, taking sidelong glances at one another and smiling sheepishly—I can’t say that I know why he was acting nervous, but I had to admit my apprehensiveness wasn’t induced by the audience’s reaction, but by the actor alongside me.

Jack, along with Em, was absolutely one of my best friends. He was easy to confide in, suave, poetic, deep, and intelligent—but he was also, once you got to know him, funny and a joy to be around. I lived for and anticipated and loved the times in which I spent time with him, and hoped with all of my heart that our friendship would eventually transform into something more romantic than friendly. Since that evening at “The Spot”, he hadn’t made a move towards admitting his potentially romantic feelings towards me, or even better, asked me out, but based on his flirtatiousness that might (hopefully) change. He was so sweet to me; he even helped me with my homework on a regular basis, although it admittedly didn’t do much for me academically because I was too busy soaking up in his amazing personality to pay much attention to what he was trying to teach me. Even though he had just taught me what the important scenes in Romeo in Juliet were about for my upcoming final test on it, I knew I would never remember it for the actual test...

` “Brava!” Miss Goldberg exclaimed, examining the ending dance poses of the characters and extras onstage behind us with pleasant surprise from the side of the stage. Smiling broadly, her happiness-induced rosy cheeks nearly meeting her narrow ginger eyes, she turned her back to us and acknowledged those watching. “Give them a round of applause!”

Immediately Em stepped forward out of the gloom the audience was bathed in and into the burning, colorful lights radiating from the stage, clapping while her hands were constantly moving in a circular motion. Of course, Em had to find something in what the, to Em, dreaded Miss Goldberg, to poke fun at. Ver, Missy, and Ash, who were runners in the tech crew, appeared, each laughing at Em’s antics. Ash winked at me and whistled heartily as the applause died down and all of my friends, giving me thumbs-up signs, returned to their seats.

“That was excellent—Melody, Jack, everyone else. But just to be sure we have all of the choreography worked out, let’s try that once more. And just remember, you two, on the night of the play, this number will end with a kiss. No pressure, though”, Miss Goldberg ended with a chuckle, brushing invisible lint off of her crisp, button-up linen blouse and flared slacks, nodding pleasantly to us as she yet again stepped aside. I smiled as I adjusted my microphone headset and the instrumentals blared from the speakers on opposing sides of the stage; Miss Goldberg obviously loved perfection, and so the fact that she was more than pleased with Jack and my performance showed that she considered us an instance of her type of flawlessness. Finally, Alessandra wasn’t the only perfect Rosano.

Jack and I returned to our original positions onstage and went through a series of dance movements, barely any effort or thought going into the choreography since we had performed the song so many times. My high voice flowed smoothly, making a contrast to Jack’s equally enticing deep, strong singing voice. We ended yet again—except for this time we concluded the song facing one another, a strong connection between our also contrasting eyes, smiles upon both of our faces after another well carried out performance. Other than this, our rehearsal of the song had remained pretty consistent with the last performance—which, considering how much everyone seemed to appreciate it, wasn’t a terrible thing. Thinking that the performance would end similarly too, with a rush of compliments from Miss Goldberg and support from my friends, I prepared myself to eagerly turn to the side of the stage. However, this wasn’t the upcoming event that I needed to prepare myself for.

Jack’s eyes still hadn’t left my face, and just as I was about to tear my eyes away from his, ignoring the kids both in the audience and on the stage, put his comforting hands around my face and continued peering into my eyes, angling his head and leaning slightly towards me. Positive energy coursed through me; was Jack about to kiss me, even though it wasn’t the real performance of the play? Was this kiss going to be real, and not staged?

The answer to the latter question was neither—because the kiss was non-existent. At the last second, comprehension flickered in Jack’s eyes, and he seemed to realize what he was doing. At a loss for words, he pulled away from me without an explanation, his fair face turned flaming red and he averted his eyes from me as those whose faces were visible in the distant audience looked at him with confusion and shock.

Looking very embarrassed and angry with himself, Jack shook his head quickly and turned to the side of the stage, where Miss Goldberg was smiling and nodding in approval, not seeming to notice that he hadn’t meant to do whatever it was he had just done, and happily sputtering phrases like, “Really conveys emotion” and “the night of the play will be perfect”.

“Miss Goldberg?” he questioned frantically to our young, happily chattering director. She immediately snapped out of her blissful trance, looking somewhat embarrassed herself.

“Oh...sorry...Yes, Jack?” Miss Goldberg mumbled distractedly, gathering an assortment of papers and various accoutrements and organizing them, probably so to redeem herself for her absentmindedness, and motioning to the other actors, who still looked intrigued by Jack’s actions, to leave the stage.

“I...I’ve got to go”, he maundered, tossing a quick glance at me, and immediately returning to his distracted chat with Miss Goldberg.

“Oh, of course, dear. It is time to go, after all”, she agreed promptly, regaining her usual organized and brisk style.

At receiving her permission, Jack did what my mother might have called “power-walking”—not quite running, but not exactly strolling or gamboling either—and exited the stage, quickly pattering down the steps on the side of the stage, slinging his messenger bag on his shoulder. The sliver of his face that I could see remained humiliated-looking and pink-hued as he hastily approached the doors at the back of the dimly lit auditorium. Gossiping students who were supposed to have been packing up stared as he passed, captivated by the situation and obviously forming their own opinions about what had happened onstage and why Jack was leaving. I only hoped that they were right as I faithfully followed Jack, bounding towards him as he briskly exited, the intrigued faces a blur of color as I streaked past their owners. I had to know what was making the usually calm and confident Jack flustered, embarrassed, and so desperate to escape me of all people—me, who was his fellow actor, one of his good friends, and maybe, hopefully, his crush.

“Jack!” I called as I dashed down the squeaky clean, brightly lit halls, hardly believing that my typically quiet, thoughtful, and diligent self was being so impulsive. My arms flailed comically and my rumpled, coarse hair whipped relentlessly against my face as I chased after Jack, or as I had deemed him, the latest love of my life.

I glimpsed Jack, earphones lodged in his ears, jogging away at the end of the corridor, and sped up so that once he reached the main entrance, I was trailing right behind him and could hear the loud rock music blaring into his ears.

I continued to follow him as he stepped into the bitingly cool late-autumn atmosphere of colorful leaf-strewn Waterstown and towards his pickup. Just as he stopped jogging and reached the aged truck, producing a key ring from his bag and now appearing to be furious with himself from the part of his face that was visible, I softly pulled his earphone out of his gaged right ear. He turned abruptly to me, surprised (although not pleasantly so) to realize that I had followed him.

“Jack...what happened in there? Why’d you run away from me like that?” I sputtered, breathless from confusion and the exertion of running across the entirety of Grover and its parking lot. His sharp blue eyes met mine, and softened. He bit his lip and smiled sheepishly, shrugging and indicating he didn’t have a proper explanation. Jack patted me reassuringly on the shoulder, his pine-like scent evident as he initiated this time normal physical contact.

“Were you following me the entire time?” he questioned, fumbling with his keys.

“Yeah...” I trailed off, blinking at him in confusion. “Of course I was. I wanted to know why you acted like that—just leaving all of a sudden. And, you know, running away from the auditorium wasn’t any less weird.” I laughed hesitantly.

“Well...I most definitely would have stopped if I had known you were following me, Melody”, Jack objected, laughing nervously himself. His eyes shone brightly, but he averted them from mine as I continued giving him a glare that I could only hope was piercing.

“So you’re telling me you weren’t running away because of me?” I asked doubtfully. Jack had been one of my very best friends for weeks now, although I felt as though I had known him for years rather than mere weeks. I thought I was his main confidant—so why was he being so secretive now?

“No, not because of you exactly, but more so because I’m an idiot”, he replied, continuing to look uncomfortable.

“Jack, tell me what’s going on!” I demanded. He looked at me yet again, and strangely enough, this time his beautiful eyes didn’t convey embarrassment or anger or surprise, but hopefulness.

“You’ll figure it out...I just hope you don’t think I’m an idiot like I do once you do figure it out”, Jack replied self-conciously.

Me, think Jack Ramsey was an idiot?

His hope wasn’t needed. I would never think he was an idiot.

Even if I could figure out what he was talking about...

I'm still working on writing the next part, but btw he's left a note in her backpack asking her out and he's just really embarassed right then and that's what he means by "you'll figure it out".[/b]