Young Writers Society

Trip awoke to obnoxious streams of sunlight tearing through his thin curtains. One might think that he would become used to this, given that it was the same awakening that greeted him every morning. Yet, it still left him groggy and bad-tempered. Not that this was uncommon for him. It was rare for his mood to improve throughout the day. Typically, it only got worse.

Trip rolled lazily off of his lumpy mattress, pulling his fingers through his unkempt brown hair. It had grown out longer than he had ever let it before, and refused lay flat. Not that he cared much. He didn't bother trying to tame it and did nothing more than pull a pair of lose black jeans over his plaid boxers before leaving his dingy apartment. He wore the wrinkled grey shirt that he had fallen asleep in the night before.

The streets were crowded as usual. Trip walked slowly down the street, taking time to observe the people rushing around him. They all looked angry. Angry with blank faces or plastered on smiles as they bumped into each other without taking the time to mutter apologies. Trip narrowed his eyes to slits as he examined his surroundings, enjoying the way people looked away so quickly when their line of vision caught his own. He was used to stares. He knew he had inherited a rugged handsomeness from his father, and his mothers ice blue eyes were enhanced by the icy emotion he hid behind them. He was not interested in any of these stares, no matter how beautiful the onlooker. The only relationships he had ever been involved in had been strictly physical. Anything more simply made things complicated.

It did not take long for the tall boy to reach his destination; a run down nightclub in a deserted part of town. It was not open during the day, but the drab place was home to the person he was closest to calling friend. Grant was the bubbly music enthusiast who ran the place, although he was not anything like how you would expect the owner of a sketchy nightclub to be. Not one for a party. You could often find him cooped up in his office working on a new piece during the open hours of the club. He simply needed a side job to support his unsuccessful music career, and his connections made the place a hit spot for young people in the area, despite the bleak atmosphere of the building itself.

Trip let himself in through the back door of the building, which Grant always propped open with a shoe to prevent getting locked out. He was purposefully loud as he walked down the back corridor to his friends office, not wanting to startle him with his uninvited arrival.

“Trip, is that you?” Grant's voice filled the hallway, echoing around the building. He sounded tired, as per usual. The boy was practically nocturnal.

“Yours truly!” He called back in a sarcastic tone. He stood in the doorway of his friends lair, examining the pile of papers on the floor, the majority crumpled into tight clumps. His Gibson guitar was leaned up against the corner of the room, a new scratch stood out angrily against the black finish.

“I see you've been busy...” Trip mused.

“Yeah. I can't seem to get this right! I've been writing and re-writing but I'm out of inspiration and I keep getting distracted and...” Grant trailed off, staring at the yellowed paper in his hand. He bit his lip nervously and pulled a pencil out from behind his ear, crossing out everything he had written on the page. Trip watched his friend, intrigued as he often was by the people around him. Grant sat, leaned against the far wall of the small room, ignoring the chair placed in front of his cluttered desk. His blond hair must have been gelled up the night before, but now it was flattened to his head in a greasy mess. His eyes were puffy from lack of sleep and he wore only jeans, without a shirt. He was skinny, but there wasn't a muscle apparent on his spindly figure. His skin was pasty and white; he didn't get out much.

“What do you say we get you out of here for a while?” Trip asked, “Some fresh air, maybe a bite to eat?” Grant finally looked up from his work with his familiar wide-eyed gaze.

“I guess it wouldn't do me any harm... Give me a second to get cleaned up. Gotta look my best for Jen.” He shot Trip a wink and hurried past him and out of the room. For as long as Trip could remember, Grant had been infatuated with Jennifer, the waitress at “Patty's Pancakes,” an old style restaurant that served breakfast foods all day. However, as Jennifer moved from inconsiderate jock to inconsiderate jock, Grant was too shy to make his move. Jennifer probably had no idea he was even interested.

15 minutes later Grant emerged fully clothed and with newly spiked up hair. His eyes were still sleepy, but he looked considerably better than when Trip had first arrived. The two boys walked down the street at a fast, yet natural pace, Grant talking animatedly about his latest work with Trip simply nodding and laughing at all the right moments. This is how there conversations usually went, but neither of them particularly minded. Trip was comfortable in his silence and Grant was content to have someone who would listen.

The walk to the diner was short, and in no time the boys were seated across from one another in a pastel pink booth with rouge cushions and a blotchy white table. Grant leaned forward anxiously in his seat, causing the flimsy table to flex under his weight. Trip lounged back in the booth and closed his eyes, listening to the clanking of silverware and the loud bellows of the head chef. He kept his eyes firmly closed until the tell-tale sound of Jennifer's too-high heels gave away her arrival.

“Hey boys, what can I get for ya today?” Jennifer asked. Trip had always thought her voice was overly cheery. He wondered if she was hiding something behind her seemingly infinite optimism or if that was just how she was. Regardless of the reason, he found her constant perkiness a little bit annoying. Maybe he should envy her for it. But what good would it be to put on a show if it was all fake? Grant's voice jerked Trip out of his thoughts.

“I'll just have a coffee, thanks. Black.” He said shyly, no longer leaning forward in his chair. His face was slightly pink. Trip smirked at him, before turning to Jennifer and ordering himself pancakes and coffee. Jennifer scrawled down his order onto her pink note pad, yet her attention was still on Grant. He was staring at his shoes, trying to hide the growing redness of his cheeks. About time she took notice of him. She must be between boyfriends.

When Trip returned his attention to Grant he was surprised to see his expression completely changed. He was staring right back at him, studying him.

“So, I have a proposal to make.” Grant whispered, leaning in close across the table while motioning for Trip to do the same. Trip leaned in so that his face was inches from his friends'. He could feel his hot breathe on his chin as Grant spoke his next words. “Don't say no until I'm finished talking, okay? This really means a lot to me...” Trip nodded in consent, wondering what could possibly come next. “I got an offer, from a producer in London. I sent him my latest album ideas and he was impressed. He wants me to go on tour, all expenses paid. He wants to be my manager! This is the biggest thing that's ever happened to me, Trip!” The excitement behind Grant's eyes was impossible to contain, and it quickly spread as his mouth stretched into a wide grin.

“That's amazing Grant!” Trip exclaimed. Grant had never gotten any further than sketchy bar gigs. With all the time he put into his music it was great that something was finally coming out of it all. But there was one thing that didn't quite fit. “Sorry if I'm missing the point Grant, but where do I come into all of this?” He didn't want to ruin his friend's enthusiasm, but there was no way he could just up and leave. He had a job, not a good one... but a job nonetheless. And it would be painful to pay rent if he wasn't even at home! Trip looked at Grant to see the same grin spread wider, and just as he feared; “I want you to come with me.”

Trip stared anxiously out the air plane window at the grey tinged clouds. He still couldn't quite grasp the fact that he was actually leaving. It had been a month since his conversation with Grant at the diner and his view on the whole idea hadn't really changed. Yet he couldn't let Grant pass up the opportunity and he refused to go alone. Trip was stuck.

Cautiously Trip allowed himself to pry his eyes away from the window to take in the rest of the air plane. Grant sat beside him, dosing against the arm rest. Trip could never understand that boys sleeping habits. Across the isle was a young woman in business clothing- a tight corduroy skirt and a pink blouse. She sat up straight, arms folded in her lap. Her dark hair fell elegantly onto her shoulders and her blue eyes stared off into space behind her thick rimmed glasses. Next to her was an older gentlemen in dress pants and a golf shirt. He looked uncomfortable in his clothing, proof that he wasn't used to dressing in such a way. They seemed to be together as they muttered brief words to one another every so often. He wondered what the relationship may be. The age gap was much to broad for them to be romantically involved, and neither of them seemed to have any respect towards the other as one may hold for a superior. This eliminated the possibility of a boss-employee relationship. Trip concluded that the man must be her father. He seemed to be dozing off as the couples conversation ended. He turned his attention back to the woman's tense posture, only to see her staring straight back at him, her lips pursed into a tight smile.

“Take a picture. It lasts longer.” She murmured, rolling her eyes and pretending to be intrigued by some article in the air planes magazine. Trip smiled to himself briefly.

“Thanks for the suggestion love, but I think I'll pass. Wouldn't want an enemy of a business woman such as yourself.” He replied, watching intently for her reaction. He was simply curious, hoping that with this comment she would confirm his earlier observations.

Her eyebrows shot up as she once again looked up from her magazine. “Business woman? I'm flattered.” She mused, examining her newly manicured nails. Trip wondered if her constant disinterest was simply a way to disguise her emotions. He stared at her, willing her to look up. “What's your problem?” She grumbled, yet refused to look at him. It had been a long while since Trip had come across someone as bad-tempered as he was.

“You intrigue me,” He said with with a devious smile. The woman shot him a look of disgust.

“I'm not interested halfwit.”

Trip's smile widened and he returned to gazing out the window. He could feel her eyes studying him, but before she could say anything else Grant awoke.

“Morning Sunshine.” Trip said with as much fake enthusiasm as he could muster. Grant wiped his eyes and muttered a snide response.

“How long have I been out?” He questioned, looking around the plane quizzically.

“About an hour. Still have at least another to go.” Trip answered. Their first destination was London. A decent plane ride from their home-town in Bonavista. He waited for Grant's response but soon realized that he was distracted. He was looking intently at the woman across the aisle, and even more fascinating, she allowed herself a quick glance up from her magazine to take him in as well. She smiled briefly before looking back down, yet her attention was no longer on the tacky articles. She seemed to be deep in thought. Interesting.

Grant flashed Trip a quick look, excitement clear on his face. His eyes simultaneously said 'Did you see that?' and 'she's hot, right?' Trip chuckled lightly and returned a smile to his friend.

For the next half an hour the flight continued on in a relative silence. Even the newborn two rows ahead of them had fallen asleep at last. Grant shot discrete glances at the woman across the aisle on occasion, but eventually even that stopped. Trip reclined in his chair and closed his eyes.