Note: This chapter is even rougher than the one previous -dialogue is not one of my strengths, and I would honestly appreciate the hardest critique you have to offer! Thanks!
Fingers steepled underneath a prominent chin, and Mr. Rigby leaned forward. “We have to discuss options now, of course.”
Hannah’s brow furrowed in confusion, and she looked across the table to the principal, who had leaned back into his chair after imparting that statement. Her gaze then moved to her parents, who sat side-by-side on her left. She watched with an increasing sense of foreboding as they met each other’s eyes, and nodded in turn.
“Are you really sure this is necessary?” her father asked, grey eyes concerned. “Can’t Hannah continue to pursue her education here just as she’d planned to from the start?”
Oh. Of course… how had she forgotten?
“I didn’t make the law, Mr. Bowman, but it is my job to enforce it. Changelings and humans have never been taught in the same environment, for reasons that you must be aware of. We can’t make any exceptions.”
Anger began to well up in her, and Hannah bit her tongue to keep from blurting out something that she would definitely regret later. So, she contented herself with merely thinking it, focusing furiously on Mr. Rigby’s receding hairline. It wasn’t his fault, she knew that, but he was there, and therefore he would take the blame until she found a more suitable receptacle. Why did they have that law? It was ridiculous; what “reasons” were there to justify the segregation of Changeling youth from regular humans? Had anyone stopped to ask her whether or not she wanted to be shipped off to some “academy”, and separated from her family and friends? How on earth was that in any way supposed to help her come to terms with the fact that her perception of life was falling to pieces around her? Had any of them realized that, she wondered. Had they stopped for a moment, to put themselves in her shoes? Her parents, who had received a phone call from the school little over half an hour ago. The nurse who had been in the infirmary with her when she woke up. Mr. Baker, who had carried her there. Her classmates, whose whispers she had regained consciousness to. And Mr. Rigby, who was sitting there on the other side of the table, doing his job just as he was supposed to. Had any of them paused for a moment, to wonder how Hannah Bowman was coping? Tears began to prick at her eyes, and Hannah set herself to blinking furiously, refusing to cry in front of the principal.
“I –yeah, yes, of course we do. But, as it stands-“ her father paused, swallowing before continuing, “-as it stands, we don’t have the… sufficient funds to enroll Hannah in any of the academies that law dictates she must attend.”
Mr. Rigby looked slightly uncomfortable. “Well, I know there are funds set aside to help out families who aren’t as financially stable, and I’m sure you could apply for a scholarship to ease your way. I –the school can definitely look into that for you, if you’d like?” His last sentence curled up into a question, and Hannah allowed herself a certain vindictive pleasure at watching the various expressions of discomfiture flit across Mr. Rigby’s face as he discussed her family’s finances.
Her parents glanced at each other again, and Hannah wished she could understand the silent conversation being held between them.
“That’d be helpful, if you wouldn’t mind,” her mother said, tucking a stray lock of dark brown hair behind her ear as she spoke. “When is it that Hannah must stop attending this school?”
Now Mr. Rigby definitely looked uneasy. “Well –erm- that’d be immediately.” The words jolted Hannah, and it must have shown on her face, because he put on an apologetic smile.
“Straight away? That seems a little harsh, don’t you think?” Her father’s tone was steely, and Hannah felt a burst of affection for him. That explained quite a bit… why her classmates who’d had their first Change back in elementary school had simply disappeared, never to be seen again. She and her friends had entertained a silly conspiracy theory for a while, laughing over it and discussing it together in hushed voices. It wasn’t a fond memory anymore, though; Hannah was beginning to feel sick to her stomach again.
“It’s the way it is,” Mr. Rigby offered, “we can’t afford any slipshifting in classes, and Changelings are especially prone to that during the months after their first Change. It’s an unfortunate situation, I get that, but I can’t change it.”
“What if I don’t want to go?” Hannah burst out, lurching forwards to place both her hands on the table. She felt the tears well up in her eyes again, and a violent surge of both anger and helplessness.
Everyone looked at her. Mr. Rigby, frozen like a deer in the headlights, opened his mouth but no words came out. Her parents turned to her, apologies written all over both of their faces. They’d accepted the situation already, and weren’t going to help her fight it. Hannah felt her stomach sink to her toes. She’d woken up this morning just like on any other day; she’d stumbled to the kitchen and poured herself some cereal, then made it back to her room to dress herself for the day, then brush her teeth and fight her unruly hair, before heading off to school. She’d made it through the school day like any other, taking half-hearted notes through Geography, mentally screaming throughout Math, giving it her best shot in Phys. Ed, and paying attention in English –until her nausea and headache overwhelmed her and reduced her to lying pathetically on the desk. How had the world managed to go so wrong?
“We don’t have much of a choice,” her mother answered at last, voice soft. She nudged her chair closer, and reached out a hand to lie on top of her daughter’s. Hannah withdrew her hand from underneath, placing it on her lap in a fist. It was probably a cruel gesture, one that would fill her with guilt later, when her mind finally stopped racing, and she was allowed to slowly contemplate the events that had so thoughtlessly torn life as she knew it asunder. But, at the moment, Hannah didn’t care. Her gaze turned to meet her father’s; dark brown connecting with soft grey. He was gnawing unconsciously at his bottom lip.
“Your mom’s right,” he bit out at last, each word grinding to a full-stop before the next overlapped it. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mouthed silently, and Hannah jerked her head in a half-nod, already feeling a burning sensation of embarrassment at her outburst. It coiled uneasily in her stomach like a snake, only adding to the returning nausea.
Mr. Rigby presumably felt the same way, because he had his hands clasped together in front of him, pointer fingers beating out a discordant rhythm on their opposite hands. His eyes were downcast, as if he was trying to spare the family in front of him a moment of privacy. “I think we’re finished here… yes?” he offered, pushing out his chair with a creak, poised to leave.
Hannah’s mother looked away from her. “Yeah, I think we are. Thank you.”
Mr. Rigby stood up, offering them a wan smile. “The school will contact you about procedures and such within the next day or so –I’ll collect information on scholarships and the schools available as well. We would have had them ready, but-“ he spread his hands wide, in the universal gesture of ‘well, what can we do?’ accompanied by an apologetic grimace, “-this isn’t exactly standard procedure for us.” His gaze flickered momentarily to Hannah as he said that, and she felt a stab of completely unfounded guilt. It was quashed almost immediately –this wasn’t her fault! She didn’t want this, and never had.
Her father got to his feet as well, reaching his hand across the table. “We appreciate your time, Mr. Rigby.”
“Mr. Bowman,” he clasped his hand roughly, then released the grip, and made his way toward the door. He stepped through it, before stopping in his tracks, and turning his head back to address Hannah. “I’m… sorry. And-and congratulations?” he fumbled, and Hannah caught a glimpse of colour beginning to rise in his cheeks before he turned away again and strode out the doorway and out of sight.
A short while later, Hannah was finally on her way home. She pressed her head against the cool glass of the car window, listening to the patter of the rain outside. It had slowed from the tempestuous storm of earlier to a steady drizzle. But the broil of emotions and thoughts inside her head hadn’t calmed at all, no matter how much Hannah tried to slow her breathing, clench and unclench her fists, channel it into the armrests by her sides. She felt as if she were slowly and painfully imploding.
“How are you feeling, Han?” her father asked from up front, hands clenched around the steering wheel. The concern was evident in his voice, though he tried to hide it, and painfully visible in his posture; the tautness of his shoulders, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white, how he sat, ramrod-straight, not allowing himself to relax into the seat.
“Fine, Dad,” she lied in answer.
“No you’re not,”
Hannah stiffened in her seat, drawing her head away from the coolness of the window. Gaze shifting to the back of the driver’s seat, before moving down to her hands, which had clasped themselves in her lap without her noticing, Hannah made no reply. What was there to say to that, anyways? In fact, what kind of question was it that had prompted her answer in the first place? How did her father think she was feeling? Hannah bit her lip to stop the well of tears threatening to break over once again. She’d held them back successfully so far –there was no way she was going to succumb now. No, they would have to wait until she was safe in the privacy of her bedroom. Then, and only then, would she take the moment to mourn for the life she had lost. Everything. In the span of less than thirty minutes, Hannah had seen her whole world, all her plans for the future, everything she thought she knew, torn down around her. It wasn’t fair, she thought again, the fury of it tinted a violent red in her mind.
Not another word was spoken until they pulled into the driveway. Hannah felt a sharp pang at the sight of her house; two floors, modest in size, brick, with a front door in an embarrassing shade of orange. Nineteen Oak Terrace –the address she had spent most of her life residing at. Strange, how it could look both so similar and so different from how it had that morning. She got out of the car.
Once inside, Hannah shucked her shoes in silence, not bothering to pick them up and move them over to the rack. On any other day, that would’ve earned her a sharp reprimand from either of her parents. Today, her mother merely picked them up in silence, moving them herself before retreating into the living room in her husband’s wake. Hannah watched them go for a moment, feeling an irrational spike of anger. They were giving her space, she knew that –she wanted space right now, more than any form of confrontation- but she couldn’t help but feel as if they were brushing her off.
She took it out on the stairs, pounding into them as she stomped up to her bedroom.
The door was flung open, banging into the wall with a sound that elicited a wince from Hannah despite the fact that it had been her intention in the first place. For the first time, the familiarity of her surroundings did nothing to soothe the roiling of emotions within her. It had always been able to calm her before, the sight of her white-and orange checkered bedspread, the bookshelf positively messy and overflowing (in striking contrast with the positively Spartan appearance of the rest of the room), the light orange of her unadorned walls, the feel of the cool wooden floor against her bare feet. But not today. No, today, Hannah was too far-gone. She slammed the door with a frame-shaking reverberation, and bounded over to her bed. She jerked the curtains shut, cutting off any remaining light source. And then she did just as she’d been waiting to since she’d realized just what had happened to her in English. Hannah cried, sobbing into her pillow with a violence that had only taken place once before -when her dog had died when she was eight. The tears fell until they ran dry, eyes red and painful, stomach aching, a hollow feeling in the centre of her chest. Hannah brought her knees up to her chest then, wrapping her arms around them and hugging them inward. Her pillow was wet against her cheek, and she closed her eyes, replacing the darkness of the room with the emptiness behind her eyelids.
End of chapter
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139,618 Literary Works • 672,630 Reviews
Evil here. You know the drill
"Fingers steepled underneath a prominent chin, and Mr. Rigby leaned forward. “We have to discuss options now, of course.”"
--This is very awkwardly phrased. The dialog is a bit off, too. Allow Mr. Rigby to be more precise. "We need to discuss your options."
"Hannah’s brow furrowed in confusion, and she looked across the table to the principal, who had leaned back into his chair after imparting that statement. Her gaze then moved to her parents, who sat side-by-side on her left. She watched with an increasing sense of foreboding as they met each other’s eyes, and nodded in turn."
--I'm all for not bogging down a story with description, but give us SOMETHING about the parents. Don't completely leave things like this up to the reader
“Anger began to well up in her”
--I’d say “Anger began to well up inside her” or rephrase another way
“and Hannah bit her tongue to keep from blurting out something that she would definitely regret later”
--This is more of a “BUT she bit her tongue to . . . “ because the previous part tells us she’s angry but she ends up biting her tongue in spite of that, so linking the two with “and” doesn’t really make sense.
“Had they stopped for a moment, to put themselves in her shoes?”
--I really need to stop giving comma advice, but I believe you don’t need this one
“Her parents, who had received a phone call from the school little over half an hour ago. The nurse who had been in the infirmary with her when she woke up. Mr. Baker, who had carried her there. Her classmates, whose whispers she had regained consciousness to. And Mr. Rigby, who was sitting there on the other side of the table, doing his job just as he was supposed to”
--These sentences are extensions of the question “Had they stopped for a moment, to put themselves in her shoes?” I think you need to end each with a question mark. “Her parents, who had received a phone call from the school little over an hour ago?” Although, saying that, I also thought it was needless reminding us that her parents were just called. I already knew that. Same goes for the others. I know the parts they played already, there’s no need for a summary so soon into the story. Consider rewriting to “Her parents? The nurse? Mr. Baker? Her classmates? Mr. Rigby? I don’t even really get why she’s ticked that all these people haven’t put themselves in her shoes. Parents, yes. Teachers, maybe. Classmates? When do they EVER put themselves in another’s shoes?
“Had any of them paused for a moment, to wonder how Hannah Bowman was coping? Tears began to prick at her eyes, and Hannah set herself to blinking furiously, refusing to cry in front of the principal.”
--Wouldn’t blinking flush the tears out? I’m unsure, truth be told. I’d expect blinking to make matters worse, though. Also the first part could be taken out. You kind of beat us over the head with that point
““I –yeah, yes, of course we do. But, as it stands-“ her father paused, swallowing before continuing, “-as it stands, we don’t have the… sufficient funds to enroll Hannah in any of the academies that law dictates she must attend.”
--The first part of this dialog really confused me. It didn’t tie in with what was previously said. I do, however, like the last part. It really gave insight into how the father feels about this law
“Mr. Rigby looked slightly uncomfortable”
--First, try not to use LY adverbs unless it really adds something. Also, why not build on this image? Instead of just telling us he looks uncomfortable, show us using body language. Show us how he is acting without telling us directly
“. “Well, I know there are funds set aside to help out families who aren’t as financially stable,”
--Remove “as”, otherwise who is he being compared to?
“His last sentence curled up into a question, and Hannah allowed herself a certain vindictive pleasure at watching the various expressions of discomfiture flit across Mr. Rigby’s face as he discussed her family’s finances.”
--This is better than the first line, so just use this instead of “Mr. Rigby looked slightly uncomfortable”
“Her parents glanced at each other again, and Hannah wished she could understand the silent conversation being held between them.”
--I highly doubt she is having difficulty with how her own parents are feeling given the context of the situation and what was said before. Surely she can glean what they are “saying” through their expressions
““Straight away? That seems a little harsh, don’t you think?” Her father’s tone was steely”
--I didn’t really buy this dialog. I doubt a father would phrase his thoughts quite like that
“She and her friends had entertained a silly conspiracy theory for a while, laughing over it and discussing it together in hushed voices”
--“laughing and discussing it in hushed voices” or something. That last part is begging to be rephrased. Also I found it odd that you didn’t say what the theory was. Why mention it?
““It’s the way it is,” Mr. Rigby offered, “we can’t afford any slipshifting in classes, and Changelings are especially prone to that during the months after their first Change. It’s an unfortunate situation, I get that, but I can’t change it.””
--Really not liking “I get that” in Mr. Rigby’s dialog. The adults talk like teenagers at times
“Mr. Rigby, frozen like a deer in the headlights”
--That’s pretty cliché. I can’t take similes like that seriously
“. She’d woken up this morning just like on any other day; she’d stumbled to the kitchen and poured herself some cereal, then made it back to her room to dress herself for the day, then brush her teeth and fight her unruly hair, before heading off to school. She’d made it through the school day like any other, taking half-hearted notes through Geography, mentally screaming throughout Math, giving it her best shot in Phys. Ed, and paying attention in English –until her nausea and headache overwhelmed her and reduced her to lying pathetically on the desk. How had the world managed to go so wrong?”
--“just like any other day”
--take out “for the day”
--“and paying attention in English” – if this is supposed to be borrowing the “giving it her best shot” part, it doesn’t work. You made it seem as though she did pay attention in English, but we know she didn’t (oh the storm ^^)
“Her gaze turned to meet her father’s; dark brown connecting with soft grey. He was gnawing unconsciously at his bottom lip.”
--I don’t like that you mentioned their eye colours again
““Your mom’s right,” he bit out at last”
--“Bit” out? Huh?
“and Hannah jerked her head in a half-nod, already feeling a burning sensation of embarrassment at her outburst”
--I don’t know if that really qualified as an “outburst” , I had to scroll back to see what you were referring to
“Mr. Rigby presumably felt the same way, because he had his hands clasped together in front of him, pointer fingers beating out a discordant rhythm on their opposite hands. His eyes were downcast, as if he was trying to spare the family in front of him a moment of privacy.”
--I loved this
““I think we’re finished here… yes?” he offered, pushing out his chair with a creak, poised to leave.”
--Completely unrealistic dialog and what do you mean “creak”? I have no idea what that means
““Hannah’s mother looked away from her. “Yeah, I think we are. Thank you.””
--This mother is way too submissive. She doesn’t seem to have anything important to say, like ever
“accompanied by an apologetic grimace”
--You already kind of used that. I’d change / take out the last one as I didn’t really like it. Forgot to mention that
“Her father got to his feet as well, reaching his hand across the table. “We appreciate your time, Mr. Rigby.””
--We’re already 1,000 words in and still nothing has happened. This whole conversation has been pointless and didn’t tell me much. You need to ask yourself just how important scenes are. What information are they giving the reader? Could a different scene give the same information in a better way?
“I’m… sorry. And-and congratulations?” he fumbled, and Hannah caught a glimpse of colour beginning to rise in his cheeks before he turned away again and strode out the doorway and out of sight.”
--Your characterisation of him is all over the place, same as the parents. I don’t get what any of their deals are. What drives them. How they express themselves. You need to define these characters a lot more and learn how to step into their shoes. Try interviewing them. Ask them random or standard questions and then answer in their voice. You’d be surprised what you could learn about your characters this way. It’s fun and you will define them further so they appear three-dimensional in your story
“. But the broil of emotions and thoughts inside her head hadn’t calmed at all, no matter how much Hannah tried to slow her breathing, clench and unclench her fists, channel it into the armrests by her sides”
--You already named her in this paragraph. No need for the second “Hannah”, change for pronoun
““How are you feeling, Han?” her father asked from up front, hands clenched around the steering wheel.”
--You mentioned hands clenching in the previous paragraph so this was repetitive and stood out a lot
“the way his hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white”
--Didn’t you use a similar description of knuckles turning white in chapter 1?
““Fine, Dad,” she lied in answer.”
--No need for “in answer”
“Gaze shifting to the back of the driver’s seat, before moving down to her hands, which had clasped themselves in her lap without her noticing, Hannah made no reply”
--I think this sentence would flow better if the independent clause (“Hannah made no reply”) came first
“What was there to say to that, anyways?”
--Didn’t like “anyways”, your style is too sophisticated for that
“It wasn’t fair, she thought again, the fury of it tinted a violent red in her mind.”
--I’m getting really bored of Hannah. I’m sorry, but I want ANSWERS. Your story is extremely vague as of this moment. I want to get to answers, not read about her moping. I want to know what this world is like before I can start connecting with your character. Until I get answers I’m going to constantly look around the corner for them and not wait around to bond with Hannah
“Once inside, Hannah shucked her shoes in silence, not bothering to pick them up and move them over to the rack”
--No idea what you mean by “shucked”, assuming that’s a typo
“Today, her mother merely picked them up in silence, moving them herself before retreating into the living room in her husband’s wake.”
--See, submissive. So much so that I wonder if her husband beats her. She doesn’t seem to have any personality at all, either, besides being submissive. I’m getting depressed just reading about her.
“she wanted space right now, more than any form of confrontation”
--“Confrontation”? Huh?
“The door was flung open, banging into the wall with a sound that elicited a wince from Hannah despite the fact that it had been her intention in the first place”
--Extremely confusing. First, that door was flung open by an unknown entity. There’s some kind of intruder in her bedroom and she doesn’t seem to care (still playing that game I told you about when I reviewed chapter 1). Also, she winced despite it not being her intention to fling the door open? Surely that would make her wince MORE since she didn’t intend to do it, so “despite” doesn’t make sense
“in striking contrast with the positively”
--You used “positively” twice
“No, today, Hannah was too far-gone. She slammed the door with a frame-shaking reverberation”
--I’m getting confused. First she didn’t intend to fling the door open and winced because of the noise, and then on purpose she slams it shut? What?
“Her pillow was wet against her cheek, and she closed her eyes, replacing the darkness of the room with the emptiness behind her eyelids.“
--Nice ending. I love nice endings to chapters. I always strive to end them on an intense note
Ooookay. I’m going to be honest. This chapter was boring. Where did all the excitement from chapter one go? I just feel like there was no reason to read this chapter because what did I learn? Not much. I still have the exact same questions I had before, and now more. You need to start setting the world she lives in because it’s becoming painful not knowing. I highly recommend ditching this chapter and writing a more interesting scene that will give your readers more information and insight into what this changeling thing means. I know you know that the dialog isn’t great, so I won’t harp on about that. You do need to make your characters three dimensional, though. They need their own specific way of talking and expressing themselves. Define them. Make them into real people.
I still think you’re an amazing writer and I adore your style. The way you put things together and add certain details (like the initials thing in chapter one) is amazing and every writer needs to be able to do that. However, you need to be more honest with yourself. Ask yourself if a scene is important, if a line of dialog needs to be said, and delete accordingly.
I’m really looking forward to her going to this new school because I’m guessing I’ll finally get some answers. It really is a pain not knowing. Also is it too soon to claim “biggest fan” status? ^^
If I could hug you virtually, I honestly would. Thank you so, so much for your critique! I've always been a bit iffy about this chapter (and by a bit, I mean extremely), because, as you've pointed out, it is rather useless. :p I think, rather than try to fix the plethora of flaws, I may just write it all over. xD
Haha, I definitely promise some answers once we hit the school! c: And I'm flattered. I really, really am. Thank you! (Though if I were you, I might hold onto that for a bit still, because the next few chapters are rather terrible as well. D: )
That's to be expected with first drafts. It's tricky to see what works and what doesn't unless you share the early versions and get feedback. The only reason I put so much effort into reviewing your story is because I know that if you worked hard on it, you could really make something of it. I can't wait for Hannah to go to the new school. I'm really wondering what the students are being taught and why they're being taught in the first place. I also can't wait for her to change and stay that way and like, do things ^^ In general I'm just eager to read on. Let me know when chapter 3 is up. And again, you're very welcome. *hugs virtually* thanks I really needed that XD
I love this story!!! Your writing drew me in and i want to read more! However your descriptions are a little wordy, and it gets kind of confusing. Maybe seperate the paragraphs out more to where they aren't so scrunched together. For this topic its a fresh take and thats awesome!I haven't read a story about werewolves that i've liked so much in a while!
Thank you very much! C: I'm glad you enjoyed it, and I'll definitely keep that pointer in mind whilst editing. It's not technically about werewolves -"shapeshifters" would perhaps be a more accurate term, though it doesn't quite hit the nail on the head either. :p It'll be elucidated more clearly later on.
Wow, you have no idea how much this reminds me of this one story I wrote last year. . . WoW.
Good work, good use of commas and periods, good descriptions(not too much, not too little).
However
Fingers steepled underneath a prominent chin, and Mr. Rigby leaned forward. “We have to discuss options now, of course.”
Is really messy, I find the beginning sentences to be very important for a reader. It gives you an important feel for the story.
I'm glad you warned me, the dialogue is pretty bad, sorry, I have to be honest.
The principle is a bit too informal, I'd advise working on that.
But the story has potential, really, if you keep this up, add to the idea of the story, then you might really get somewhere with it.
Keep writing!
Thank you! c:
And, yeah, I have to agree there -my dialogue is pretty abysmal. The problem is, I speak in the same manner that I write, and so always end up sounding very stiff and formal; and my dialogue does the same. I try to make it less so, because I do understand that most people don't speak like me, but I always either make it too informal, or not quite enough. Still searching for that happy medium! xD