My First Author Interview!

Hey! Take a gander at my first author interview via Rai20BookReadNReview.com in the UK. I confess it is still a little weird to call myself an author, but what the heck...I'll own it.:) Enjoy!

                                              Author Interview

Dream Cast for Capella Bright

I've imagined Capella Bright so many times on the big screen. It would make a rockin' awesome movie, if I do say so myself. :)  If I were to cast Capella Bright today, here's what some of my main characters would look like...

Molly Quinn as Maggie Hart, our heroine.

(A younger) Tom Welling would do very nicely for the handsome  and intriguing Alex, Maggie's romantic interest. Oh yeah!

Randy, Maggie's annoying little brother, looks like Gabriel Mann in my head. He's got that mischievous look about him.

Olesya Rulin looks about right for the part of Sara, Alex's over-protective kid sister. 

Caradee English would double well for Maggie's flirtatious friend, Michelle.

But what do you think?? Who would you cast as Maggie? As Alex? Talk to me.

Sharing the Love

Hey! Super excited that Capella Bright is now available through more e-book distributors. Check it out...
Barnes & Noble
Kobo Books
Amazon
Sony

It is also available through ibooks. If you don't have an e-reader, you can just purchase the ibooks or kindle app on your android phone, and wahlah - you can download e-books at your leisure. Happy reading!

The Story Behind the Story

As a girl, I always liked to write. I wouldn't say I was particularly gifted as a writer, but I did enjoy it. As a teenager, I did the Honors English thing, the A.P. English thing, but would have never dreamed at that point in my young life that a novel was in my future. I had other grand ambitions to be sure, but becoming a novelist wasn't on the bucket list.

Fast forward to ten years later. I had recently graduated from college and was working as a Families First Specialist (the job description was similar to what you see on the show Super Nanny) in Salt Lake City, Utah. I was also expecting my first child. Even with all that going on, I was bored. That's not unusual for me. I am one who craves a challenge and a change of scene. One day I was chatting with a dear cousin of mine and the dialogue eventually turned to how we could be more spontaneous and unconventional. For some people, that might spur a crazy shopping spree or a trip to the tattoo parlor. For an odd duck like me, that sparked a determination to do something I'd never considered -- write a book. At that point I had no plot ideas, but I was going to write a novel.

Some weeks later, I began writing. I had a rough idea of where I wanted the story to go, but it was vague. I like writing about relationships - about people and what makes them tick. Since I was in the middle of working with dysfunctional families, some of what I saw on the job ended up on the page. I also prefer writing from experience. Many of Alex's qualities mirror my husband's, who in my opinion is very nearly the perfect man. But the story itself took on a life of its own after a while. It made twists and turns that even I didn't expect. The characters started becoming very real and doing things I didn't intend for them to do. The writing process, though it required patience and marathon persistence, was a lot of fun and very rewarding.

Then I began the process of trying to get published. That wasn't so fun. I'd read the experiences of many best-selling authors who'd received rejection after rejection early on in their careers, so I knew for someone like me -- who wasn't an English Major from Yale and the typical author-ess --  it would be hard. I had no idea just how hard. I started querying agents. (Agents are the middle-men between the writer and the publisher.) I don't know about you, but I've never known a book agent and only recently heard of someone who has actually met one in the flesh. I still wonder if agents are mythical creatures who live under rocks. After about 25 rejections and no feedback, I gave up - for awhile. About a year later, I decided to take matters into my own hands, and now here I am - with an epublished book. My ultimate goal is to eventually get published by a traditional, reputable publisher. But for now, I am content.

But I'd love to hear from YOU! Have you ever wanted to write a book? If so, tell me about it. If you're not writing, what's holding you back. GO!

This Just In...

Capella Bright is NOW available through Amazon Kindle. Yahoo! If you don't have a Kindle, don't sweat it. You can download Kindle on your PC for free. Here's the link:

Capella Bright on Amazon Kindle 

Enjoy!!
Tara

Sneak Peek of Capella Bright

Here's a taste of Capella Bright. Enjoy!

Love
Tara

Chapter 1

“Here we go again,” I mumbled under my breath. My parents were bickering over something totally lame — whether Dad’s long-time friend Barry Nelson’s last name ended in s-o-n or s-e-n. It was fast approaching the absurdity of a quarrel they’d had last week, which started as a silly debate over dinner’s main course and then somehow ballooned into just why the other was to blame for all their marital discord.

 “You never pay attention to detail,” Mom criticized, thumbing through a magazine. “You couldn’t spell my mother’s name for the first five years of our marriage. But then you never liked my mom anyway.”

Dad slammed his newspaper down on the kitchen table. “That has nothing to do with this. Though she didn’t exactly roll out the welcome wagon for me, Sylvia. Remember it was her choice not to come to the wedding.”

As he shot up from his seat, I could almost hear the hot blood bubbling under his leathery skin. I hovered over my bowl of cereal with my head buried in a book, trying not to make eye contact. 

“Well maybe I should have said ‘no’ when you asked in the first place,” Mom snorted.
“Maybe I should have never asked!”

Dad stormed out, slamming the sliding glass door that connected the kitchen and patio —no doubt to pay Vicki another visit. Vicki was his old ‘58 Mustang that had lain dead under a yellowing bed sheet for as long as I could remember. He’d been spending a lot more time with Vicki these days.

Mom stomped past me, her face the same fiery shade as her red hair. She grabbed a bag of cookies from the pantry and huffed back to the sofa where she plopped herself down with a loud grunt. I glanced back at her to find her absently nibbling on a cookie with one hand and pulling the pudgy fingers of the other hand through her hair, visibly fuming. “Someday I’m going to…” Another cookie found its way to her mouth.

I chewed my cereal thoughtfully, trying to think of a time when things weren’t this bad. My parents were a high-school-sweetheart success story. They had been “going steady” since the tenth grade and were married fresh after graduation. To make ends meet, Dad went to work “temporarily” at the Brassfort Steel Mill. At the time, I guess Mom was content enough being the new bride of a burly, blue-collar hunk. But now, after twenty years of living on Dad’s meager wage, she’d grown more dissatisfied with her deprived life.

“Where’s your brother?” she hissed, still seething from the fight. “I told him if he didn’t clean his room today I’d throw out all his video games.”

  I rolled my eyes. She had made empty threats like that before and as far as I could tell it was always just a lot of hot air. “Spencer’s house probably. Where else?” I stuck another spoonful of cereal in my mouth.

Randy, my lurpy, greasy-headed little brother was rarely at home these days, apparently preferring his best friend’s place to this “hole” as he called it. Not that I could honestly say I minded. Randy was…well…fourteen. When he was around he barely showed his face anyway, and when he did a fight generally ensued between him and Mom about something like the noise that eternally blared from his health hazard of a room. The place smelled like a locker room at best and was a picture of man-made disaster. It needed to be boarded up and condemned.

Mom sighed loudly. “So,” she began, “Sue from across the street came by this morning asking for a cup of sugar. I gave it to her, of course, but I have no doubt she came just to show off that fancy new diamond ring her husband bought her for her birthday.” Disdain was evident in her tone. Mom always found a reason to despise people that had more money than we did. She hated a lot of people.

“Oh yeah?” I commented, uninterested, placing my cereal bowl on top of the mountain of dishes that sat in the kitchen sink.

“…and yesterday when I was giving Carol a perm, she told me that Sue’s family is going on a cruise in December. I would sell my soul to go on a cruise.”

That was my cue. I could sense another one of her full-fledged whine fests coming on so that meant it was time for me to split. “Hey, I need to get ready to go to work, okay?”

I darted up the stairs toward my bedroom, taking two steps at a time. I couldn’t count the number of times Mom had fussed about not having something the Johnson family had, whined about having to drive a rusty old Honda Civic, droned about having a wardrobe exclusively from the local super-mart. It was a relief when I had a reason to excuse myself from another depressing monologue.

I showered and dressed, all the while jamming to a self-made CD of the classic 80’s. Prancing back into the bathroom, I grooved in front of my vanity mirror as I got ready to go to the library where I’d worked part-time since I was fifteen. Making a few bucks was the primary motivation for working, but it was also a place to get away from this — the Hart family feud. This summer had seemed especially long since my friend, Michelle, went out of town on a month-long family vacation to the east coast. Aside from the library, her house was one of only a handful of places I could go for some peace.

I bolted down the stairs, running late as usual. “Hey, can I take the car to work?” I asked as I stole through the kitchen to grab a few things for lunch.

“I suppose so,” Mom answered. She still sounded sullen, and she would continue to be for another twenty-four hours or so. That seemed to be the going rate of time it took her to unwind after a bad tiff with Dad.  

“Thanks.” I ran back up the stairs and grabbed my quilt off my bed, thinking I might hit the woods after work for some alone time.

This summer my hours had been slashed due to decreasing numbers of library goers, leaving me with that much more time to kill. The forest behind my home had become my replacement getaway spot during Michelle’s absence.

“See you later,” I shouted, running out the door.

A blur of trees and houses passed by as I drove to the library, looking forward to being in a place where books outnumbered people. It was no secret that I preferred the written word to conversation and reading to reality. I’d never been one of those girls that obsessed over the cutest boy or the latest fad. The constant drama that seemed to plague every part of the pubescent girl’s existence was perplexing to me, not to mention annoying.

I chuckled out loud to myself, realizing that I was describing my friend Michelle to a T. We’d been friends since grade school, mostly by default. She moved in halfway through my third-grade year. I suppose my mother hen instinct must have kicked in because, in spite of my typical lack of sociality, I didn’t want her to feel lonely on her first day at school and invited her to play hopscotch at recess. By some strange happenstance we’d remained friends ever since, even though we were practically each other’s opposite in every way.

I skidded into a parking spot of the library, and high-tailed it into the double doors, ten minutes late.

“Hi Shirley. Sorry I’m late.” I shook my bag off my shoulder behind the front desk and paused to catch my breath.

She looked up from her book and scowled. “Yep. And I’ve had enough of it. You’re finished here!” I shot her a half-smile, waiting for the punch line. “I’m kidding. Well…sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“I’m sorry, Maggie. You know how our numbers have been dropping. For some reason people just aren’t coming to the library much these days. I think it’s that darn Internet that’s the culprit.” She shook her head disapprovingly, the loose skin on her neck jiggling like a turkey’s gobbler.

“So?” I prodded.

“So, what I’m saying is that Friday will be your last day. There’s just not enough for you to do anymore.”

“Oh, c’mon Shirley! There has to be something I could still do. I’ll never find another great job like this.”

“If you want to come and volunteer every once in awhile I’d love to have you, but I’ve already made up my mind.” She stood, brought her hand to my chin, and shook it vigorously. “Cheer up, dearie. I’m sure you’ll find another job. They are always hiring at Taco Boy.”

Case in point. I wouldn’t work at a fast food joint if my life depended on it. Well, maybe if my life depended on it, but not a millisecond before.

I spent the next few hours re-shelving books, heartily depressed. As soon as my shift ended, I poked out to the car and headed back home, driving extra slowly. Several minutes later, I pulled into the driveway and parked the car. Without bothering to go inside, I grabbed my book and blanket, and set out for the woods that lay a short distance behind my house — prepared to drown my sorrows in a good story.

My hometown of Brassfort was nestled between a vast forest to the west and a mountain range to the east, cutting us off from the rest of the civilized world. The only thing that kept people here was the steel mill where half of the town’s population worked, including my father. No one came to Brassfort unless they lived here or were visiting relatives. It wasn’t a miniscule town, but very little ever changed here. I just happened to be one of the residents of one of the dullest places this side of, well, anywhere.

I walked for several minutes, winding deeper into the woods. Large pines and aspens towered over me, almost completely shading the ground beneath. I took off my shoes and waded through the shallow stream that wound its way for miles through the wooded terrain. Then continuing a short distance further, I found the perfect patch of ground. I spread out my quilt, sprawled out, and opened up my all time favorite book, Pride and Prejudice. The book absorbed me for a couple of hours until the light began to wane. I closed the book and lay quietly, letting my mind wander until it found a settling point. School.

The summer was soon coming to an end, which meant my senior year at Brassfort High was nearly upon me. I actually enjoyed school. I found I could happily throw myself into my studies through the months of September until May; schoolwork provided a welcome distraction from my less-than-ideal home life. Naturally, I favored English over other subjects, but found I could cheerfully tolerate the sciences, history, and PE. But I had already started having nightmares about my calculus class, which sent sheer fear through every part of my being when I thought of it. I’d heard all the circulated horror stories about “Killer” Kirschbomb’s class since my sophomore year. The class was not for the faint hearted or the math impaired — like me. I would’ve just dropped it altogether, but my overwhelming desire to have an impressive report card to show prospective colleges had won out in spite of my general phobia of numbers. But it could also be the end of my sparkling 4.0 GPA, my golden ticket into a good university far, far away from this town and my family.

As I lay pondering over who would make a good calculus tutor, I was startled by a thunderous crash a short distance away from me.

“Whoa!” I said out loud. I sat up, listening intently for any resonating aftermath, but heard nothing. At first I thought it may have been one of the enormous forest pines tumbling down, but it was too instantaneous to be a falling tree. The area was so wooded that no tree could fall without bringing down others in its path. In that case, the sound would have been much more elongated and haphazard. Something certainly crashed onto the forest floor, but what natural thing could have made such a sound? Curious, I gathered up my things and set out to investigate.

I walked slowly, detouring around the occasional boulder and kicking forest debris as I went. My eyes, growing more limited in the fading light, saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just the typical forest scene — trees, rocks, bushes, pinecones. Then I heard another noise. This time it was much more subtle but sounded as though something was moving carefully through the foliage. Just as soon as I stopped, it too, stopped.

A wave of fear now replaced my curiosity, and I found myself running as fast as my legs would carry me. I dodged trees and rocks with as much agility and speed as my semi-athletic body could manage. As I ran, my imagination started spinning images of the fanged beast that could be in pursuit. I ran faster at the thought of becoming some wild thing’s dinner. Turning to glance behind me, I somehow managed to catch my blanket in a dead bush. Beads of sweat ran down my face as I tried desperately to pull the blanket from the clinging branches; my shaking hands weren’t helping anything. I heard another sound and reluctantly abandoned the blanket and the precious book that were impeding me. I continued through the woods at a manic pace, not looking back again.

I was soon at my front door, unscathed except for a few scratches on my arms, inflicted by the surrounding foliage. I jerked the screen door open and scurried inside, the door crashing behind me. Hunched over, I panted wildly, unable to catch my breath as panic still pulsed through my body. My ears quickly attuned to the shouting coming from the back of the house. Mom and Dad were at it again. Oddly, I felt a sense of calm return in the familiarity of their voices, even as strained as their tone sounded. I was home…safe.

I took the last box of books that needed re-shelving, certain that at any moment I was going to break into tears. Shirley told me it was because of bad numbers that she was letting me go, though I couldn’t help but take it as a personal slight. She was holding onto one of the other part-time employees, and I’d come here to work long before he had. I did wonder if my excessive tardiness had anything to do with it. But stressing about the reason for my dismissal was fruitless. There was nothing that could be done about that now.

As I searched for the appropriate shelf, my mind reverted back to a few nights before, when I’d heard that strange noise in the forest. I had determined, the day after frantically fleeing the woods, that I would say nothing to anyone about the unusual sound I heard the previous night. I had simply scared myself silly, and I felt foolish enough as it was without having to admit my idiocy to anyone else. I was, however, now mourning the loss of my favorite book and blanket, which I had surrendered in my unnecessary flight home. I had since gone back to try and retrieve my lost treasures, but was unable to find them. I could have dropped them anywhere that night. Curse my stupid imagination!

My mental ramblings were interrupted.

“Hello, how can I help you?” asked Shirley.

“I would like to take these books,” a young man said.

“Okay. Do you have a library card, dear?” Shirley asked.

“No,” he answered.

“Alright,” she said, getting up from her squeaky chair. “I’ll need you to fill out this form.” I heard the filing cabinet open and the rustling of crisp paper. “There you are.”

My body leaned around the shelf as I tried to get a glance of the young man. I didn’t know every boy in town, but I figured I’d at least recognize his face if he lived here. He had his back to me and was hunched over the checkout desk, the pen unmoving in his hand.

“Is there a problem?” Shirley asked.

“My family is new to the area and I cannot remember my address.” The rhythm and inflection of his speech seemed odd, though he didn’t have an accent.

“Well, I’m sorry but I can’t let you check out any books until you fill out this form completely.”

“I understand. Thank you.”

He turned and walked out the door, leaving the books on the counter. He left so quickly I only caught a glimpse of his profile, which was completely unfamiliar.

Returning to my work, I shelved the last couple of books and walked over to Shirley’s desk. “That was weird.” 

“Yes indeed,” she said, the skin between her eyes pinching together in confusion. “Well, before you go, do you want to re-shelve these for me?” She pushed the boy’s pile of books toward me.

I sighed. “Sure.”

As I walked around the room to put back the books, I couldn’t help but notice the selections the boy had made. They were all non-fiction. Two of them were about the World Wars, one was a general history book, and the last was a book on astronomy. Whoever he was, if this was a good reflection of his interests, he was either very academic or a complete stick-in-the-mud — maybe both.

When I finished, Shirley sent me off with a sympathetic hug and my last paycheck. On the way home, I noticed a help-wanted sign in the window of Taco Boy, but I didn’t stop. I wasn’t that desperate yet. 

Chapter 2

The next couple of weeks passed uneventfully as I waited, impatiently, for school to begin. In the meantime, my mom was determined that Randy get a haircut.

“For Pete’s sake, Randy, you’re starting to look like a girl,” she nagged. Randy had begun sporting what he described as the “cool” look and utterly refused to let mom cut the greasy mop on his head. Sometime in the last ten years, Mom had determined to bring in more bacon by opening a small salon in the garage of our home. Mom hadn’t received any professional training in preparation for this moneymaking venture. “How hard could it be? It’s just hair,” she’d retorted when Dad had tried to dissuade her because of her inexperience. That was yet another battle that Mom had won. Ever since then, she’d been massacring sweet old ladies’ heads throughout the neighborhood.

“Capella Margaret, you could do with a trim too, honey. May I?”

“Mom, you know I haven’t let you near my head with scissors since the sixth grade,” I reminded her. Memories of the other kids’ relentless teasing flooded back as I recalled having had a perpetual bad hair day for the six long years of elementary school. “I’ll just go downtown to see Patty, okay?”

“Okay,” she whimpered with a rejected expression, trying to make me feel guilty. That face had long since stopped working on me ever since I realized a decent haircut did wonders for my appearance. Besides that, whenever she called me Capella, a bit of resentment always crept in. Capella was my Italian great-grandmother’s name on my mom’s side. Supposedly she was this really spunky woman, but I’d rather have just been named something normal like Jenny or Katie. Finally, after years of people butchering the pronunciation, I started going by my middle name, Margaret, which became Maggie by default.

After hearing a few more guilt-inspiring remarks from my mom, I decided it was time to head down the road to see Patty, my hairdresser and savior for the past several years.

“See you later, Mom,” I called out as I walked through the whiny screen door. It was in desperate need of some WD-40.

As I walked the several blocks toward Main Street, my thoughts wandered to my unlikely friend, Patricia Felix, or Patty as she preferred to be called. She was what you might call my self-deemed godmother, though she wasn’t anything particularly special to most. She was plain looking, pear shaped, and a bit of redneck. But over the last few years she’d become a great mentor and friend. I originally went to her to reconcile the uneven mess on my head. We became fast friends as I continued to go back for routine haircuts.

Not only did Patty work a small miracle by transforming my butch cut into a suave salon masterpiece, but I was immediately drawn to Patty’s happy countenance and perkiness. She rarely talked of herself, but seemed to have ears to hear about every part of my small life. We talked about home and school and just about everything in between. Patty had been divorced herself and was unwaveringly empathetic about the difficulties besetting my parents. However, she was amazingly positive about marriage and the importance of keeping it together, which I found astonishing. In watching my parents’ marriage fizzle, I’d become love’s biggest cynic. The idea of true love was little more than fiction to me.

My train of thought was quickly interrupted when I realized that I’d already reached Clippers. Opening the door to the small salon, I heard the chime of Patty’s cheery voice from the back. 

“Well hello there, stranger,” Patty spoke with a forced western drawl. “Haven’t seen you ‘round these parts for months.”

“I know, Pat. Shame on me.”

 I moved past the familiar faces of the other hairdressers toward Patty, the smell of hairspray and spearmint gum suddenly filling my nostrils. Aromatherapy. It was the scent of familiarity and it put me at ease.

 “You got your hair cut!” I said in surprise. Her once-long hair that was generally pulled back in a ponytail had been chopped to a stylish bob.

“I know, I know.” Her plump cheeks pinked in embarrassment. “The girls insisted that I needed a change.” Whenever she said “the girls,” she was always referring to her two daughters that both lived in Arizona, much to Patty’s dismay.

I plopped myself down in front of her. “Work your magic,” I said with a smile.

“So what can I do for ya today, honey? Do you wanna try something different for the new school year? Ya know we could try some color. Oh my, you would be a gorgeous blonde,” she chirped. “You’d break hearts everywhere you went, you with your peach complexion and petite figure.”

 “Tempting, but I think I’ll pass. If only I had the appetite for man-eating,” I smirked. “Besides that, you know I don’t have the money to pay for a color and cut.” 

“Don’t worry about the cost, Maggie.” Patty rarely ever charged me full price for her services, against my wishes. I’d often tried to sneak money into her purse when she wasn’t looking, but experience had convinced me that the woman had eyes on all sides of her head.

“I won’t have that, Pat. Thanks though. Let’s just trim up the dry ends.”

“Okay, honey. But ya know we really could have some fun. How ‘bout some highlights?”

“Patty!”

“Fine, fine. Have it your way,” she whined.

Patty must have sensed that I was in no mood to talk about my woes today so she spent the rest of the time updating me on her grandchildren, all the while carefully cutting away at my auburn tresses. She finished up, snipping here and there, always determined to produce nothing short of hair perfection.

“Thanks so much, Patty. You’re the best!”

“I’m here to be used,” she said with a smile, a phrase I’d heard her repeat dozens of times. 

I left her with some cash, a squeeze, and a promise that I would come in soon and tell her my latest news about school. I felt rejuvenated and anxious to start back into the world of academia. Something inside of me said things were going to be different this coming year, but I didn’t have any idea why. Waving a final goodbye to Patty, I pushed out the glass door and felt a whoosh of crisp fall air brush across my face. The weather was changing.

“Get up, Maggie! You’re going to be late,” Mom yelled up the stairs. Opening my eyes, I squinted at my alarm clock, which apparently didn’t go off. My vision adjusted, and as soon as I saw the red numbers flashing 7:14, I whipped my covers off and sprinted to the bathroom. 

“Crap, crap, crap!” I fumbled around the bathroom for my brush and makeup. I hated being late! As much as I hated it, it seemed that I was always fighting time. My mom often teased that my body clock was about fifteen minutes behind the rest of the populace; a topic that was equally as upsetting to me as my name.

I brushed through my tangled hair and determined that mascara would be the only makeup I had time for today. What a way to start off the school year, I thought.  I bolted back to my room with toothbrush in mouth, brushing vigorously.

“Capella Margaret!” Mom shouted again.

“I’m coming,” I muffled, my mouth foaming over with toothpaste. I tore the multiple tags off one of my new shirts and pulled on my favorite pair of jeans. Taking one last glance at myself, I paused at the mirror at the bottom of the stairs and then grabbed the Civic keys off the table in the entryway. 

“Mom, I’m taking the car,” I shouted as I slammed the screen door.

I sped down the several blocks to the high school, passing several students on foot as I drove. When I turned into the parking lot of Brassfort High, I was pleased to find there were still students moseying around the lot, apparently trying to enjoy their last moments of freedom before school started.

I scurried across the pavement, mounted the steps, and pushed through the front doors. A slew of hand-painted posters, in our school colors of green and black, welcomed us back. Several of them had already been torn down.

As I made my way through the school, a flurry of chattering students filled the halls — girls squealing and embracing as though they hadn’t seen each other for years, boys lining the walls,  trying to look cool. I couldn’t help but laugh as I passed a handful of new sophomores. They were huddled together, looking around, wide-eyed, with mouths agape like a pack of frightened animals. I was so grateful that wasn’t me.

“Maggie,” I heard a familiar voice shout as I turned the corner to the senior hall. It was Michelle. She darted to my side in an instant. As usual, every strand of sandy blonde hair was meticulously in place — her slender, tall frame accentuated by her tight, pink top and skinny jeans. Michelle spent two hours every morning carefully grooming: tweezing eyebrows, curling eyelashes, putting on two and three coats of mascara. I knew because I’d witnessed it firsthand dozens of times. She was the kind that wouldn’t leave the house unless she was made up to the nines.

“Why if it ain’t Maggie Hart. Late as always I see,” she remarked playfully.

“My alarm didn’t go off, and good morning to you.”

“Yeah right. I know you better than that.” Before I could defend myself, she continued, “I know you couldn’t care less, but I heard there’s a new move-in. Word is he’s pretty hot.”

I tried my new locker combo for the second time. “New meat, huh?”

Michelle bandied boys’ hearts around like hacky sacks. She’d toss them around for as long as it amused her, but when she got bored, she’d kick them to the wayside. Michelle had been through almost every attractive guy in school and had made enemies of nearly all of them. Her motto was, “dump ‘em before they dump you.”

“You better believe it,” she continued, “but this one might be worth holding onto for a while.”

“Ugh!” I grunted in frustration. “I must have the wrong combo or something.” I twisted the knob again.

“Oh brother, Maggie. You’re such a brain, but you have no common sense.” Michelle pushed me aside with her hip. “Remember it’s three turns to the left, two to the right, then back to the left.” She opened the locker door effortlessly.

“Thanks,” I said, annoyed.

“So apparently this guy is tall ‘n built. But I guess he’s a bit off. I overheard someone saying that he dresses kind of retro.”

“Weird.” Michelle prattled on while my mind temporarily checked out of the conversation. This was just the kind of discussion that bored me to tears. When she went off about boys, which was a frequent occurrence, I couldn’t help wondering why we were friends. I hated to admit it, but truth be told it was mostly a friendship of convenience on both sides. Michelle was a warm body, somebody to pal around with so I wasn’t alone, and I was one of her loyal tag alongs — the perfect friend for someone who preferred being the center of her own world.

“Maggie?”

“What?”

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah!” I said, louder than necessary.

Michelle shook her head. “Sure you were. I know that glazed-over look all too well, missy. Just because you couldn’t care less about boys doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t. You should give love a chance. But maybe you secretly plan to become a nun, and that’s why you avoid the subject,” she teased.

 “Michelle, we’ve been through this before. It’s not that I’m not interested in guys. What I’m not interested in is getting my heart ripped out and trampled on. Besides, have you ever seen a happily-ever-after in real life? Why get into something when you know it’s just a matter of time before you’re broken up and miserable? You know that better than anyone.”

“You get over it and go for the rebound. Besides, the same guy gets boring after a while anyway. It’s the chase that makes it such a rush.”

I laughed out loud. “I guess my ego is just too brittle for the game, but thanks for your concern.”

“Have it your way,” she moaned.

“So who do you have for first period?” I asked, switching subjects.

She dug in her back pocket and pulled out her class schedule. “Looks like U.S. History with Sullivan. How about you?”

“Honors English with Olsen.”

 “When do you have killer Kirschbomb?”

“Third period.”

“Why are you taking calculus anyway?” Michelle asked, checking herself out in the

magnetic mirror in my locker. “It’s not a requirement, you know.”

“If I want to get into a good school then —”

“I know, I know. It’s all about impressing those ivy-league snobs.”

“Anyway,” I interjected, annoyed that she’d never appreciated my higher aspirations in life, “I’m glad that at least I’ll have it over with before lunch so I can enjoy my food.”

“Yeah, as much as you can enjoy the poison they feed us here.” The bell rang, making me jump. “Hey I’ll see you at lunch, okay.” Michelle turned and waved awkwardly behind her.

“Right!” I shouted, heading off in the other direction.

The next two class periods passed with little excitement. I always found the first day of school so tedious. It was the same thing every hour. The teacher would hand out the syllabus and review the entire thing carefully, as if we couldn’t read. Then they would usually deliver the classic motivational speech that went something like, “Whatever you put into this class is what you’ll get out if it.” It’s not the speech I minded so much as the monotony of it.

In no hurry to get to my next period, I moseyed over to the vending machines to buy some chips. My empty stomach would be growling all period long if I didn’t put something in it. Tapping my foot impatiently, I waited as the girl in front of me audibly deliberated about whether she was in the mood for chocolate or something fruity. I looked down at my watch and gasped. I was going to be late, again. I started down the hall in a dead sprint. Glancing down at my watch again, I barreled around the corner and BAM! I was instantly horizontal on the floor.

“Sorry! Are you hurt?” said a deep voice.

I just lay there for a moment, too stunned to move. “Um…no?” I was still trying to assess that myself. Sitting up, I thoughtlessly took the boy’s hand as he pulled me up.

“I really am sorry,” he repeated again.

“Please don’t apologize,” I muttered, feeling embarrassment settle in. “I was the one who plowed into you. Are you okay?” I rubbed the back of my head at the point of impact and looked up to focus on my victim.

Before me stood a tall guy with a broad, strong body and bright, lashy eyes. Clad in khaki pants and a collared blue shirt, his dress was abnormally formal for school. There was no question this was the boy Michelle had described earlier. He was attractive, but did seem a bit off. Although I was certain we’d never met, his face seemed oddly familiar. Then it hit me. This was the same boy I saw in the library several weeks ago. The unnatural cadence of his speech tipped me off.

“I am swell, though a little lost.” He was clearly in unfamiliar territory and it made him noticeably anxious. 

“Um…” I peered down at my watch again. “The office is right down that hall to the left. They can help you out.” I pointed him in the general direction.

“Sorry, where?”

I glanced down at my watch and sighed. “Follow me.” We speed walked down the hall in the opposite direction of my calculus class.

“Here we are.” I gestured him into the open door of the office.

“Thank you.” He flashed a wide, grateful smile. “You have been very helpful.”

For some incomprehensible reason, I felt my face flush red. “It’s really not a big deal.” As I spoke, the tardy bell rang, sending me racing down the hall again. “I’ll see you around,” I called behind me as I turned the corner.

I had just barely passed through the door to calculus class when the teacher rose from his seat in the back of the room. Plopping myself down in the front row, I gazed around the room as I recovered from my sprint. The classroom was drab, with a few faded posters of cryptic math formulas hanging limply on the otherwise white wall. A unique odor permeated the room. I’d heard that years back this was where chemistry was taught, and it smelled it. Whatever the stench was — it was in the walls — it made my stomach churn. The combination of my nerves and the distinct odor gave me the urge to ralph.

The buzz in the room soon quieted as our teacher, Mr. Kirschbomb, started toward the front to begin class. He was five-foot-nothing and as skinny as he was short. His clothes were as bland as the room, except for his snake-skin cowboy boots that made a funny squeaking sound as he walked. Stopping in front of my table, he studied us through wide, yellow-tinted glasses. As small as he was, there was something about him that was oddly intimidating and demanded respect.

Just as Mr. Kirschbomb opened his mouth to speak, the same boy I’d slammed into moments ago appeared in the doorway, clearly flustered. The teacher shot him an annoyed glare as he quickly seated himself at the empty table next to mine. My attention reverted back to Mr. Kirschbomb as he began to speak in a nasally voice.

“Alright class, no reason to be shy. I need everyone to move up and in. Young man,” he said motioning the boy toward me, “join the young lady at this table, please.”

He obediently rose out of his seat and sat next to me with a smile, quickly recognizing who I was. I grinned back at him tentatively, still embarrassed about our unfortunate meeting minutes ago. As the rest of the class settled in their seats, Mr. Kirschbomb continued.

“The person you are seated next to is your new best friend. If you’re going to survive in this class, you’ll want to have at least one study buddy. You will also work on a few group assignments together. If any of you have any issues with that, see me after class. But I would prefer that you just suck it up.”  A few students murmured something under their breath in response to this statement. 

The teacher called roll and proceeded to hand out the syllabus. He then started into the same lecture I’d heard the previous two class periods. In boredom, my attention returned to my “study buddy.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him fingering through his thick, brown hair. He sat, elbows on the table, poring over the syllabus in front of him, appearing as though he were studying each word carefully. Suddenly my ears became attuned to Mr. Kirschbomb’s voice.

“And what do you hope to glean from this class, Capella?” he asked, his squinty eyes staring at me over the rims of his unfashionably large glasses. 

“Well, an A would be nice,” I said, trying to be amusing. “And if you don’t mind, it’s Maggie. I go by my middle name.”  A few people in the class giggled.

“Well, if it’s an A you want, you’d better start paying more attention to me than to the fellow next to you, Capella.” The giggles turned to full on laughter. My face turned bright red, partly due to embarrassment, but mostly from the anger welling up inside of me.

“Yes, sir,” I mumbled. The rest of the period, I made it a point to keep my eyes fixed on Mr. Kirschbomb — not because I was eager to please him, but because if I was going to do well in this class I needed to make Mr. Kirschbomb an ally, not an enemy. I was also trying to recover from the humiliation of being caught studying my new acquaintance. I was avoiding eye contact at all cost.

He must think I’m such a nerd, I repeated over and over in my head. First, I smash into him in the hallway and then I’m caught checking him out.

Before I knew it, the bell rang and the classroom emptied in a matter of seconds. Even Mr. Kirschbomb bolted, leaving my table partner and me alone in the now deserted room.

“So we meet again,” he said.

“Yeah. I’m really sorry about our first run-in.” I laughed at my unintended pun. “If I’d known you were looking for this class, I would have happily shown you the way.”

“It is not a problem. By the way, Capella is a lovely name. Why do you prefer Maggie in its place?” he questioned.

“Uh, I’ve just never been a big fan of it. You know, Capella is just a little weird.”

“What does it mean?” 

“What does what mean?” I responded, confused.

“Your name.”

“Beats me.” I began gathering up my things.

He put out his hand enthusiastically. “My name is Alexander.”

I shook his hand. “And do you know what that means?” I said sarcastically.

“Yes.” He paused thoughtfully. “It means…defender of mankind.”

I looked at him for a moment. “So you’re new around here, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Is it so obvious?” he said, concerned.

“I’m afraid so. New faces are a novelty around these parts. Not too much goes unnoticed here in Brassfort.”

“I see,” he responded glumly, fidgeting with a rather impressive ring on his right hand.

“But give it a week and you’ll blend right in.”

That was a bit of a bluff. I’d already noticed a few girls in our class eyeing him on their way out. No one that looked like him would ever go unnoticed by the female population, but I had to say something to help ease some of his apparent anxiety.  He smiled, showing a line of bright white teeth. He didn’t seem to know what to do or say next.

“Um…do you want to join me for lunch?”

“Yes, that sounds swell!”

I chuckled softly, puzzled by his unusual choice of words. “Follow me.” He grinned, grabbed his bag, and joined me at my side.

“So how’s your first day been so far?” I asked, breaking the silence as we passed a line of alternating green and black lockers.

“Fair, though I have not yet succeeded in making it to class on time. This building is a maze.”

“Yeah, you looked like you were on the brink of a nervous breakdown when you walked into calculus.”

“You are observant, Maggie. I must admit today has been more stressful than I anticipated it would be. I was actually looking forward to an adventure in a new place, but I confess I am a little out of my element here. It seems that is apparent to everyone else, too.”

“Did they give you a school map when you went to the office?”

“A map?” he repeated with interest. “No.”

“Well, that would probably help. Let’s run down there and grab you one.”

We made a quick detour to the office, picked up a map, and headed back toward the cafeteria.

Alexander studied the map intently as we walked. “Yes, I think that will be extremely helpful,” he said, folding the paper and putting it in his back pocket. “Thank you, Maggie. You are a peach.”

I glanced over at him, again wanting to question his odd choice of vocab, but decided to keep my mouth shut. He was new after all. I didn’t want to add to the anxiety he’d been feeling. 

We entered the cafeteria, which was buzzing with the sound of dozens of conversations. I saw Michelle’s head perk up as we came through the doors. She was up out of her seat in a second.

“Where have you been?” Michelle chided, bolting toward us. “I’ve been saving you a spot.”

“Sorry. I was just —” 

“Michelle Roundy. And you are?” she interrupted, her hand outstretched toward Alexander.

He shook her hand with a smile. “I am Alexander.”

“Alex, it’s a pleasure to meet you. So what have you two been doing? Lunch is half over.” She smirked at me.

“We were just chatting, and I took him —” 

“Well, go grab some food and join us ASAP. We’ll clear a spot for you, too, Alex,” she said, eyeing me playfully.

“Thank you, Michelle. That is very kind of you,” Alexander said.

“You betcha.” She smiled and scurried back to her table.

“Sorry about Michelle,” I commented as we moved toward the lunch line. “She can be a little overwhelming sometimes.”

“She seems very friendly,” Alex said.

“Yeah. Sometimes it drives me nutty.”

We walked to the other side of the cafeteria, picked up our trays, and were promptly served. All the while, Alex looked around, wide-eyed, at everyone and everything.

“If you want to know, I would suggest avoiding the hot dogs. Last time I got one, I happened upon something crunchy. I would stick with the chicken sandwich or hamburger just to be safe.”

Alex nodded. “In that case, I will have what you are having.”

“Two chicken sandwiches and some French fries, please.”

Kathy, Brassfort High’s devoted lunch lady, served us up with a smile and plopped some un-requested coleslaw on our trays. “Give it a try. Cabbage is good for you,” she chimed.

“Thanks Mom,” I said with a wink.

She winked back. “No problem.”

We walked back to the table where Michelle was saving our seats. The conversation came to an abrupt stop as we approached.

“Welcome back. We were just discussing how nice it is to have a new face at school,” Michelle remarked, looking at Alexander. “By the way, this is Shannon and that’s Abigail. Girls, this is Alexander. But do you mind if we call you Alex?”

“That would be alright, I suppose,” Alex responded.

“So where are you from?” Shannon interjected into the conversation, tucking her brown hair behind her ear.

“Um…New York.” 

“You say it like it’s a bad thing. I would do anything to live somewhere exciting like New York,” Shannon said.

“I guess that explains the clothes, too,” Michelle said.

Alex glanced down at his shirt. “What do you mean?”

“Well as you can see, you don’t dress like most boys around here. A lot of guys seem to have it in their heads that girls like the sloppy, just-hopped-out-of-bed look.”

“Maybe I ought to get some new clothes?” Alex suggested self-consciously.

“Don’t do that!” Michelle and Shannon exclaimed in unison. “You look great, Alex. Different is good in this case,” Michelle assured him, placing her manicured hand on his arm.

I don’t know why, but suddenly I was bugged. For some inexplicable reason I felt protective. What is up with me? I just met the guy. I brushed the feeling off. Looking up from my tray, I realized that the lunch room was practically vacant. Only a few tables remained occupied. The rest were covered with the remnants of school lunch.

 “So Alex, what’s your next class?” Michelle continued. As usual, Michelle dominated the conversation at the table. Occasionally, Shannon would pipe up, but was usually happy to simply parrot back what Michelle wanted to hear. Abi, who was generally disposed to silence, sat quietly. 

“I believe I have biology next,” Alex responded.

“Hey me too!” Abi spoke up. “Do you want to walk with me?” she asked shyly, but with rare eagerness.

“Certainly. I would appreciate the company. I have had difficulty navigating around the school, so that would be swell.”

“Adorable,” Michelle mouthed in my direction. I rolled my eyes and took a bite of my sandwich. 

“And we had better go. The biology room is on the other side of the school,” Abi said. 

“We hope to see you around. You’re always welcome to join us at lunch,” Michelle said grabbing Alex’s arm again. She was branding him hers with every glance, every touch. By the end of the week, the entire school would know he was spoken for and completely off limits.

Alex and Abi walked briskly out of the cafeteria. As soon as they were out of sight, Michelle sprawled herself across the bench of our table and placed her hand on her brow, all with the dramatic flair of Scarlet O’Hara.

“I think I’m in love,” Michelle sighed. Shannon appeared equally entranced.

“Again?” I smirked at her. The comment conjured a chuckle from Shannon. Michelle grunted at me. “Kidding! Anyway, there’s no doubt he’s cute, but he’s so strange. He looked like he was going to pass out when he walked into calculus late.” I took one last bite of my chicken sandwich.

Michelle shot up from the bench. “You guys have third period together?”

“We sit at the same table too,” I added, my mouth full of French fries. “I hope he’s a whiz at calculus, or we’ll both be in trouble.”

“You are so lucky. Whatever you do be your normal, uninterested self, okay,” she said with a wink.

“He’s all yours darlin’.” But something inside me felt protective again, almost jealous. Once again, I suppressed the feeling as quickly as it came and left to dump my tray.

“Hey call me later,” Michelle shouted as she walked through the cafeteria doors. I gave her a thumbs up and glanced at my watch.

“Ugh, I’m going to be late!” I announced to myself. I grabbed my bag and bolted to my next class.