The Sanguines of Alchemy

By Steve Zwolinski

The main issue with our lives is that they are too short to do what we all want to do. We spend it making ourselves happy, making others happy, and making sure our legacy lives on forever. Such is the case of three young women, all connected through their parents and a set of experiences with a chemical which allows them to heal others through contact with their bodily fluids. For one, Hope Malott, shielding parents and good demeanor mean she is in control - until her father passes away. She must then judge for herself. For another, Duluth Kane, a life on the run and distrust means she must decide for herself before she passes from the rigor of her condition. And for another, Orion Prasda, it is a life spent in revenge of escape of what others would call a gift. The world around them is only to watch....

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steven Zwolinski
• Release date: Jan 18, 2015
• ISBN: 9780986433016

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The Sanguines of Alchemy

The Sanguines of Alchemy by Steve Zwolinski – Hope for Healing and A Drop of Cold Blood

Copyright © 2015 Steve Zwolinski. All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-0-9864330-1-6

Hope for Healing is dedicated to the lifelong friendship of David M. Milkovich, whose insight, imagination, encouragement, wit, and pursuit of passion in thought and in writing is impeccably effective and decidedly essential to one’s furthering of knowledge and personality, uttering not to the scribe, but to the awe and wonder of the world.

I: The Beginning

There are always times when you know if one person could change the world, it would begin with you – and probably end with you. It could have all started that day in the delivery room. The hustle and bustle, the meters beeping, the rushing of clogs across the freshly mopped linoleum floor, the clasping of clipboards closing and the automatic door seemingly opening and closing every few seconds.

In bay #5, Carrie Malott, husband in tow, was in the final stages of labor. Nine months of practicing, discussing her firstborn, stating how wonderful the child would be, how she had to answer about how long she had been pregnant, what the name was, would they need furniture, kids pointing to her protruding belly – the scheme had all been there for her. She thought of it as being part of the family finally. Years of being raised in a somewhat awkward purgatory of a life, having boyfriends that turned either to be total jocks or completely in it for her beautiful brown hair and emerald green eyes but not for her good had taken its toll on her. She felt like her parents were expecting the baby more than her own success, and it added to the sum of the pressure that proceeded to fulfill thoroughly this beautifully nightmarish moment.

By her side, grasping Carrie’s hand, was her husband, Alex Malott. Alex was the proud father of the day, a personable humble man that had success in his genome. A man of his word, he had spent many of his years fine-tuning his craft as an environmental inspector. It was quite the unusual work – he would often come home late, sweating like a draft horse who had run 5 miles, all because he had spent the day in a moon suit, essentially a chemically sealed suit that meant his body isolated itself from the world. Alex knew this day was coming; he had bragged about the work sites he had visited that he had indeed wanted to have a child, preferably a baby boy, so that he could be like the fathers seen on primetime television – although Carrie had thought of it as being more like a daytime soap opera.

I love you very much, honey, the man said to the woman. You’ll be fine through all this. I’m ready when you are. She looked into his eyes, which had the lens effect of a mist as the moment played before them like a somewhat vivid fairytale, a story which felt too real.

She gave a smile, her minimalist makeup never doubting the true virgin glow that had kept on her face for all these years. I have to pull through this. You just are sitting and waiting, dear. She may have had the hellish pain of contractions, but her quick wit emanated through the room like a warm rush of air from a fire. Then again, as if to lend verity, she smiled, and Alex grasped her hand, shaking it with a mutual smile. It was the perfect moment, and yes, they had all dreamed of it.

As the lights in the room emitted a cool calm in the hustle and bustle, the severe contractions began to hit Carrie like rounds of gunfire. She screamed her lungs out, and the doctors all began to fulfill their obligations and slowly, yet surely, deliver what surely would be one hell of a child. They were there for the past few weeks; one by one, they gave her a little bit of knowledge of the process. But now, they were real. And strong. And the show was on.

Come on…. Just one more breath…..Push…. Push honey, you’re doing good….keep going! Push, push, pushpushpushpushpush….. And with one final movement, the last scream from the mother came just as the first small scream from the newly born daughter came.

With tears in her eyes from the struggle, but now ever misting from the fact that she had now produced a child, a small edition of her, someone who would carry on her family and make her father proud….she could not resist holding her emotions back.

The baby’s cry resonated through the room, to the sigh of relief of many who had been there since the beginning of the day. She had a very lengthy labor, one that was quite painful, even though she had carried it so well for the term of the pregnancy. She is perfect, Alex. It had to be stated for it to be true, and it was.

Yes, but what should we name her? She has your eyes and my hair, I guess. Can’t think of a name….I’m so nervous. The new father was panicking, never really giving any thought to this, even with nine months’ notice. It was shameful for a college-educated man who prided himself on his decision-making skills, especially when working around stuff that could melt his arms off if need be, but he was in the same boat as every other new father – an outsider to his own offspring.

The mother used a morsel of energy. Well, I hope you can find out something. We can’t pass pictures around to my relatives and say ‘She who shall not have nomenclature’ when we’re over Christmas dinner. She really had her street smarts down, which was a minor miracle in that seemingly pressing moment, considering that she had put so much work into her efforts that afternoon and evening. A quick wit, in spite of the pressures she had been under, always got her somewhere in life. Even if it was absent that night they decided to have a child.

But yet some simple answers are derived from simple questions. Struck in the moment with faith, he said I hope….hope, Hope! We’ll name her Hope, Carrie! Hope Malott. That sounds like a name to be proud of. It will get so many calls, and it has a ring to it. And it did draw a smile to the face of the two new parents.

Carrie looked into the new father’s eyes. In it was the sign of happiness, the sign of relief that this penultimate moment of 37 weeks of waiting around, carrying her, night sweats, moodiness, and otherwise seeing what was his Puppy wife become more and more bellied. But yet, there was an inherent sadness in the room. The doctors looked around, and one gentleman, nestled in a suit and holding two vials in his hand, began going over the documents. He stepped next to Alex, and shook his hand. "Congratulations, Mr. Malott. We are glad to see the new addition to your family. But she is a special one, a unique one. And this is no ordinary baby. Your obstetrician has some tests, and you must promise to never, ever, reveal what perhaps will be the prime indicative of this birth.

A brief pause followed, and the now advantageously advanced of knowledge man said with a firm nod and the wrinkle of his mouth, and said Understood. Carrie stated then Yes, I knew. It had to happen this way. It’s only right. It was words that stung at every syllable, and every time he would have to reiterate them in the coming months.

Sighing, he kissed the baby. Welcome, dear Hope Malott. Welcome to this sad, sad world.

6 YEARS, 2 MONTHS LATER

The summer sun beat down on the pavement outside, shining into the atrium of the red brick house, a large one in truth sitting in the middle of a block of normalcy and respite in the suburbs of west Philadelphia. The Malotts had done plenty to earn this house; Alex had made his money doing what few would do in inspecting and examining chemical spills. Carrie worked as a teacher in the nearby school district. She had dealt with so many kids that annoyed her and drove her crazy in their adolescent antics. No child left behind, but no child’s behind left! was her motto. The house had wood floors, a relic of late 19th century design. It was a creaky house, lacking many of the drywall- and LED-bulb newness of the more modern houses. By all means, it was an investment. But it was something Alex, Carrie, and Hope were all proud of.

I’m awake, Daddy! the young effervescent Hope yelled from the upstairs. Come and get me, I’m ready for hug time! And the dad knocked on the door to the room, saying May I enter, your highness? like he always would before he would enter. To Alex, this was his little princess. Her grandparents were not upper-class, but believed that she should be raised on the keys of humility, kindness above all, and unselfishness. Yes, you may, my liege.

And she opened the door, and she ran up to her dad and gave her a hug. 1, 2, 3, noserubnoserubnoserub! they both yelled as their foreheads tapped. They both laughed, and he raised her in his arms towards the rays of light spread across the ceiling. Carrie looked on, fists at her hips, smiling and shaking her head in simultaneous disgust and disbelief, petty as the love shown in front of her. You two are soooooo crazy…you know that? she would say every time, no matter how ridiculous it would sound to her two top loves in the world.

Little Hope smiled, her eyes twinkling like two mineral springs in the snowy Alps. Daddy loves me more than anything else in the world. She was raised right, and was cute as could be. I’m his princess. She smiled and clung to her father’s leg.

The father smiled. Can’t beat this on a Saturday morning, can I? He laughed. This made his day, every time, no matter what. It always made Carrie chuckle to do it; mostly because the two of them both had equal, although uniquely standalone of themselves, admiration of the elder woman of the house.

Come on, you two. Breakfast is ready. It’s 10:30 already. Eggs and country sausage today. Carrie knew how to get things moving. She had worked retail for some time before being demoted to middle school, and knew when she had to pull out the transaction finisher.

They both began to walk to the doorway. The little one said Poor chickies and poor piggies. She smiled, and blew a kiss to her mom. But I’m hungry. We’ll save ‘em for another day. They are cutie as pie, but a girl’s gotta eat. She began to run down the stairs, past her Mum and away from the suddenly marooned Dad.

Alex smiled, and looked at Carrie. She grew up so fast, didn’t she, hun? They both gave a sigh, as if to implicitly condone and affirm their common belief. Can’t believe first grade this year. In a way, they were both breathing a sigh of relief. Ever since birth, they had to go and try to work around the fact that she was quite different from the rest of the kids. Sure, she had her falls, her cuts and bruises, and such. In fact, she was possibly the most playful kid in school, one that wasn’t afraid to take risks or climb the jungle gym. But she was also naïve to the fact that inside her was a chassis of a material which was not of playfulness and youth but of power and dignity and an impassable beauty that only God could grant. Yea, she’s really growing up. It was just yesterday Hopie was in her onesie, throwing toys and smiling that innocent smile….now all she does is throw the tantrum and the curveball.

As if in a moment of necessary comic relief, Alex chuckled But she sure as hell still has that smile, doesn’t she? He placed a peck on Carrie’s cheek, and began to walk down the hallway. Perhaps it was the hunger, or the fact that he kind of had a guilt trip that had built up in that time period, like it was a masked plea of guilt. And Carrie recognized it spot on. With the single word of Hunny? Alex knew something was up.

Carrie’s smile began to turn the sides of her mouth into a look of masked displeasure, a sort of melancholy. You know, she’s really starting to get to the point now where she’s going to be doing things out of our supervision. Running around, mixing with kids, playing in the dirt. It was perhaps the mothers’ creed of protecting what came from her, but it was more along the lines of fearing for something else.

In a way, Alex kind of agreed. Yes, I know that. She’s….well, she’s growing up, dear. I mean, we can’t always take her hand, and say ‘Hopie, don’t do this, don’t do that, do this instead.’ We have to let her explore herself and her mind. It was perhaps emitting like radiation to Alex that this was indeed a serious matter – but what were they to do? Surely, the Oedipus complex of the 21st century, entitled the helicopter parent, was there. We just have to go with the flow, and let her be the girl we always wanted. And they both smiled. You know –

And if on cue, the daughter ran up the stairs and said Mom! Dad! There’s a huge truck out on the street! And they are taking a pinball machine out of the back! Next door! Go look! – she immediately grabbed both of their hands in a hastened effort to pull their arm sockets out, or at least pull the rest of their bodies to the door. And indeed, there was a large pinball machine going into the house next door.

Looks like new neighbors, Hopie. They have a big house over there! Alex noted in a flavorfully playful way to his daughter.

Carrie gave a slightly sarcastic laugh as she began to spoon the now cooling sausage onto the dishes. So they are moving in finally. About bloodied time, I say. Place has been up for sale for months now.

She is a tough cookie, Alex thought. Tough, but genuine.

God, do I love her.

They both shuffled slowly down the stairs of their stoop, completely ignoring the freshly made meal set upon the cherry oak table in the kitchen, and went to inspect and convene with what were the new neighbors. Alex always wanted to explore new things, new ideas. It was sort of a calling that had been instilled in his genes, one that he had passed onto his offspring. At least hopefully, in his deepest wishes. He could often picture his father saying Y’know, no one ever built bridges unless they built themselves a boat to get across the sea. What a kind man he was.

As they ventured out, a man pointing out towards the moving van, where two uniformed guys, one short and rather muscular, and another tall but rather portly, were offloading a couch. The door had been propped wide open to the new home, the FOR SALE sign still swinging in the breeze like a banner of aluminum. The man yelled Yea, I have this truck for two more goddamned hours! We need to get this crap in the house – NOW! He seemed frustrated, mostly due to the dual process of getting out of the heat into the house and dealing with muscular fools passing his furniture like the collection plate – on his dime, mind you – being his two problems.

The tripod of new neighbors shuffled towards the stranger in an almost too friendly welcome to the neighborhood. Hi there…just noticed you moved in. It was very 50s television like, but somehow, that always seemed to work. At least it did on the digital subchannel at 2 am.

Remain cheery, Alex thought to himself. This guy could be a total pain. At least the man who used to live there until a tumor on his ass ate him up.

Wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and wrist, he smiled. Hi there. Lou Mendoza. Nice to meet you folks. He reached for the hand of Carrie, not bothering to think that perhaps the benefit of actually trying to not share bodily fluids would be a good way to acknowledge the welcome to the neighborhood. Carrie took it in stride, giving an uneasy smile, and somehow valiantly curtsying in her words It is…nice to meet you, Lou. Lou then reached for Alex’s hand, and before he could pull it away, gave a firm, somewhat moist strangling of the digits that a hard-working man could ever give.

The married couple both gave a look of disgust to each other in a brief moment, as if to say, What the bloody hell just moved into the neighborhood.  It was well understood that perhaps this was just a moment of time when the man was in a state of flux, perhaps incident to that yes, it was hot. They just put it to the back of their minds.

Immediately, Hope pointed towards the doorway. Look over there! She saw a girl on the porch, just about by where it began to curl around towards the driveway. She grasped at an overgrown pot of ivy dangling uncontrollably, the product of having grown for the entire season while the prior owner, an older man, had essentially left to the environment to sustain and produce. The leaves were somewhat blowing, the lines of green extending like a giant jellyfish in the sea of the wind.

The father of foresaid child let out a proud smile. Yes, my dear. That is the love of my life, Adriana. She’s my daughter…at least for now, I guess. We’re still filling out paperwork…  He snickered, and began to make the Malotts think that virgin ears were about to be exposed to the hierarchy of a lifestyle gone not so perfect.

Before they could grab it and pull her away, Hopie’s curiosity sprung into action. What’s paperwork? Sounds like fun! Where do they keep crayons when you get older – but then Alex said in pure protection of pedagogy It’s like drawing on Daddy’s newspaper. Can’t do it too often. They were exposed like the ivy that the girl on the porch was fiddling around with.

Nevertheless unfazed by the politic of the situation, the new neighbor said Why don’t you guys go over and meet each other? Make some friends and such. Go! Just then, one of the moving men said in his version of a thick New York accent Hey buddy? See this piece of kindling I have? This piece of shit isn’t getting any lighter and if I have to hold it and crack my back, I’m going to launch it into the Delaware! as he wrestled a very large armoire, presumably one of great heritage and even greater mass, up the walkway.

I’ll be right there, Jimmy. Put it in the hallway – I got some folks to help coming over later. In-laws. Lou laughed in nervousness, obviously kind of pulled between finishing the conversation and keeping on time.

Hey, as long as we’re getting paid, I’ll do it. Give me an extra fifty, and I’ll paint all the walls in the house and carry your mother in law in my hands. This moving man seemed to supplement his muscles with the attitude that one of the gated community culture could only imagine could arise from years of the street and the smarts that popped from working for a living.

Lou had it on the ball. In plentiful quantities tonight. Got the checkbook in hand! He smiled and gave a thumbs up in Jimmy’s direction. He then shook his head, looking towards the two now stunned folks who had probably wanted to retract the welcome and let cooler heads prevail. Stupid asshole greaseball’s been giving me hell all the day. He then paused, and the jaws of Carrie and Alex hit the floor. Eh, you didn’t need to know that. Care for some Jello and root beer? Only thing I have cool right now. It didn’t even have to be said that they all felt like that was the next step.

While all this happened, the curious 6 year old had wandered up the stairs towards Adriana. A shy young girl of Hispanic descent, she had her long hair braided in one large queue, befitting of ethnic culture. She had a glow about her face that indicated somewhat of a shy introverted, melancholy kind of reactivity. Twirling her hair in one hand and a branch of ivy in the other, she looked down.

Never the one to restrict self, Hopie went on. Hey, hi. My name is Hope Malott. What’s yours? It was probably the question only a kid of her age group could ask, but nevertheless was friendly. She was indeed putting herself out there – even at the precociousness of age she was at.

The young girl began to look up. Adriana Laura. She smiled very slowly, as if not to disclose too much. I can’t tell you my last name, ‘cos Dad said if someone asks, they can take you and turn you into a ghost.

It was kind of strange for someone to say this for anyone, but still, Hope was uncaring. Well, you can tell me whatever names you want me to call you. She reached in her pocket. I carry ‘round this….it’s a bracelet we make on the weekends. Mommy says that when you make a bracelet and give it to someone, you give ‘em a promise that you will keep them as friends. She then handed it to Adriana.

For something so meager, this made her give a shy smile. Adriana had a very simple smile, her lower lip being tucked under a row of the remaining baby teeth. She was afraid to look into the eyes of Hope, but somehow, the two of them could find solace in that a friendship had budded on that porch. Thank you. Here - she handed her a leaf – this is the first leaf I grabbed offa this plant. I want you to have that. And even though it was meager, it was a suitable token of instant appreciation, the first olive branch.

Before they could utter another word, the father of the braided princess yelled Hey, Pook! Come and get some snacks! Come in the side door!  And then she went and told Hope Here, I gotta go in! Come in with me! And so they ran towards the door.

The sun came out from behind the clouds for a short moment, as if to provide the affirmation from a higher power that a true friendship was breeding in the mix. It was only proper that this was supposed to happen. As they began to run about the porch, the moment was there.

Adriana ran ahead, with the new neighbor friend in tow. It was all perfect. They were one in the same, and that first interaction was leading to the first meal between two girls.

All of a sudden, that changed. A board on the wooden deck of the porch, sticking up like a bastard file of a fine craftsman’s tool kit, got in the way of a six year old’s foot. And like it should have been, Adriana fell to the ground, and began to cry.

Suddenly, the heroics of a girl who had always been taught to do things right sprang into action. Before the dad of her own, or any adult, or the moving people, or the mailman down the street, could utter another word, there was Hopie, her new friend, in need of the first favor of what would likely be a long friendship.

My wrist! It hurts! I got cut! Adriana cried between tears, trying to understand what had just happened. I don’t know what to do, Hope! She was panicking, and her childhood fears and shyness turned into pure shock.

Here, Adriana Laura! Hope grabbed her bracelet and the leaf. Make this a band-aid! Mommy says this can make you better. She put the leaf over the cut, and slowly but surely slid the bracelet over the injured girl’s wrist. In a flash, there was an instant cure….despite the meager and somewhat haphazard first-aid provided, she pressed with the leaf on the wound, as the bracelet forming what was pretty much the kindergartener’s interpretation of a battle tourniquet. Hope’s eyes shined, her black hair blowing in the wind.

Just then, the first responders - or more modestly, the local neighborhood instant paramedics known as the parents came. What happened, Pook? Did you fall? And immediately, she showed her wrist, with the bracelet tied with the leaf serving as a gauze pad. Look what Hope did. It feels a little better. Thank you, Hope.

Lou gave her pained daughter a hug. Here, come on in. We’ll make you feel better. And they went in.

As they went into the bathroom of their new pad, Lou did the best fatherly act of taking care of his daughter. Here, dear. Sit down and scooch. What he saw, he could not believe. He pulled back the leaf and bracelet, and said Oh, my God. The look of fear in his eyes, he could not explain – and it would not be, for many years.

The three oldsters of the block all gathered around the window. "Guess this is the beginning of a good relationship. Poor girl though, getting cut on the first day.

Wish we could help her.

II: The Discovery

SEVEN YEARS, 32 DAYS LATER

The sun shone bright in the new Pennsylvania school year, and it was indeed the gathering of the middle schoolers, many of which had begun to form their own friendships and groups. When the hormones release, many of the girls of the age begin having eyes that wander, parts growing for the first time, and a brain hellbent on trying to pay attention to beauty, poetry, and, OH, THAT GUY OVER THERRRRE.

A blue Camry pulled into the school parking lot, which was already littered with balloons, children, and lots and lots of banter, some of it quite loud. The school buses filled the air with the smell of hellish hydrocarbons and silly amounts of soot. And in that car was a 13 year old Hope Malott.

She was already anxious. Do we really have to pull up in the car? All my friends are going to see me in here. Maaaaa-awm, please. Keep away from the door. I don’t want Bella and Tracie and Brittney to see me. Clutching at her backpack and then a small department store handbag, she wanted to be out of the scene.

The mother knew her daughter all too well. But she didn’t care for being protective at this point. This was her moment – and no one could stop it from occurring. Well, I’ll drop you off at the corner. None of them will see you. She smiled. I love you too much, sweetie.

As she stopped the car, Hope looked across the console. I know I’ll make it. Eighth grade, and then I’m off to high school. Rule of the roost to being a freshman. Like, yay me. Hope was not her namesake; she was ready to panic.

Don’t try to do too much on the first day. You still got 184 days after this to do all your stuff, ‘k? I’ll pick you up and we’ll go out to dinner tonight. Duck’s Pizza House? She was a consoler of all types, especially to what she had been to her daughter. It was good to back her kid up – she had seen way too many parents treating school as a government-funded daycare and indoctrination/parenting center. A few lived on their street, and it was motivation enough when they would see the kids unlock the door in the afternoon, and the parents come home at 11 PM, work uniforms still on. And the lights would seldom turn on for the long run.

Duck’s it is. Her mom asked for a kiss, for which she placed one on her right cheek. This was it. As she walked slowly towards the main doors of the freshly painted and manicured foyer of the school, a lot of things preoccupied her growing mind, as they did for many of the days that school started Most of them were pretty typical for a sheltered girl like herself: how her friends were doing, whether or not Adriana was wearing the designer shoes that she had boasted her Dad bought her, how Mr. DeBlau, the English teacher, really was now that he no longer wore his eighties glasses, and whether or not the new school mascot’s actor really had a pimple that really pulsed after he sneezed and when he had to say a fricative.

What a shame to be worried about such petty things, of course.

No sooner had she walked up the stairs that she saw Adriana, her thick frame geek glasses hiding her real feelings. Her hair had grown over the summer to where it reached straight back in one stream to each shoulder. Surveying her new locker for the year, she carefully sorted through and placed the school supplies Lou had packed like sardines into her backpack. Never be underprepared for the new school year, the dad would say all the time. It made it look like she was a bum from that intersection the bus would always pass through near the river. Eventually, she would probably be busted for hoarding, and be even more outcast than she was, well, now. But a girl’s locker is also her space, and even if the school could open it, it had to be wardrobe, powdering mirror, social gathering spot, and school desk all in one. And occasionally, it was a place to hide for someone who needed it, a refuge for her best kept secrets. How that could fit in such a small space fools the best of us. Especially when she would leave notes to friends she never had, little reminders to others that she wanted to be there for a friend, but never could pass the notes to them because she was afraid. Adriana could never muster up giving her friends the notes.

And at the end of 7th grade, she threw them all away. As she did for the years before.

The sea of young blood parted seemingly as the last few rays of the sun of summer freedom blended into the fluorescent light of the modern industrial complex of a school built in the Seventies. Hope had walked these halls so many times before, but yet, the air of mystery seemed to pervade the young girl. As she walked towards her assigned room, she saw her best friend.

Hey you! Hope yelled. Welcome back to the dungeon. With a slight, casual embrace, they started talking. What’s going on so far today? As if it mattered that they had just discussed it yesterday on the front lawn.

Well, Hope, I have to say I have soooooo many classes that are stupid. Like literally this – she pointed to a piece of paper in her hand with a dot-matrix schedule – knitting and home economics? I’m 13 and going to college….I don’t want to have to be a grandma yet. I can smell the formaldehyde baths we’re going to have to take….

It already seemed like the year, barely 5 minutes old, was already destined for the doom of the doldrums. The late bell had not even rung, and her friend – or at least her good neighbor – was already in the red when it came to the attitude. For Hope, this was both the time to not only turn things around and do a favor for a friend, but to keep her own sovereignty. Well, don’t worry about it. We have class together, like, five times this quarter! You’ll like it, I guarantee. We’ll have fun, don’t worry. Hey, we have Boss Ross the art teacher together! It drew a smile from behind the glasses for Adriana, and helped her rise from the depths of the profundal zone of despair.

Without another word, the bell rang. Hey, we’ll be good together. I’ll see you later, Hope. Like, 12:30, show up in gym! Let’s cut class! Hope smiled – and then realized she had not found her locker yet.

Rushing towards the end of the hall where the note that had been left in the mailbox, and then placed in a side pocket of the bag by Carrie (keep in mind that a 13 year old girl may know what makeup she needs, but can’t comprehend the intricacies of being prepared for the most important pedagogical steps of tweenhood pseudo-academia) said where her belongings should go, she began a sprint for adequacy.

There was a definitely rushed occurrence in the making, where clumsiness and nervousness got in the way, but then it only got more complicated in the worst way from there. Turning a corner, she slipped on water, and in her way was the monster herself.

A girl of almost 14, and mature in all ways except to the common courtesy, Dari Collins stood in Hope’s way. A product of an upper-class family that was trying to assimilate to the life of a suburban drama princess, for she had not acquired the jewels and coat of arms requisite of dealing with things such as school buses instead of the subway and occasional BMW ride, recess on open lots rather than on fenced rooftops, and the fact that her parents now could drive 15 minutes to the country club rather than make it a weekend to head upstate, she hid her fear of social mediocrity by a certain type of prudent and forceful arrogance. She had 6 months to form her clique, and all she needed to do was sniff for the upscale department store perfume to track down those whom owed servitude to the Holy Grail of the puffed-up life. (Trust me, it’s not that hard to discern it.)

The collision took all of a split second. In the scene of the dark halls, one could view conceivably that while Hope fell, the decline of Dari was the books flying above. It was war breaking out in heaven, and Michael and his angels fought with the dragon Dari, and suddenly, the angels were cast out as Hope hit the floor.

Dari left nothing for the young girl to waste. She literally went after the poor girl. Mouth wide open, she looked down at her merino wool sweater, light blue and with argyle in grey and white, and yelled You bitch! This sweater is one hundred dollars!  This punch is going to take a customized fritching tailor to get this out!

Hope didn’t know how to react. Avoid conflict at all costs, her father would usually say. Just go with the flow. I’m so sorry. I need to get to class. Where’s Mrs. Donaldson’s room? One of the problems with being so protected is that it offers those with little social practice to, eh, acquire the right etiquette. It was a hard-hitting reality, quite literally.

You, had, better be kidding, you. Get out of here before I call my lawyer and turn your panties into pissrags. Dari literally granted her the free pass to class. It was singular because it would be the only one for her. After all, it was the first day; Dari had her seemingly inordinate but obviously obligatory schedule to maintain her status at the top of the totem pole.

As Hope ran off, Dari laughed in extreme anger, and pulled at her shirt, fanning out her tank underneath. That little beaver breath better