Young Writers Society

Alright, this story's been redone so many times. Before this, it started as Finding Atlantis (in my portfolio). It wasn't going wonderfully, so I redid it. Hopefully, if this chapter goes well, I'll have a gem. Don't worry about line-by-lines unless it's a very confusing part. I say this to save you all the time since it is a little long. I'd shorten it to two parts, but there's no clean break. [/jabber]

Don't kill yourself after this.

Chapter 1

“Enjoying yourself?”

“…En-joy-ing…your-self…” Emma muttered, scribbling the quote in her notebook. While her most intimate friend Writers Block was invading her train of thought, the girl was forced to stop writing her fantasy novel—the idea which was developed just that morning. Instead, she took any quote, any action—anything that happened while she wrote at that moment—and put it in story format just to ease her need to write.

Mrs. Burnett peered over Emma’s shoulder and read her own quote Emma had written in the notebook, the purple ink continuing to leak across the page in words and thoughts. “Enjoying yourself?” the woman repeated, smiling.

Emma jumped and looked up from her notebook. Mrs. Burnett chuckled, turning to face the bookshelves filled with the new releases.

“I’m sorry; I was just…enjoying myself.”

Mrs. Burnett laughed again. “Obviously. Writer’s block, I take it?” The older woman bent down to examine the bottom shelves of the bookcase.

“Unfortunately, yes. What are you looking for?” Emma hopped down from her stool to assist Mrs. Burnett, dropping her pen on the counter.

“A customer’s looking for a specific book, so I thought I’d check our stores. It’s a fairly new book, so maybe it’s here.” She sighed and straightened herself. “I guess not.”

“What’s it called? I can go look for you—”

“Oh, no, no, no. You stay here in case any customers are ready to buy. I can go look; I’m not that handicapped.”

Emma wanted to retort, saying she wasn’t handicapped anyway; but the old woman was too quick for her and went into the back. Emma shrugged and resumed her seat by the cash register, writing more in her journal. There was hardly anything to write about, so she wrote about what happened while Mrs. Burnett was behind the counter.

She saw Mrs. Burnett stomp her foot angrily, glaring at a pile of books that had tipped over from their respective towers. The bookcases were still standing, though; Emma made a quiet sigh of relief.

“Mrs. Burnett, let me help,” Emma said, stacking the books back up. The storage room was a complete disaster; she decided it would take about ten of her shifts to clean. She frowned at the thought and told herself to avoid offering to do the job.

No, it would take about ten of her shifts.

“Oh, fine.” Mrs. Burnett said, waving her hand at Emma. “I’ll go look in the back while you look here.”

She relayed the name and author of the book she was looking for, describing the approximate size and appearance of it as well. Emma only nodded and said, “Uh huh,” or “Okay,” until Mrs. Burnett trotted off, sidestepping piles of books only to knock over more. Emma laughed to herself and gathered more books in her hands.

Working at Books for the Soul for nearly a year, Emma knew what could or needed to be done in the tiny store. She was usually on top of things despite her journal calling her name over and over again. Reading was her hobby, writing was her passion, and Books for the Soul was her drug. She was always found in a bookstore whether it was Books for the Soul, Borders, or any other place.

Emma picked up a dull-red book with gold bordering. It looked ancient and beat up. Her brow furrowed; a bookstore couldn’t sell such a battered book! Though the corners were protected by the stiff edging, the golden color was scratched and abused. The red cover itself seemed to be withering away before her very eyes, and the pages were yellowing. It did not contain the familiar and loving smell many other books have; in fact, it was worse.

Scrunching her nose, Emma held up the book for Mrs. Burnett to see. “How long have we had this book here?”

There was another crash of books falling to the ground. A growl of irritation was soon followed by a long sigh. “What was that, dear?” she asked, frustrated.

“This book!” Emma called. “How long have we had it?”

“I—oh, please!” Books kept falling to the ground.

Oh, Mrs. Burnett, Emma thought with amusement. She waited a moment for Mrs. Burnett to resituate herself around the mess of book around her.

“I don’t know, dear. I’ll look at it later,” the woman finally called.

“Alright.” She set the book aside so she wouldn’t lose it among the piles of books around her when she noticed very faint lettering on the front. Most of the letters were nearly gone; she couldn’t decipher the word or words.

“We can’t sell this,” Emma said out loud. “It’s completely destroyed.”

She opened the book again, and straight away, the first chapter of the story caught her eye. No normal book had the first chapter on the first page. Was the store cheated of a book? She couldn’t find an author’s name, and there was no publishing date or company anywhere. However, she recognized the first few lines of the chapter, and her heart pounded against her chest.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“…En-joy-ing…your-self…” Emma muttered, scribbling the quote in her notebook. While her most intimate friend Writer’s Block was invading her train of thought, the girl was forced to stop writing her fantasy novel—the idea which was developed just that morning. Instead, she took any quote, any action—anything that happened while she wrote at that moment—and put it in story format just to ease her need to write.

That was the exact question Mrs. Burnett asked her. That was her own name. The actions were only too accurate, and the words were too familiar, as if she wrote them herself. It couldn’t possibly be…

She stood up and, taking the book with her, settled herself on the stool to read some more. It was all there: when she offered to help Mrs. Burnett, when the piles of books fell, when she found the book…

A chill ran down her spine at what seemed to be a sudden drop in temperature. She made to turn the page and noticed her hand shaking terribly, no doubt from the eeriness of the book she held. It’s not that creepy, Emma thought stubbornly, glaring at her hands. It’s just a coincidence.

She noticed a customer walk up to the counter, and she hopped off her stool.

“Did you find everything alright?” Emma asked politely, setting the book on the stool. She noticed the customer put no items on the counter and looked up at him. “Do you need help with something?”

“Emma Prince?” the boy asked. Emma didn’t seem to hear him as she admired his perfect mess of blonde hair—as if each strand was carefully set in place. His soft blue eyes stood out against his fair skin, his cheeks possessing a tinge of pink. The light blue polo did nothing but reflect his beautiful and mesmerizing eyes.

“You are Emma Prince, yes?” the boy asked again. Emma shook her head, waking herself from her trance.

“Oh, yes—yes, sorry. Er…How’d you know?” Emma quickly combed her dark blonde hair, knowing it would be a mess after working from the storage room.

“Well, your name tag gave me a tiny hint,” he jested. Emma laughed, and he smiled, displaying a wondrous array of bright teeth. It was just like in those romance novels.

“Can I help you, then?” Emma asked, feeling her cheeks grow warm. Awkward! Emma thought, her eyebrows involuntarily rising.

“I couldn’t help but notice that book,” he said casually, nodding to the red and gold book on the stool. “I’ve seen it before.”

“Oh, well…” Emma quickly thought of an explanation to cover her find. She couldn’t make Books for the Soul look bad! She looked up to him, deciding to tell him it was a history book, but his eyes were filled with curiosity and innocence. She gulped, and answered without meaning to say it. “I found it in the storage room. I don’t know what it is; the title and author and publishing house and everything aren’t present, and the first page of the boo—”

“—the first page?” the boy interrupted. His brow raised only the slightest.

Emma nodded, her brow furrowing. “Yes, every book has a first page. Most have a second page and a third as well…maybe even a fourth page.”

The boy chuckled at her sarcasm. “Yes, but…What does the first page say?”

Emma was confused at this point. She opened her mouth to tell him to look himself when a customer—with books in her hands—arrived behind him. “Excuse me while I help this customer,” she said with a little more bitterness in her tone than she’d have liked.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the boy quickly replied with his dazzling smile to her and to the customer.

The woman giggled. “It’s quite alright. I wouldn’t want to be intruding on anything—”

“No, no!” Emma said quickly, patting the counter. “It was nothing. Did you find everything okay, ma’am?”

“Yes, I think I did.” She set the books on the counter. “My daughter needed a copy of The Great Gatsby for school, and I found a few books I needed myself. I have so much time on my hands now—I don’t know what to do with it!”

Emma laughed with the woman. “Yes, well, treasure it while you can.”

“Exactly! It’s only a matter of time before I’ll be busy once again.”

Emma gave her the total and sent her on her way. The boy never left them, though his eyes were scrutinizing everything Emma said and did the entire time. It was making her irritated and uneasy.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Emma asked coldly.

“Your cold,” he replied, nodding to her shaking hands.

Emma shrugged, ignoring the goosebumps trailing down her arms. “Someone must have cranked up the air. I have a hoodie by the front desk.”

“It’s fairly warm in my opinion.”

“Some of us aren’t that resistant to cold temperatures.”

The boy smiled despite Emma’s poor behavior. He resumed his place in front of the counter. “Do tell what’s on the first page of the book.”

Emma frowned and moved the book to the counter. “You look and tell me.”

The boy’s eyebrow cocked, his eyes sparkling with delight. Emma found him quite strange; she didn’t even know him, and here he was, asking her questions as if they’d known each other all their lives.

He read to himself for a few minutes while Emma refilled the change in the cash register. She kept glancing his way to see his reaction, but he made no facial expressions until his eyebrow shot up again. He took a breath and read aloud:

“‘Did you find everything alright?’ she asked, setting the book down on the stool. Richard watched her intently, seeing her reaction to the volume she had found. The girl looked up and noted his empty hands. ‘Is there anything I can help you with?’

‘Emma Prince?’ the boy started. He hadn’t planned his speech, and checking her name was the best start he could come up with. Her eyes glazed in a dreamy fashion, and Richard smirked. A cute reaction, but it was one he got only too often. ‘You are Emma Prince, yes?’”

Emma stared at him, her mouth hanging open. Speechless, she leaned over the book again to read the script. The main character was Emma—or, at least, much like Emma—not the boy referred to as Richard. “What—?”

“Who’s your friend, dear?”

Emma jumped at the sound of Mrs. Burnett’s voice. The old woman walked up, holding a novel in her hand. She peered over Emma’s shoulder at the book and frowned. “What’s that?”

Emma hesitated, but Richard encouraged her. “She said she found it in the back.”

“Oh, this is the one you were asking about?” Mrs. Burnett said. Her fingers brushed the antique hardcover. “It doesn’t have a title on it.”

“Well, it does,” Emma said, finding her voice. “It’s nearly gone, though. If you look closely…” her voice trailed off as she squinted to see the lettering again, “…the title’s barely there.”

“No, dear, it’s not,” Mrs. Burnett said firmly. She gently pushed Emma aside and opened the book. Her brow furrowed. “You found this in the storage room?”

“Yeah. Read it and tell me it’s not strange.” Emma shoved the book toward Mrs. Burnett and watched the woman open it, her eyes skimming over the page.

“Yes, it is strange. There’s no writing in it.”

Emma looked at her as Mrs. Burnett stared at the front page of the book. The woman didn’t look ill, so why was she playing with the girl? Mrs. Burnett’s eyes were filled with confusion and interest, though. She inspected every inch of the book as if there really wasn’t anything there.

“It’s right there, Mrs. Burnett. Richard, tell her there’s writing.” She didn’t wait for him to respond; the boy never bothered opening his mouth. “Mrs. Burnett, read the page. Don’t tease!”

The woman looked at her with shock. “Emma, dear, are you feeling alright? You do look cold.” She put a warm hand to Emma’s forehead, but Emma shook her head, escaping her reach.

“I’m fine, Mrs. Burnett! I—”

“Well, we can’t sell this book, can we?” Mrs. Burnett said, accepting Emma’s answer.

“I’ll buy it, then,” Emma said quickly. Mrs. Burnett’s brow raised, astonished. Emma dug in her pocket and pulled out her wallet. “How much?”

“Free,” Mrs. Burnett said, tossing it to Emma. “It won’t be in the system if it has no barcode on the back. I’ll be right back; the customer’s been waiting long enough for this baby.” She waved the book she was carrying and left the counter. Emma looked to Richard, who remained silent with interest. She sighed.

“There’s something going on,” she said sternly, tapping the book with her finger, “and I’m going to find out what.”

Richard chuckled. “I’m sure you will.” He eyed the goosebumps covering her arms; Emma idly set the book down and wrapped her arms around herself. “You’re hoodie’s in arm’s reach.”

She followed his gaze to the stool and held her breath. Her black and gold hoodie hung on the back of the stool, though it wasn’t there a moment ago. She had hung it by the front door, and she never moved it. How did it get here?

“Richard—where’d he go?”

The boy was gone. She looked everywhere from her post behind the cash register, but she didn’t see him. She did see Mrs. Burnett return to the counter.

“You got your hoodie? My, I forget how quick you young people can be.” Mrs. Burnett shook her head with bewilderment.

“Yeah, well…we’re full of surprises,” she answered with an uneasy laugh.

“Yes, well, you definitely prove that theory. You walk in here feeling almighty, and an hour later, you catch a cold.”

“Oh, Mrs. Burnett, I don’t have a cold,” Emma said with an exasperated sigh. “Someone was playing with the air earlier; in fact…someone must have turned it off. It’s hot now.” She waved a hand in front of her face for the tiny breeze it could make. She wasn’t lying; the temperature had significantly dropped right then and there, as if Mrs. Burnett’s arrival triggered the change.

“Ah, no, don’t give me the tough act,” Mrs. Burnett said, picking up Emma’s sweater and handing it to her. “You put that on, and you go home. I don’t need any sick employees here.”

“Mrs. Burnett, I’m perfectly fine—”

“Go sleep. If you feel better tomorrow, then you can come back; but for now, you move.”

Mrs. Burnett jabbed Emma in the back between the shoulder blades. Emma straightened at the fierce poke, and she gathered the book, her notebook, and her pencil. “Alright, alright,” she said, but Mrs. Burnett wouldn’t get off her back.

“Go home, drink plenty of liquids, get lots of rest, and don’t walk around so much,” she ordered. “Do you think you can drive home safely?”

“Mrs. Burnett, I’m not sick. I’m fine. And I walk home.”

“Don’t argue with me. I’ll see you tomorrow, dear. Buh-bye, now.” She smiled as she practically kicked Emma out the door, smiling so the customers wouldn’t think poorly of the workers at Books for the Soul. Emma sighed, situated the books in the crook of her arm, and went on her way.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I do have possible title selections, and I'd like your opinions.

Finding the Wandering City

Finding Wandering City

Finding El Dorado

Or any other title you may have, though I doubt you would come up with at this point, haha.

Jabber, the One and Only!