Infamous ch2 part 1

Hey, Wheadee, here to review Chapter 2! Or at least this part of it.

Spork's done a good job of nitpicking above, so I won't go through and do the same. Your grammar's generally fine, which is good, because it means that your story is so much more readable.

I love the moment of exposition we have here with the mention of the recital, and your dialogue is very convincing between all the characters, but I'm not quite engaging with the characters. They're so superficial, and it's very difficult to find any form of conflict. Conflict drives the story forward, and at the moment, Heather and Ashley seem to be living in a completely shallow world. I assume this will be broken soon enough, but you might want to consider introducing a little introspection on Ashley's part.

For example, the last few sentences are some nice thoughts, completely at odds with her public persona. So why is Ashley like this? Doesn't she ever try to justify it past teen hormones? It seems strange that she doesn't think to excuse herself to her parents or apologise, but even stranger that she doesn't try to wrestle with her own decisions in her internal monologue.

Basically, there's only so much of "look how popular we are" that the reader can take before it becomes too clichéd. Don't get me wrong - you've clearly shown that Ashley is more than that, even if Heather isn't, but you're not quite giving us enough to work with yet. I think you need to get to know Ashley's character a bit more and think about opening some of it up to the reader, so that we can appreciate her viewpoint.

Hope this helps!

- Jet.

Hey there Wheadee! I'm SporkPunk and I'll be reviewing this today. What I usually do is go through the piece line-by-line and correct anything, offering up explanations and comments as I go. I do this with a color-coded system of font. Red font is tech errors (grammar/usage/spelling/etc.), green font is word choice suggestions, and purple is my commentary. Okay, on to the review.

Saturday mornings were always held for recovery. If Friday night had gone to plan I was scheduled to wake up with a hangover. Which is how I awoke the following morning, hungover #4000BF "><--You don't need a space, "hungover" is a word. and cranky.

Heather greeted me with a cup of Starbucks coffee as she sat on my bed. “I figured you’d have a hangover, so I got you a coffee.” #4000BF ">While there's technically nothing wrong with the repetition of the words
"hangover" and "hungover," it reads awkwardly. I think maybe eliminating the "hungover and cranky" bit in the first paragraph would make it a lot better.

She knew me well; I loved and lived for Starbucks.

“Thanks,” I said as I sat up. “So, how was Frank?”
“Ugh, looks can be so deceiving. He was so boring; he talked about his calculus class and the ‘overpriced tuition’ his parents paid. Blah, blah, blah basically,” Heather groaned as she rolled her eyes. “That was a waste of a cute outfit.”
“Ed was worse, I swear the guy was an alcoholic slash perv. And then he started talking and he wouldn’t stop. If I hadn’t of started kissing him I would’ve drunken myself to death.”
“What happened to your fear of being roofied?” Heather giggled teasingly.
I shrugged my shoulders as I stood up. “At one point I figured anything would’ve been better than Ed.”

I went and showered while Heather waited.

After getting dressed I grabbed my now lukewarm coffee and headed downstairs. Heather was in the kitchen at the island counter texting on her BlackBerry.

“Guys are so confusing,” Heather complained as I reheated my coffee. “Can’t talk to them, can’t dress up for them either.”
“Tell me about it. I heard someone got dumped into a dumpster last night,” I took a sip of my coffee and sat next to her.
“Yeah, I heard about that,” Heather nodded as she scrolled through her phone. “Guys can be so stupid. I mean who dumps people into dumpsters?”
“Jocks,” I answered. “Which whom we love.” #4000BF ">The "which" here is unnecessary.
“Right, but Mr. Clarence isn’t a jock,” Heather pointed out wisely.
“I know, but I still love him.”
Heather snorted with a look of annoyance. “He doesn’t even know you exist.”
“I’m Ashley Davidson, he knows I exist.”
“Nice words, egomaniac.”
“Whatever, I’m working on it,” I shrugged as I stirred my coffee.
“We’ll see,” Heather smiled with a hint of doubt on her face.

#4000BF ">These big blocks of dialogue are a little odd. I think, if you space them out like you do with other paragraphs, this would be a lot easier for the reader to read.

My father suddenly walked into the kitchen.

“Hey girls,” he #00BF00 ">waved as he was on his way to the fridge.
“Hey, Mr. D,” Heather #00BF00 ">smiled politely as she looked his way.
“Uh, Ashley, you never told us where you were going last night,” my father #00BF00 ">mentioned as he came over to the counter with some fruit flavored cream cheese spread along with some bagels.
“I told you I was going out,” I said with obvious irritation.
“That’s not specific enough,” my father #00BF00 ">countered.
#4000BF ">Okay, all of these dialogue tags are a bit much. You don't have to use so many of them, unless it enhances the image for the reader. Luckily, one word readers gloss over and don't care about is "said." Also, you don't even need to use tags for lines of dialogue.

Heather intervened smoothly as she put her hand on my back. “She was with me. We spent the night reading magazines and watching trashy reality TV,” she grinned convincingly. “We learned never to go to New Jersey, apparently the people there are orange and have really bad hair. And they fist pump, what is that about?”

Heather’s comment made my father laugh. He obviously believed her cover as he nodded in agreement.

Heather flashed me a smile along with a wink as my father put his bagel into the toaster.
“Say Ash,” my father turned his attention back to me. “Isn’t it about time for an end of the year recital at your school or something?”
“Yeah,” I nodded.
“Are we going to see you play this year?”

Heather looked at me as her eyes turned to slits; she was giving me a look that said ‘you wouldn’t dare.’

She had nothing to worry about. I knew the rules to the Social Code; I wouldn’t dare be seen in a recital.

“It’s not going to happen Dad, I don’t do recitals anymore,” I said adamantly as I faced my father.
His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “But you lived for recitals back in Colorado, you love the piano.”
“That was Colorado, Dad,” I sighed as I rolled my eyes. Why couldn’t he just drop it?
“But…”
“OMG, Ashley, I love that cardigan,” Heather came to my rescue as she interrupted my father. “How much did you pay for it?”
“A better question would be: how much did I pay for it?” my father corrected with a smile.

Heather giggled while I scowled at my father.

“Oh come on, how much was it?” he teased.
“$465.00.”
“You could’ve found a much cheaper one at Walmart.”
“Ugh, people who work at Walmart don’t even wear Walmart clothes Dad,” I groaned as I stood up. “Let’s go Heather.”
“Bye, Mr. D,” Heather managed to wave as we left.

I didn’t hate my parents; I was hardly embarrassed by them. I was just being a brat and following along with teen angst. When it came down to it, I loved my parents dearly. Though in recent years I hadn’t showed it well.