I am not a monster. I am not a monster. I am not a monster. The familiar chant lulls her to sleep tonight. She couldn’t get the blood out from under her fingernails. She could never get it out from under her fingernails. She falls asleep with that in her head.
The sun isn’t up when she wakes, and it wouldn’t be for hours. Her bare feet move silently over the hardwood floor of her bedroom to her closet, where she doesn't even look as she selects the same outfit as every day. White collared shirt, buttoned up to her neck, and black jeans. She doesn’t turn on the lights. With light, her eyes might land on the laundry basket, where yesterday’s version of this outfit lay. Black jeans, red shirt.
I am not a monster.
She leaves her room and weaves through the halls of what feels more like headquarters than home, carefully avoiding eye contact with any of the servants, who, thankfully, avert their eyes as well. She doesn’t bother with breakfast. She’s not hungry.
She catches the bus. Nothing happens. She gets to school. Nothing happens. Suddenly, it’s lunchtime and She’s sitting at her usual table, alone, as usual, listening to Queenie’s idle chatter as she pretends so flawlessly that yesterday never happened.
And then, as if some twisted god had decided to tug the strings of fate, her melancholy is shattered.
“Um, hey,” the boy is unfamiliar. She vaguely remembers some chatter about a new student and connects the dots, “Can I sit here or…” he trails off.
She gestures at the single empty seat in front of her, absently scanning the room to ensure that, yes, every other table is full.
The boy has a messenger bag at his side, brown, faux leather, well-worn. He’s wearing a grey sweater vest over a salmon dress shirt. Her slow-moving mind is only able to process that much before she realizes that the boy was speaking.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” she asks, trying her best to shake that dreaded monotone Queenie mocked her for.
She couldn't tell if she succeeded, however, because the boy looked just as uncomfortable as ever. “Um, I said my name’s Jackson?” his eyes shifted from some spot behind her to the table.
“I’m Briar,” she said, shooting Queenie a glare as soon as she noticed her eyes on her. Queenie snorted, pretending it was at something the boy next to her had said and tucked a short blonde curl behind her ear.
“Nice name.” he wasn’t much better at this than Briar was.
They sat there just long enough for both of them to get uncomfortable, then she busied herself digging around in her backpack for nothing in particular.
Thinking she’d rifled long enough, Briar pulled out whatever was in her hand and placed it on the table. That thing happened to be her sketchbook. She cast a glance toward Queenie to find her seemingly distracted. That meant nothing, of course, but Briar was trapped anyway.
Careful to flip to a blank page, Briar opened the book and started a new drawing. She wasn’t sure what it was at first, just the construction lines for a person, but as the shapes took form, the figure became someone far too familiar.
Her eyes slipped up to Jackson. He was trying not to watch. He wasn’t succeeding. Briar would have cared if her mind hadn’t found itself stuck in yesterday.
“You’re a good artist,” Jackson once again broke the silence.
Briar tried not to be thankful as she plastered on a practiced smile, “Thank you.” her eyes never left the page.
“Is that someone you know?”
The sketchbook was back in her bag before the beat her heart could finish skipping a beat. She mumbled something about getting to class and left. I am not a monster.
Social studies was next. She might have guessed the once-empty desk beside her in the middle of the room now belonged to Jackson, had she spent more time considering where he might go next. When he sat down, she was less than thrilled but managed her neutral mask with ease.
As class began, she took note of how he acted in class, trying to put him in a category. Not a class clown, predictably, but also not the smart kid with a perpetually raised hand, less predictably. He just was. He sat, he took notes, and he didn’t try to speak to Briar.
That is, until the teacher, Mr. Hettly, announced a partner project for the current events unit. Ever the advocate for teen submission, Mr. Hettly adorned the board with a list of his handpicked pairings.
Briar noticed Queenie’s name first, sitting at the top with the name of the shy emo girl from the back of the class scrawled next to it. She took a second to pity the girl before finding her own name toward the middle.
Briar, Jackson.
It didn’t take much thought to realize that Mr. Hettly had tried to pair everyone with someone of opposing personality, so who better for the new kid than the blank slate?
“You want to pick the topic?” Jackson asked from beside her.
“No, thank you,” she said, still distracted by the other pairings. By the time she was finished memorizing the list, Jackson had flipped the packet they had been given to a printed out news story with the headline, “Mysterious Murder of Wenton Corp. CEO” and a picture of police cars surrounding one of the city’s many skyscrapers.
Briar pretended that her quickening heart rate and sweating palms didn’t exist as she nodded and flipped to the same page in her packet. Bile rose up in her throat when she tried to look at it directly. She picked at her nails.
“So, we’ve got to identify the bias in the article, watch how the case develops for the next three days, then make it into a slideshow by Friday,” Jackson explained, paraphrasing the instruction sheet that had come with the packet.
Dried blood looked a lot like dirt when it was trapped beneath a fingernail. Was the classroom getting warmer?
The bell shattered Briar’s reverie. She was out the door before Mr. Hettly could protest, followed by a hurried mob.
Minute by minute, she finished her day. Step by step, she navigated the halls. Thought by thought, she distracted herself from the present.
I am not a monster.
She was home before she knew it. For the first time, perhaps ever, she tossed her bag aside with no regard for her homework and went to bed. She didn’t notice the empty laundry basket until the next morning.
It was then, before the break of day, that she completed her neglected work with haste and followed Queenie out the door. Like the day before, nothing of interest occurred until lunch, and like yesterday, it was because Jackson choose the seat across from hers.
“Hey,” he greeted, no less awkward then she’d ever seen him.
“Hello.”
“I...Uh, I hope you don’t mind me sitting here?” it was a question, one she didn’t directly answer.
Instead, she pulled out a worksheet, due Wednesday, and marked off her answers.
“So, about our social studies project,” Jackson took a bite of his mashed-potato-imitation and swallowed, “I don’t know if you checked last night, but around seven-ish the thing on the case was updated. Apparently they found some DNA evidence at the scene and they're running it through their systems and stuff.” he took another bite, unaware of the silent panic that had overcome Briar’s more-rigid-than-usual body.
“I was also thinking,” Jackson continued, losing a great deal of his shyness by the second, “about who would do what. I mean, I’ve got some notes started and stuff, but do you want to compile the slideshow or should I? Or do you want to do that thing where we collaborate on everything, like you take some notes, I take some notes, and we meet up sometime and put together the slideshow together?”
She considered it. The way that he phrased everything would make it easy to assign him all the substantial work, her mind refused not to point out, but such an act would be disgraceful in the eyes of both her and her father. She made her choice.
“We’ll collaborate,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t regret it later.
Jackson finished the last of his meal, “Cool. we’ll have to meet up after school sometime after the three days are up to put together the slideshow, so...Thursday?”
She nodded.
“Where should we meet?” he asked, brown eyes betraying curiosity and embarrassment.
It took her a moment to realize why he was embarrassed. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “We can’t meet at my house,” she stated.
He waited for her to elaborate. She didn’t.
“Okay, my house then? Do you have a phone? I could, uh, text you the address when you have to come over.”
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125,008 Literary Works • 672,827 Reviews
Wesh! Jade here to review your work. I admit I have seen you post about this before and I know I'm a bit late to the party but here goes. I will seriously go through this line-by-line to share my thoughts. I am not trying to co-write your story, just giving suggestions. ALSO, WARNING::::: This is long and I do literally go through and nitpick. I'm so sorry, blame it on boredom! And I do try, and fail, to be funny.
I am not a monster. I am not a monster. I am not a monster. The familiar chant lulls her to sleep tonight. She couldn’t get the blood out from under her fingernails. She could never get it out from under her fingernails. She falls asleep with that in her head.
You had me from "I am not a monster." I think you overuse fingernails a bit, try subbing it with a synonym. I enjoy how you just say she, it drives suspense.
The sun isn’t up when she wakes, and it wouldn’t be for hours. Her bare feet move silently over the hardwood floor of her bedroom to her closet, where she doesn't even look as she selects the same outfit as every day. White collared shirt, buttoned up to her neck, and black jeans. She doesn’t turn on the lights. With light, her eyes might land on the laundry basket, where yesterday’s version of this outfit lay. Black jeans, red shirt.
The flow feels forced, I like the amount of detail in this but do try to make the sentences vary more in length.
I am not a monster.
I feel you're starting to overuse this in hopes to gain suspense.
She leaves her room and weaves through the halls of what feels more like headquarters than home, carefully avoiding eye contact with any of the servants, who, thankfully, avert their eyes as well. She doesn’t bother with breakfast. She’s not hungry.
So, this is a hint to her being well off? The fact the servants avoid her eyes makes me think she's not nice, or a brat child of a millionaire. I don't know, but it seems like a good hook to make me want to know what's next....
She catches the bus. Nothing happens. She gets to school. Nothing happens. Suddenly, it’s lunchtime and She’s sitting at her usual table, alone, as usual, listening to Queenie’s idle chatter as she pretends so flawlessly that yesterday never happened.
Maybe transition it better. Like, giving us just another paragraph of her on the bus sitting next to some weirdo (you get a lot of them on buses XD). Also, you don't need to capitalize she. And, lastly, you said she was alone, yet listening to this girl, Queenie. Is she listening to her from another table or is this an editing mistake. If the former, please elaborate and say she was eavesdropping.
And then, as if some twisted god had decided to tug the strings of fate, her melancholy is shattered.
Ooh, I feel this girl's personality is strong and quiet. Also, when writing, try to refrain from saying and at the beginning of the sentence. I think it throws off a flow completely.
“Um, hey,” the boy is unfamiliar. She vaguely remembers some chatter about a new student and connects the dots, “Can I sit here or…” he trails off.
Maybe you could have mentioned that in, per say, the elusive bus paragraph. She was riding next to a fellow student or two and listened top the chatter. She strikes me as a listener. Just to give the story more depth and make the reader feel completely emerged in this world. Trust me, it works!
She gestures at the single empty seat in front of her, absently scanning the room to ensure that, yes, every other table is full.
I would say break this into two sentences instead of one, long, and complex one.
The boy has a messenger bag at his side, brown, faux leather, well-worn. He’s wearing a grey sweater vest over a salmon dress shirt. Her slow-moving mind is only able to process that much before she realizes that the boy was speaking.
OK, so is this narrated by 'her' point of view, though it is in a different POV? Maybe add the fact that the jacket is faux later on (if he is a MC.) Also, ignore any comments I make that mess with your plot. I don't know where this is going so consider me naive in this story.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” she asks, trying her best to shake that dreaded monotone Queenie mocked her for.
This hints that Queenie is closer? Maybe be clearer earlier on with their relationship. Friends, enemies, exes. I get you are trying to keep us hooked, but I (personally, I can't speak for everyone) like to be clear on details before really jumping into the story.
She couldn't tell if she succeeded, however, because the boy looked just as uncomfortable as ever. “Um, I said my name’s Jackson?” his eyes shifted from some spot behind her to the table.
XD that made me cringe (in a good, you had me in the character's shies sort of way)! Spot on.
“I’m Briar,” she said, shooting Queenie a glare as soon as she noticed her eyes on her. Queenie snorted, pretending it was at something the boy next to her had said and tucked a short blonde curl behind her ear.
Yay! A name to the face. Also, if you mention Queenie's hair color, maybe mention her eye too when you say the thing about the glares. I'm getting popular girl vibes from her.
“Nice name.” he wasn’t much better at this than Briar was.
I can relate.
They sat there just long enough for both of them to get uncomfortable, then she busied herself digging around in her backpack for nothing in particular.
Again, I think you should make this two (or more) shorter sentences. If you make them shorter, you can get a bit more in. Not unneeded details, just more facts we need to know. Agh, I'm making no sense again!
Thinking she’d rifled long enough, Briar pulled out whatever was in her hand and placed it on the table. That thing happened to be her sketchbook. She cast a glance toward Queenie to find her seemingly distracted. That meant nothing, of course, but Briar was trapped anyway.
Is Queenie her bully? Maybe now is the time to let us know. Sometimes, I make assumptions about stories, and when the truth is revealed I keep forgetting and continuing with mine. What I'm saying is: maybe set the basis of this plot in stone a bit earlier on.
Careful to flip to a blank page, Briar opened the book and started a new drawing. She wasn’t sure what it was at first, just the construction lines for a person, but as the shapes took form, the figure became someone far too familiar.
Who? Good hook, by the way. I notice what you're doing.
Her eyes slipped up to Jackson. He was trying not to watch. He wasn’t succeeding. Briar would have cared if her mind hadn’t found itself stuck in yesterday.
Succeeding disrupts the flow. Maybe say something different, like: he wasn't winning, he didn't triumph, that sucker failed. You get my idea.
“You’re a good artist,” Jackson once again broke the silence.
Say how he said it. Slowly, quietly, what tone? the tone can shape the story! Does he mean it as something to fill the silence (my guess) or as an insult (I don't think that, just an example.)
Briar tried not to be thankful as she plastered on a practiced smile, “Thank you.” her eyes never left the page.
I love how you can give off vibes of the characters so simply!
“Is that someone you know?”
Ooh. I think that is a bit of a weird question to ask someone who clearly doesn't want to talk to you, seems really intent on drawing and would probably prefer not to be distracted, and why isn't he eating? Please be more specific on this cafeteria's food.
(Also, I do know this is long but in too far to stop now! Sorry again.)
The sketchbook was back in her bag before the beat her heart could finish skipping a beat. She mumbled something about getting to class and left. I am not a monster.
If this is narrated at the third; why is I am not a monster first? Not criticizing this, I'm genuinely curious.
Social studies was next. She might have guessed the once-empty desk beside her in the middle of the room now belonged to Jackson, had she spent more time considering where he might go next. When he sat down, she was less than thrilled but managed her neutral mask with ease.
Briar seems zoned out but pretty aware at the same time. Maybe keep it more realistic with her, uh, what's the word? Point of view, mood, experience? I don't know. Moving on.
As class began, she took note of how he acted in class, trying to put him in a category. Not a class clown, predictably, but also not the smart kid with a perpetually raised hand, less predictably. He just was. He sat, he took notes, and he didn’t try to speak to Briar.
You say class twice in a sentence. The flow was so smooth and that sort of jolted it. Same for predictably.
That is, until the teacher, Mr. Hettly, announced a partner project for the current events unit. Ever the advocate for teen submission, Mr. Hettly adorned the board with a list of his handpicked pairings.
Woah. I think I see where this is going.
Briar noticed Queenie’s name first, sitting at the top with the name of the shy emo girl from the back of the class scrawled next to it. She took a second to pity the girl before finding her own name toward the middle.
Is it just me or does Queenie give of popular girl vibes? I want a bit more detail around here of Queenie's personality from a more neutral point of view. I'm not saying you have to write an essay about her life and just put it in the middle of this part (sorry, my weird humor) but maybe embed facts about her throughout while keeping Briar's anonymity and their connection secret. Just a suggestion, your choice and your story!
Briar, Jackson.
It didn’t take much thought to realize that Mr. Hettly had tried to pair everyone with someone of opposing personality, so who better for the new kid than the blank slate?
Knew it! Also, you say, "new kid than the blank slate." Maybe an editing mistake or me just not understanding.
“You want to pick the topic?” Jackson asked from beside her.
Do. He feels like a character that says do at the beginning of those sort of sentences. Judging him already....
“No, thank you,” she said, still distracted by the other pairings. By the time she was finished memorizing the list, Jackson had flipped the packet they had been given to a printed out news story with the headline, “Mysterious Murder of Wenton Corp. CEO” and a picture of police cars surrounding one of the city’s many skyscrapers.
Did Briar murder someone? Blood under her fingernails, sort of secretive/moody, feeling sick?
All the classic symptoms of the common murder syndrome. it should go away after a few days of rest and medication. You have a great hook!
Briar pretended that her quickening heart rate and sweating palms didn’t exist as she nodded and flipped to the same page in her packet. Bile rose up in her throat when she tried to look at it directly. She picked at her nails.
You say she a lot. It throws the flow off. Good word choice, though!
“So, we’ve got to identify the bias in the article, watch how the case develops for the next three days, then make it into a slideshow by Friday,” Jackson explained, paraphrasing the instruction sheet that had come with the packet.
Dried blood looked a lot like dirt when it was trapped beneath a fingernail. Was the classroom getting warmer?
I don't want to know how you know that (sorry, again: I have weird humor and am awkward. not a good combo). Maybe you could say she had to swallow a lump in her throat, or she wanted to run out the classroom. To make how she feels a bit more detailed.
The bell shattered Briar’s reverie. She was out the door before Mr. Hettly could protest, followed by a hurried mob.
I don't get it. Is Mr. Hettly going to chase her and scream protests with a mob on angry students behind him? Sorry to be a grammar nerd (and for my humor) but you worded it wrong.
Before Mr. Hettly could protest, she was out the door, followed by a hurried mob of her fellow classmates.
See. OK, continuing.
Minute by minute, she finished her day. Step by step, she navigated the halls. Thought by thought, she distracted herself from the present.
Again, the sentences are similar in length at this part. It throws off the flow, which is pretty consistent at this point.
I am not a monster.
This could be an iconic line, just don't ware it out.
She was home before she knew it. For the first time, perhaps ever, she tossed her bag aside with no regard for her homework and went to bed. She didn’t notice the empty laundry basket until the next morning.
That shows she is a keen student. I really want to know ore about her! Good work with the constant hooks.
It was then, before the break of day, that she completed her neglected work with haste and followed Queenie out the door. Like the day before, nothing of interest occurred until lunch, and like yesterday, it was because Jackson choose the seat across from hers.
OK, this makes me feel Queenie and Briar are related. Please clear up this issue sooner, for it drags focus away form your main plot and distracts readers.
“Hey,” he greeted, no less awkward then she’d ever seen him.
You definitely phrase things pretty well.
“Hello.”
“I...Uh, I hope you don’t mind me sitting here?” it was a question, one she didn’t directly answer.
Maybe add in the tone of his voice. It can clear up blurry lines.
Instead, she pulled out a worksheet, due Wednesday, and marked off her answers.
No real comment expect maybe say she gave him some form of acknowledgement. A tight-lipped smile. A nod. A glare.
“So, about our social studies project,” Jackson took a bite of his mashed-potato-imitation and swallowed, “I don’t know if you checked last night, but around seven-ish the thing on the case was updated. Apparently they found some DNA evidence at the scene and they're running it through their systems and stuff.” he took another bite, unaware of the silent panic that had overcome Briar’s more-rigid-than-usual body.
Woah. I feel if I had committed a murder, I would be glued to the news. Trying to be one step ahead. Is Briar afraid to look at the news? Was she too tired? Does she have a TV? I know it's nitpicky, but try to be more specific with these things. (Unrelated note: my fingers are going numb from typing this. It's been over an hour and I'm still going. Ladies and gents, MY LIFE!)
“I was also thinking,” Jackson continued, losing a great deal of his shyness by the second, “about who would do what. I mean, I’ve got some notes started and stuff, but do you want to compile the slideshow or should I? Or do you want to do that thing where we collaborate on everything, like you take some notes, I take some notes, and we meet up sometime and put together the slideshow together?”
Naturally, Briar should wonder if he's suspicious. Naturally, she's still in school and doesn't really seem capable of a murder but if she's panicked then she'd be thinking everyone is watching her. Especially her partner in reporting this case. Unless, of course, she's done this before. I don't know yet, so I won't make any suggestions about that.
She considered it. The way that he phrased everything would make it easy to assign him all the substantial work, her mind refused not to point out, but such an act would be disgraceful in the eyes of both her and her father. She made her choice.
Father? I know you want to give away her story in pieces to keep us reading, but just a bit more basis on her daily life wouldn't hurt.
“We’ll collaborate,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t regret it later.
Did she say it briskly? Slowly? Carefully? Or in a heat of the moment? Elaborate, please.
Jackson finished the last of his meal, “Cool. we’ll have to meet up after school sometime after the three days are up to put together the slideshow, so...Thursday?”
What was his meal? Not relevant to the story what-so-ever, I'm just a hungry foodie.
She nodded.
“Where should we meet?” he asked, brown eyes betraying curiosity and embarrassment.
Brown eyes, then. What color hair? What kind of voice does he have, low/deep, or maybe raspy? Just embed these in the story to give us a clearer view of these characters.
It took her a moment to realize why he was embarrassed. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “We can’t meet at my house,” she stated.
Maybe she could have said, a cafe, or the library, or a park, even. Deflect it. or is her character more straightforward than beating around the bush. Again, more basic details are needed! Please!
He waited for her to elaborate. She didn’t.
“Okay, my house then? Do you have a phone? I could, uh, text you the address when you have to come over.”
A good, hooking end. Nicely done, XD.
OVERALL: I am so sorry this is so long and I had a comment for almost everything. I swear I'm not trying to co-write this and feel free to ignore any/all the comments. I really enjoyed this but let me know if you don't want me reviewing part two... Anyway, I hope this helped.
-Jade
EDIT: This was 7805 long. Not my longest review ever, believe it or not XD!
Thanks for the review!
Okay, generic response aside, really, thanks. Most people don't have the time to pick apart every detail of a piece like this, and I'm glad that you made it through this. The extra detail will really be helpful when I go back to edit everything and all that.
Hello Cyr!
Hope you're doing well today. I'm here to give you a review. Let's get right into it now, shall we? Alrighty, so, this is great! I don't know why she keeps on telling herself that she's not a monster, or why she keeps on looking at her bloody nails. But, anyways, that was very interesting. I will def be reading the next chapters; this really hooked me up!
Just one thing that I noted, that I used to have a problem with: In the beginning of the story, you used present tense, then in the rest of the chapter, you used past tense, which kinda threw me off. But anyways, this was a delight to read, and I shall move on to read the rest!
Keep on writing!
~Liberty500
Thanks! Yeah, the tense thing would probably be because I started writing this as a first-person story, which works best, at least for me, in the present tense, but I didn't have Briar's voice down yet so I switched. I'll go back and fix it once the rest of the story is done because editing kinda kills my brain.
Lol, okay. Your welcome.
Hi TheMultiColouredCyr! Happy Review Day! I just saw you wanted a review on this so i decided to pop in.
You've got a great start to your story. Totally compelling. Drew me right in. You progressed nicely too- apart from a few places that slowed me down (that includes some of the parts that Tawsif mentioned), it was a very good read.
I personally feel like you could add more descriptions - I would love to know how Jackson looks; how their school likes; the colors she's seeing. I'd like to be able to imagine Briar as not a black and white character. While this may seem a problem, though, I think you meant it be deliberate(?) Because I see you've described Jackson's messenger bag quite vividly, but not the person himself - so i take it Briar was trying to avoid looking at him, or something like that?
I feel the parts where she says, 'I am not a monster could be italicized; it would loonk better.
Also, that's a great meet cute - nothing embarrassing, nothing too cliche; just plain old 'met-you-in-the-lunchroom kinda thing. I liked it.
Your story's got the exact mix of mysterious-realistic-present kind of vibe that I admire. Your writing's great; seriously. Plots are wonderful (i think I remember reviewing one of your works before?); you've got a real gift for prose.
Though I tend to be rigorous checker of punctuation and grammar and tense (all that boring jazz); i'm not going to be doing that here, because I was so intent on reading that I forgot to check for the other stuff
I hope you continue this - tag me when you write the next part. I'll make my over and read the 2/2
Keep writing!
Thanks, I'm glad you liked it. The "I am not a monster" parts were actually italicized in the original version, I don't' know why it didn't carry over. I'll have to check that out.
TheMulticoloredCyr, I liked your story. You seem to have a great knack of creating suspense.
I'm obviously no expert, but I'll try my best to put my best constructive opinions.
"I am not a monster. I am not a monster. I am not a monster. The familiar chant lulls her to sleep tonight."
I think you can use a different paragraph to introduce the readers to the chant--this will help to create further suspense and more emphasis on 'I am not a monster':
"I am not a monster. I am not a monster. I am not a monster.
The familiar chant lulls her to sleep tonight."
I liked the way you portrayed the lack of discipline in Briar's life, for instance, she wears the same dress every day.
"Suddenly, it’s lunch time and She’s sitting at her usual table"--why use the capital 's'? Is it meant to emphasize your character? It's not a fault, yet to me, it seems unnecessary.
I agree with Gnomish at the point that you managed to display a believable and realistic awkwardness between Briar and Jackson. Well done.
“Nice name.” he wasn’t much better at this than Briar was--capitalize the 'h' here.
"She might have guessed the the once-empty desk beside her in the middle of the room now belonged to Jackson, had she spent more time considering where he might go next."
I'm sorry, but I couldn't get this sentence at all. If it's the sentence you wanted to write, then please reply to me its meaning after you've finished reading this review. I think you've mistakenly repeated an article (the) here. (It should be like "She might have guessed that the once-empty desk beside her in the middle of the room now belonged to Jackson", although I didn't understand what the next part meant.
I haven't read a lot of mystery books, so please take this comment as one from an inexperienced reader: Do the students find out bias in crime articles in social studies class? I think you missed to tell the readers what kind of a class or school it was. Were Briar and Jackson teens or grownups? If they were grownups, then I'd feel the story's ok. But if they're teens, then it seems totally awkward to me. I simply don't get it. Maybe you should clarify it a bit more (especially for the inexperienced readers like me).
"The way that he phrased everything would make it easy to assign him all the substantial work, her mind refused not to point out, but such an act would be disgraceful in the eyes of both her and her father."
It seemed to me that you've brought Briar's father in the story quite suddenly, or, maybe I just didn't get the actual meaning. As I said, it may need some clarification.
I appreciate the way you displayed the nervousness growing up in Briar when she heard Jackson describing the case. It was suspenseful.
"He waited for her to elaborate. She didn’t."
I really enjoyed this part. It's something that truly happens at times. Well done.
Overall, the story had suspense as well as some real-life awkwardness that we have to face for our lack of social skills. I liked it very much.
Do reply to this review; it'll help me understand the meaning of the parts that I couldn't really get.
Thanks for being this thorough, it's a semi-rare thing on this site and it is greatly appreciated. Since I wasn't clear enough in the piece (to be fair, those were sentences I spent over thirty seconds overthinking, which can only spell disaster) I'll tell you what I meant. When I reference the desk, what I meant was she would have known that it would be his desk if she had thought about it. (If you still don't get it, I'm probably just really bad at explaining) (you should see me trying to teach my various family members basic English) (news flash, the ninth grader doesn't know more than the nurse's aid about adjectives).
And the other things, they are in high school, an American high school, so all of the classes are based off some random stuff I had to do back when I was in normal public school. You know, when I did worksheets and homework and stuff. Bad times all around.
Oh, and the thing about her father, yeah, it was pretty obvious that I just wasn't sure how to bring him in. He's a major factor in how she thinks, so it's important that I mention him at least once per short story (there are a lot of these) (not posted here though), I just didn't know how to do it here. I'll go back and re-work this.
Wow!
I really like the awkwardness that you portrayed between Briar and Jackson. I also liked the guilt that you portrayed in Briar. I'm pretty sure Briar was the one who killed that person, and I'm excited to read the next part!
-Gnomish
I hope you like it. I was wondering if that awkwardness filtered through properly, thanks for the confirmation that it did. (and you'll discover it you're right soon enough)