hm. a title would be good, here

hi! so, i do not know many of you, which will make it tons easier for you to rip apart my work! also, for those of you i do know, i think i've been awful enough to you that you can feel no shame in ripping it apart, too.

This is a story. obviously. as lame and Sylvia Browne as it sounds, the basic concept came to me in a dream. and many of the details came in succeeding dreams. then, i started daydreaming, and thinking about this story and these characters. I know them pretty well by now, and that's why i've started writing. Now, i sleep a lot, so hopefully i'll get through this whole thing. But here is the first draft of the first part. enjoy, and please, rip apart!

ps it doesn't have a title. maybe after we get into the story more, someone can help come up with one? ya?


here goes:

Like most stories, this one starts with a boy. This one ends, however, with a gay confession, a Pixar tribute band, and apex of two years’ worth of mixed communication. Not like most stories.

The boy in question is not too tall. He is not too skinny, not too stylish, not too intelligent. He looks ok in his catholic schoolboy uniform, and has no extreme opinions. He has shaggy brown hair and green eyes, and is absolutely average in every way, except for the fact that I am convinced he is my soulmate. This boy is named David.

Audra, on the other hand, is anything but average. Only extravagant expressions do her justice. You don’t use words like “chubby” or “pretty” here. Caps Lock and exclamation points are not superfluous here. She is BIG! She is LOUD! She is GORGEOUS! She has PEONY-PINK cheeks against ALABASTER SKIN! Writing about Audra, unfortunately, you run out of analogies fast. To simplify, lets say the girl is absolutely beautiful. She is tall and pretty curvy, but that doesn’t detract from her beauty. I know that normal girls her size are throwing up their celery, but Audra just rolls with it. She has luscious brown hair that curls down her back as though she were a china doll, not a sixteen-year-old. Her body, her hair, her face, coupled with the fact that she is technically a Catholic schoolgirl, make her the stuff of boys dreams.

Audra and David, and me, for that matter, attend University High School, across the street from the University of San Diego, in good ol’ California. I know that it sounds like a pretty intellectual institution, what with the “University” and all, but it isn’t. It is a repressive, close-minded, super-exclusive (and therefore super-rich) Catholic school, that takes giant chunks of parents’ salaries and spends it on lawns and football, while cutting the AP program and doing away with intellectual pursuits of all kinds. The goal is indoctrination and matriculation, especially into the big-brother of University of San Diego. Ninety percent of my graduating class will be funneled into USD, bringing their insular ways and elite community with them, as it is now, has been since kindergarten (St. Mary’s Preschool), and will be after graduation (St. Timothy’s parish). Forever and ever, amen.

I will not be attending USD, no matter what my parents think. I will not put up with the same people I’ve known my whole life, cold ocean fronts, the Governator, and tourist season. In fact, I have found my dream school. The sun shines 360 days a year, the governor is a woman, and tourist do not flock like ants to a melted popsicle. The best part? None of my classmates (save Audra) would be caught dead there. Oh, yes, it is quite the magical place, and it is called Arizona.