This is justa basic skeletal of what i have so far.


Jacksonville Florida. Population unknown. Children non-existent. Hot, sauna hot. Too sticky, sweaty and foreign. It is the summer between my Sophomore and Junior year, and my family have been moved by my Dads military orders to the hurricane state. They call it “The Sunshine State” but it doesn’t make me happy. It’s like salsa with too much parsley, too bitter. We trekked over the longest bridge I have ever been on hours ago. It must have been three miles long over the St. Johns River. I finally put down the six-hundred page novel I had been reading and prepared for my death. I thought, car plus water plus my death equals salvation. But next thing I know we were in a new place, on a new base, and there were no kids our age. I spent the summer at the base bowling alley and wrote in my journal. Fourth of July came and while everyone was joyous I just wanted to end it. How was I supposed to make friends? How could I be torn away from the life I have known for sixteen years.
I had accomplished being on Varsity soccer as a freshman, only because there were not enough girls for a junior team. I was in choir at a competitive school. Then went to a different school for my sophomore year. My twin and I were the only white girls in the choir. Finally got comfortable there and WHAM! The choice between New Orleans or Jacksonville. Dad did not want his girls growing up in Mardi Gra city and I’ve never heard of Jacksonville. I figured the beach would be nice.
Our new house is a one story, three bedroom, dingy house on Dragonfly Rd. The house needs to be repainted. The shingles were chipping like the tears falling from my cheeks. The foyer was cold and uninviting on my feet. The walls were off-white somewhere between hope and despair. The kitchen too small, and the height of the house too short. Dad ducked in behind me. The wood floors creaked beneath me as I picked a room. It had two windows. The shades were bent as if a cat tried to escape. The ceiling paint was flaking off and the closet door would not open. My twin sister filed in behind me and our little sister got her own room like always. “Welcome to your new home!” said Mom all cheery. I brushed off her comment. How could she be happy about this? I wondered if I could ever call this place home. They say “home is where the heart is.” Well, my heart was six states away in Maryland. I decided this would be a long vacation and eventually my heart and I would find each other.
My stomach hurt when I woke up on our first day of school. I had imagined an empty bus here to pick up my twin and I. Instead, there was life in this place. Where had they been all summer? There were tons of kids our age at our bus stop. I decided it might not be too bad, until we reached the school. It was three stories high and gloomy with history. Spanish moss entangled itself on trees, students fled off buses, laughing with friends they already had. I squeezed my twins hand and she pulled away. The halls were bright, and classrooms filed left and right with signs next to the doors telling students if it was an English or history class.
Homeroom was first. I walked into the room and chose a seat in the way back by the window. I began to drift to homeroom last year with Missy and Brinkley laughing and paper airplanes flying across the room. “HYMES, CHRISTINA!” yelled the teacher. My sister nudged me. “What!” I shouted at crossly at her. The teacher was in front of me. His hairy fingers made me want to barf. His head was balding and his eyes cruel.

“I presume you are Christina?”

I gulped air. “Yes….I-I-I am.” I stuttered.

“Daydreaming on the first day. Tisk… Tisk.”

Scolded already. Geeze, the sunshine state is not very happy. We had fifteen minutes to introduce ourselves to everyone. I just sat in my seat saying screw everyone. All my friends are up north. I do not need friends here. I slammed my fist on my desk which startled the class. Just then these two girls with long legs, long brown hair, and cute button noses take a seat next to me.
“Hi!” says one of them. “I’m Jessica” chimed one “and I’m Marcia. You were on our bus this morning. We see you have a twin too. We are twins. Jessica and I, but I don’t think we look that much alike…”

She goes on and on about the two of them and each take turns telling me the story of their birth and how they are from the Keys and ride horses. I just wanted them to shut up but I couldn’t help but listen. They were so animated. Next thing I know we were exchanging schedules and they were walking me to our first class.

Five months later, it is Christmas and eighty degrees out. The leaves have not changed colors. The air is full of humidity. Florida is one giant humidifier, only it’s not helping me breathe. I feel like I am suffocating. Ever since I was twelve, and started middle school, and cried because they messed up my schedule and was teased for it. I have been suffocating. Mom thought it would be fun if we went to the beach on New Years eve and took photos of us making sand angels. We could send them to her friends up north and tease them that we were down here and hot and they were up there and cold.
It was 99 degrees out and raining. We had no chance at beating Bishop Kenney High Schools girls soccer team. Not with the rain pelting side ways and a moat filling up around the field. “FOUL!” yelled the referee. “**** you!” should the soaked poodle looking girl from the other team as she pushed me. “YOU”RE OUT CARTER!” the second referee said while shaking a red card in her face. “Watch yourself shorty or you’re our next.” says the referee as he passed me.
Damn stop calling me shorty I mumbled. Me and the other defenders stated before the game that we were going to slide tackle our way to victory. We may not score but at least they won’t. Soccer is my stress reliever. I just pretend whoever I’m mad at is on the soccer ball. It works sometimes. The game ended zero to zero. That’s better than losing because at least we put up a fight. The rain shows no sign of stopping as the thirteen of us soaked, muddy and now cold file into the bus.
I’m sitting in math class, three girls behind me laugh. One of them keeps tugging my hair. The boy to my left urges them on. I move my head forward so she lets go. The teacher is soft spoken and seems oblivious but I like her. She tells them to hush up. The girl behind me whispers, “Hey, four eyes nice yellow teeth.” I bite my lip to keep from crying. The teacher is passing out a pop quiz. I’m nervous, and I do not know anything she has said.

“Tina” she whispers to me. I look up. My eyes are holding back tears. My lip is busted from biting it and my hand is wet. She hands me a tissue. “Do you realize you’ve just scratched yourself until you’ve bled.”

“What?” I say confused. “Your arm sweetie.”

“OH!” and I dab it frantically applying pressure. “It will be O.K.” she says with a smile. I think it will be and don’t know how much more of this I can take.
“Weirdo.” says the girl behind me.
“Katherine, Melanie and Diane go to the Deans office right now!” yells Mrs. Merry. I start taking my quiz even though I know I’ll fail. When I am done the bell rings. I walk up to her desk, hand it to her and grab a paper clip. It’s lunch hour so I have a half hour of whatever I want to do. I decide to spend my half hour in the bathroom. I’m not hungry and need to be alone. I wait till the other girls leave and lock myself in the handicap stall, bend the paper clip till it breaks. I rolled down my sock and ran the sharp edge along my ankle till blood bubbles up. I press harder and harder. I hate those girls. I hate them. I say over and over. When I can finally breathe I watch the blood ooze down for a moment, then wet a paper towel and clean it off. I hate it here but making do with what I can.
Barely survived my junior year. Marcia and Jessica are now my friends. I need community service hours to get scholarships. Their riding instructor has agreed to sign off for the hours if I help them every Sunday. I am a little scared of horses but I am pretty fit and mucking stalls for eight hours and getting a free lesson is worth it. I fell in love with a horses called “Midnight”. He reminded me a lot of “Black Beauty”. I felt I could trust him. I had a few lessons with him. One day, Marcia , Jessica, and I went on a trail ride. Midnight got spooked out by a ribbon tied to a tree. He took off with me struggling to hold on. I was screaming as Jessica and Marcia put there horses into a gallop and tried to catch up. Midnight stopped by a tree, bush and an electric wire just inches from my head which was down by his mane. One foot was out of the stirrup. “Oh my frigging goodness!” I said exasperatedly. Marcia grabbed the reigns and I pulled myself back on. “You’re O.K.” she said with a grin.
“I don’t feel fine. That was scary.”
She laughed. “Scary is having the horse buck and you fly off hitting a fence.”
“Agreed. That is scarier.” and we both laughed. Jessica grabbed the other reigns and with the both of them by my side I laughed the whole way back to the barn about how silly I reacted.

Tina, this grabbed me right away and I read through it quickly, drawn to it...I felt as if I were there, suffocating along with you in your early days in FLA, through your miserable early days at a new school. This is going well and I'm awaiting the rest eagerly. Well-done.

(PS reigns should be reins)

~~flutter~~

Great story Tina,
I especially liked the part about the horse. I was only 15 when the same thing happened
to me. I thought I could ride, and I did manage to stay on but boy was I scared.
My-oh-my, that was 64 years ago. Hang in there kid.

Jack

LOL YAY! Mission accomplished at least the skeletal beginning grabs your attention!!!! Ok, maybe i can hip this story out. I'll have plenty time to write this week. Thanks about the reins thing. It sounds the same so i don't know the difference.

Mo, lol. Yea i'll never forget that horse ride.

Any suggestions? It is a skeletal for the beginning. I'm just writing the skeleton of the story first and then feeding it with the meat later.

I don't know you but I do. I have some suggestions. If your twin is important to the story, then mention her. This time twins were not important of either group. Just my thought, I could be wrong.
Second, teenage agnst is only important to the teenager. Make your story more universal. Use your experience to relate to the entire world of readers. Most of us have been teens. All teens have felt the angst you discuss. What does it mean now? Either give us an entirely new view of teenage agnst or a new view of how it relates to older folks...not that I am older.
If you are really the age that you write about, you are very gifted. You should continue to write about your thoughts, your feelings, your emotions, and your life. But what do I know? But I will stand by my opinion because that is who I am. I don't know you but I do.

I'm 21, writing as though i am 15. My twin is important, and yet you are right i hardly mentioned her. It will relate to older folks as i get into the story. The story will cover my adventure from 15-21.

thanks for the advice