Ç'est La Vie

By Salter Wright

Stella Anderson is no stranger to detention, but her latest infraction leads her to a group of fellow rule-breakers at her new school in Dewberry, Texas. However, when their teacher goes missing, these five misfits, each with their own unique quirks - McClark the ‘psychic,’ Quinby the underqualified ‘social navigator,’ Mira the small-town goth, Reagan the bitter and resentful, and Sella the pig-headed friend - must band together to uncover the truth behind Ms. Weaver’s disappearance. As they navigate their newfound roles as amateur detectives, will they crack under the pressure or rise to the challenge?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Feb 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9798886932959

Salter Wright

Salter grew up in Katy, Texas with her parents and two siblings—along with a variety of both dogs and exotic pets. She now attends college in Wichita Falls studying to become a studio artist and hopes to continue telling stories for the rest of her life. Salter’s cat—Kyle—is her devoted writing partner, even though he spends most of his time napping.

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About the Author

Salter grew up in Katy, Texas with her parents and two siblings—along with a variety of both dogs and exotic pets. She now attends college in Wichita Falls studying to become a studio artist and hopes to continue telling stories for the rest of her life.

Salter’s cat—Kyle—is her devoted writing partner, even though he spends most of his time napping.

Dedication

To Julia—In remembrance of our illegal library lunches.

To Grammy and Grandad—For creating the real Chicken Hawk.

To Dad—C’est la vie :)

Copyright Information ©

Salter Wright 2024

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Wright, Salter

Ç’est La Vie

ISBN 9798886932942 (Paperback)

ISBN 9798886932959 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023916341

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

[phone]

Acknowledgment

I would like to thank my grammy for always being there for me—as well as editing all of my books.

Portable Houses and Awkward Encounters

Stella Anderson

When Mom tells me we’re moving, I’m less than thrilled. When she tells me where, I want to die.

It’s a small town in north Texas! Mom says enthusiastically—too enthusiastic for my taste. "I saw some pictures online! It’s going to be so…quaint."

Anything Mom describes as quaint usually ends up being just the opposite. Wait, wait, wait. I hold out my hands, trying to calm Mom’s rambling. Why?

Mom looks up from where she excitedly wraps silverware in dishcloths. Why, what, Honey?

Why Texas? Why are we moving? Why…

Yee haw! Mom exclaims. Hold your horses! Too many questions.

I run a hand through my hair, annoyed that it catches on my braid so I tug it out. First off, why Texas?

Well, Mom seems pleased with the silverware and proceeds to pack up the plates. Your father’s been hired at some ice cream company down there. Seems like a pretty big deal, the way he’s been talking about it.

Well, at least ice cream isn’t bad.

"Stella, please try to be happy about it. I look at Mom only to see her suddenly somber, not a fake southern accent in sight. This is the first interview your dad’s gotten. You know how he’s been lately."

I do, in fact. Becoming ever-more reclusive, Dad basically lives in his bathroom, claiming it is the only place he can get some peace and quiet. I’m not completely heartless, despite what Mom may think. I head over and help her wrap some plates.

Of course, I’m happy for him. I say with a sincere smile. She doesn’t know my grinning teeth hide a forked tongue.

☮

In six-and-a-half days, we arrive Nowhere-On-The-Map in Dewberry, Texas. And, I’m unsurprised to find it less than quaint. My family’s never had loads of money and we’d probably be considered poor by modern standards, but this is rock bottom. Serves me right, I guess, as soon as I stopped falling, the ground opened up again.

Our minivan putters to a stop just outside a raggedy-looking house. No, a portable, really.

Cinder blocks are piled into neat, little rows with the house resting on top. I look at Mom, watching her permanent smile begin to waver.

What the hell is this?

Language! She looks at me, smile not reaching her eyes. "Your dad’s just trying his best.

The least we can do is be grateful.

I groan. The only thing to be grateful for is that the house is still standing.

☮

It only takes me about an hour to get settled. I only have two boxes of trinkets and yarn with various knitting needles thrown on top. I lay the thick sweater on my bare bed, messing with the unfinished sleeve. It’s my pride and joy…my first big project. Somehow, seeing it helps me ignore the thin window panes and exposed walls. I grab it and head to the living space.

Maybe I’ll be able to get something done after all.

☮

Nearly two hours later, I’m in a nest of white and red yarn, hopelessly trying to salvage the sleeve. The tiny strawberries I’m trying to knit look more like bloated tomatoes and the whole sleeve is entirely too long.

Mom and Dad left nearly twenty minutes ago and I’ve already ruined everything. What good is a skill if you can’t do it when no one’s watching?

Before I can destroy the yarn nest with my little kiddie scissors, a loud knock echoes from the door to my left.

Shit.

With the grace of an exhausted sloth, I snip through the tangles and stand, facing the door. Another knock reaches my ears, louder this time.

Coming! I call, not moving from my spot.

With a final push, I yank open the door, startling the scrawny kid on my porch. His oversized Just Do It shirt has a hole in the armpit and his loose jeans are ripped and faded. He looks to be about my age but is an entire head taller. But I don’t care. I feel taller.

Yeah?

My dad wanted me to say ‘hello’.

I stare at the kid through his thick-rimmed glasses and raise an eyebrow. Yeah, yeah, my manners aren’t all that great, but kids like me are built for smokes behind schools and Burger King kid’s meals. I already felt uncomfortable in this open grassland…only about four other portable homes are in sight.

Okay… I start, wanting to close the door. Scrawny looks over his shoulder, as if he’s worried he’s being followed. What’cha doin?

He snaps his attention back to me so quickly that I wonder if he hurt his neck. Hello. I squint. Hi…

Goodbye.

Before I can say anything else, Scrawny is gone, speed-walking toward the neighboring portable.

I shake my head, trying to absorb such a weird interaction. What the hell was that…

Must be that ‘southern charm’ I keep hearing about. I spare a glance at my destroyed sweater and I angrily wipe at my eyes. Two months of hard work, gone in twenty careless minutes. Now I won’t have a sweater for Christmas. I storm over to the couch, grab the nest of yarn, and toss it in the garbage. Hell, I don’t even put a bag in first.

I rummage through the box of office supplies on the kitchen floor and pull out a blank notepad. All Mom’s grocery lists were ripped off before we moved and are therefore still in Denver. I chuckle. You know it’s bad when you envy month-old grocery lists.

I pull out an inkless pen and scribble in the corner of the pink paper until a thin line of black dances across the page.

Mom,

I’m going to scope out the neighborhood. I’ll be back in an hour.

It’s 5:30 right now.

-Stella

Mom won’t be too pleased when I get back, but that’s a problem for six-thirty.

Chicken Hawk

Quinby Harden-Key

I’m in McClark’s basement again, playing Chicken Hawk—a game we made up at age seven, involving an oven mitt, a chessboard, and a koosh ball. It’s a stupid game, really, but it’s fun. And that’s all that matters, anyway.

It’s been almost fifteen minutes since McClark’s dad called him upstairs, probably to empty the trash or something. Meanwhile, I look for a good hiding place. This round, I would be playing speed-chess while McClark has to find the oven mitt. After he does so, he’ll take the koosh ball and knock all the chess pieces off the board, shouting chicken hawk the whole time. But if he fails, I shout chicken hawk as soon as I free the queen.

Now that I think about it, it’s a really weird game that makes less than zero sense. But we were practically babies at the time it was invented so, I guess having fun is the main goal.

I finally decide to tuck the oven mitt inside McClark’s hanging jacket and make my way upstairs to see what’s keeping my friend.

McClark? I call as soon as I burst into the kitchen. Where’d you go?

He’s at the neighbor’s house! Dr. Alistair McClark calls from the living room. I poke my head through the door.

Why? No one lives there.

Dr. Alistair closes his expensive laptop. A family just moved in this morning. Thought it’d be good for him to say hello.

I nod, knowing McClark would never go on his own. He hates new neighbors. I’ll go too. I offer. For emotional support.

Dr. Alistair chuckles. Go for it. Just remember your mom wants you home before six. I nod, already heading out the door.

Grab your jacket!

I run back inside, heeding Dr. Alistair’s request. I salute him with a smirk before closing the door behind me.

☮

The neighboring house doesn’t have a car in the driveway.

Probably at the store. I think as I shove my shaky hands in my pockets. Dammit. Muv still needs me to get milk…

I step into the super light snow and smile. It didn’t snow last year, or the year before that.

Each time it happens, it’s like a magic carpet draped across the world.

But before I can reach the front porch McClark barrels into me, knocking us both into the snow. I can’t help but cry out in surprise. Thank God I have my coat.

McClark? I sit up with a groan. What are you doing?

Terry McClark shoots off the ground, as if the snow burns him. Dad wanted me to say ‘hello’.

I take my friend’s offered hand. So I’ve heard.

We take turns whipping the snow—cold water, by now—off each other. I notice McClark doesn’t have a jacket, leaving his Just Do It shirt uncovered. Well, did you say hello?

Many times. He runs a hand through his slightly-greasy hair. "Dad would say too many."

"Was it that bad?"

He looks down at his snow-covered sandals. It was pretty bad.

I grab him by the elbow and haul him back toward the porch. He whines a little but if he really wants to get away, he can.

I knock on the red, peeling door three times. I shove my hands in my pockets again, trying to hide their shaking. McClark notices…McClark always notices.

You good?

I nod. Something with my meds. I’ll talk to your dad later.

McClark nods and steps away from the door. All is silent in the house, almost as if she disappeared—quite unlikely—or is avoiding us—probably.

Maybe she left? McClark suggests.

Where would she go? I shiver. God, it’s freezing.

Let’s go back to the basement.

I sigh in relief, excited for the smell of the heat being cranked up. We step off the slightly-raised porch and into the snow. But before we can take another step, a bike appears out of nowhere, knocking both of us to the ground. I sigh internally. All I want is to chill on the ripped couch in McClark’s basement after a long day at school. But when do I ever get what I want?

Hey! the girl on the bike shouts, clambering around in the snow. Watch it!

Before either of us can react, she pauses, doing a double take when she sees McClark. What the hell are you still doing at my house?

Ugh… he sputters. My dad wanted me to say ‘hello’.

Her long brown braid has snow and ice melting between the strands. The girl rolls her eyes before jutting her chin in my direction. What about you?

I jump to my feet, whipping the snow off my leather jacket. I also wanted to say hello… I sound like an idiot. There is snow in my shoe.

Hello… The girl nods skeptically. I’m Stella.

I’m Quinby. I reply, offering my hand. She doesn’t take it. Hello…

We awkwardly avoid eye contact for another few moments. McClark says nothing more. This is McClark. I say after my friend begins shuffling his feet. McClark breathes a sigh of relief.

Yes. he says, raising his chin. I am McClark.

Stella nods hesitantly, looking at us as if we had run into her. Okay, see you around, I guess.

With that, she stiffly hops on her bike. Without a second glance, she rides down the street, heading toward the town center.

I sigh, looking up at McClark. He nods, as if thanking me for introducing him. You wanna go back to the basement?

I nod but suddenly remember. No, Muv needs me to grab milk from Walmart.

Want company?

No, I shake my head. It’s fine. By the time I get home, it will be dark. I don’t want Dr. Alistair to worry.

McClark shrugs. See you in homeroom, I guess.

With that, I turn following the same path Stella did only moments before. McClark! I smile, turning on the spot. My friend faces me, his hand on the doorknob.

Yeah?

I hid the oven mitt! I smile so wide my gums show. Try to find it!

McClark grins before disappearing inside his house. I turn again, the ghost of my smile already fading. I follow Stella’s bike tracks in the snow, wishing I could ride a bike. Neither Mom nor Muv had taught me when I was little. I don’t mind, though, they were too busy lovin’ on little toddler me. Soon, the tracks begin to fade in the freshly falling snow. I hope I don’t run into McClark’s mean neighbor again—either literally or figuratively. But knowing me, I’m probably going to end up doing a group project with her or something.

I pull my beanie out of my pocket and shove it over my dark curls. Stella and I are probably heading to the same place; I’m just slower.

Kidnapped, Drugged, and Raped

Stella Anderson

The town center is less than impressive to say the least. The entire thing consists of a rundown gas station, small Walmart, a few nameless businesses, and Buena Comida, a hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant. But I’m not interested in the local establishments. I came to scope out the high school.

The building itself is in surprisingly good shape, considering the rest of the town’s condition. The clouds and light snow give the beige building an otherworldly vibe. I just wish I didn’t have to arrive at seven A.M. tomorrow morning.

I quickly skid over toward the lit-up LED notice board, hoping there will be some kind of information cycling about. Almost one-third of the bulbs are blown out and a few flickered faintly. I scrunch my eyebrows, watching the words Home of the Dewberry Foxes dance about. After spending a whole minute staring at the screen, I snap myself back into the present.

Come on, let’s find the entrance.

I remount my bike, gingerly lowering my butt onto the freezing seat. I grit my teeth. I’ve got to find the entrance. I refuse to look like a headless chicken tomorrow morning.

I bike toward the gym and pause to shove on my gloves. There’s nothing behind Dewberry High except for vast land with a lonely brown cow. Her name is now Tammy. I yank my waist-length hair out of its braid, hoping it will help warm my neck.

I wish I had finished my sweater…

With a shiver, I kick off once again.

After circling the thankfully small school, I find the entrance…right next to where I started my search. I curse my stupidity. Well, at least now I know.

My mind flies back to my run-in with the two boys in my front yard.

Quin? I think. Was that his name? And his lanky friend…McClark? Weird name…

McClark had been taller; his forehead was speckled with acne. He seemed weird…as if something was wrong with him. I know it’s wrong to judge people by their first impression, but I can’t help it. I’m a judger.

The other kid—Quin was his name?—was quite short, standing eye-to-eye with me. He had a mess of dark, curly hair and light brown skin. But the most striking thing about him probably had to be his huge, green eyes. It’s an odd mix of colors, but I think he looked pretty cool.

The low rumble of thunder slaps me in the face, bringing me back to Dewberry’s school grounds. I groaned, feeling huge rain drops fall amongst the snow. Damn it! I’ve only been here for five hours and it’s already snowed and rained. This is ridiculous.

I raise my kickstand and take off, deciding to head home a little early. I’d rather get yelled at inside than stand in the freezing rain at Dewberrys.

☮

What were you thinking? Mom shouts as she unpacks her groceries. I’m glad Dad’s at work. He wouldn’t yell; he’d just sit at the table, disappointed. You could have been kidnapped! Drugged! Raped! The list goes on and on!

Mom, chill. I’m almost sixteen. I try to pacify, already knowing it’s pointless. I just went to check out the school.

This is a brand-new town! You don’t know anyone yet!

I roll my eyes and yank off my soaked hoodie. Anyone who says Texas isn’t cold is a liar. Exactly! If I’m going to school tomorrow I need to know where it is!

You are not going tomorrow. Mom says in that tone. You should stay and settle in. Her mind’s made up, but mine isn’t.

"No! I’d rather be at school than ‘settle in’ here," I retort. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Wait, that’s a lie. I want to regret them, but I don’t.

Besides, I continue, ignoring my mom’s reddening ears. "I do know someone."

Oh really? Mom puts the ground beef in the fridge and faces me.

Two guys. About my age.

Mom raises an eyebrow. She’s probably watching countless, questionable scenarios in her head as I speak. No matter what I say, I’m always in danger of being kidnapped, drugged, or raped. The list goes on and on!

When? she asks skeptically.

While you were at the store. They were in the front yard. Mom raises an eyebrow. Why…?

I shrug, still unsure myself. Their parents wanted them to say hello.

I can’t take you to school tomorrow, I have a job interview. Mom sighs. You sure you want to bike?

I smile, enveloping her in one of my famous bearhugs. Yeah, I say once she resumes putting away groceries. I already did it once. I’ll be fine.

Fine. Mom frowns, as if hating herself for allowing me out of the house. Dinner will be ready in an hour. Go change into something less…wet.

I look at my soaked sweats and tee, less than impressed by their performance this afternoon. I nod, stepping into my tiny room. I strip and sprawl on the bed.

Tomorrow will be better…it has to be…

Almond Milk and Popsicles

Quinby Harden-Key

Milk, milk, milk… since sometime last week, the entirety of Walmart was rearranged.

Everything is wrong, and I can’t find the damn milk!

I turn the corner into the frozen goods aisle. I remember opening each of the freezer doors at age five, loving the gush of cold air. Mom and Muv would look at each other fondly before shooing me through the store, at least until toddler-me found another freezer.

I smile, opening a fingerprint-smudged clear door. I pull out a box of Dreamsicles.

Cassidy will love these. I throw them in my basket.

Ever since Mom bought a pack of popsicles earlier this year, my baby sister has been obsessed. Every night after dinner, Cassidy asks Pozicle? Pozicle? and Mom replies Not today, Honey. It’s too cold outside. Cassidy would be upset until it’s baff time and she gets to play with her water Barbie.

I smile. Tonight, she’ll get a popsicle.

I continue wandering the store, the dairy section nowhere in sight. I pass the meat section twice but have no use for it. Muv’s always been vegetarian and I find myself following her footsteps. Mom, however, has yet to be convinced.

Ma’am? I stop an exhausted looking employee. Do you know where the milk is?

Just past the cosmetic section. she sighs, sounding like she has a personal vendetta against the world. Yeah, I know. It makes no sense! As soon as people get used to this place, they’ve gotta go ‘remodeling’ everything.

With that, she turns, presumably off to clean the bathroom or something equally foul.

I shake my head and begin walking toward the cosmetic section. But despite the rearranging, the aisle still positively reeks of perfume and nail polish. I chuckle to myself.