Every Friday I post excerpts from my work-in-progress (WIP for those in the know). These will mostly be rough drafts of chapters, but in some cases I’ll drop in a full short story. Once the full story is completed (or the short story published) the draft will go away, so enjoy it while you can!

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“Hey, baby, I think Smith’s got a hard-on for you.”

Justin slapped Megan’s butt with the ruler as he passed. More than a love tap, but just short of solid smack that could be heard throughout the room. She flinched, but didn’t turn around.

“Go away,” she said, voice barely audible.

“What did you say?” He stopped and leaned over the bench, his face inches from hers, smelling of cigarettes and hair gel. “You want to give me a kiss? Well, I’m not usually that easy, but for you I’ll make an exception.”

Megan stepped back as she removed a beaker from the bunsen burner and placed it in a cooling rack off to her side.

“Please leave me alone.”

“I could, but don’t think I will.” He straightened up, a nasty glint in his eyes. “Not before I win the science fair and keep you from getting the scholarship. Not that the money’s important to me. My father’s paying for everything.”

“Then why do you want the scholarship?” Try as might, Megan couldn’t keep the desperation out of her voice. “Isn’t being quarterback, class president, and homecoming king enough for you?”

Her stomach churned because she knew why he wanted to—in his mind, had to—beat her. Everyone did, which made him all the more determined.

Justin took a step forward, closing the gap Megan had opened. “No, it’s not enough,” he snarled in a low voice that only she could hear. “I want to crush you. Think you have a shot at Servetus? By the time I’m done, you won’t be allowed to graduate high school. Get used to the idea of hooking for a living.”

Megan found herself speechless as she tried to fathom how the situation with Justin had gotten so out of control. He didn’t need her. There were plenty of girls who’d spread for him any day of the week.

Although loathed to do it, she was about to beg for mercy when Katerina—Kat, if you wanted to avoid becoming acquainted with her fist—appeared and slide between them.

“Get lost, jerk-off.” She reached up, put her hand in the middle of his chest, and pushed him away from Megan. “Go back to your loser friends. You know, the ones who talk big to compensate for their lack of equipment.”

Justin face flushed as he balled his fists. He opened his mouth to reply, then at the last moment thought better and closed it. Even the mayor’s son hesitated to tangle with Kat Vinke. She might five foot nothing and slight as a willow twig, but that didn’t prevent her from putting guys on the ground faster than a kick in the nuts. A certain amount of respect was due a mixed martial arts champion, and Kat milked it for all she could.

Then again, maybe Justin thought of her father’s company, Vinke Enterprises. They employed half the town and tens of thousands more across the state. No one succeeded in Stratford, or in the western part of the state, without the Vinke stamp of approval. Justin’s father needed them to support his political ambitions, and if it meant sacrificing his son, town opinon was he’d gladly do it. After all, wasn’t his first name Abraham?

Megan watched as Justin retreated to the far side of the room, his buddies jeering at the surrender. She knew Kat meant well, but now he had another thing to hold against her.

“Why do you bother talking to him?” Kat hopped up and sat on the edge of Megan’s table. “He won’t forgive you, no matter how nice you treat him.”

“He came over. What was I supposed to do?” Megan pulled at a strand from the frizzy red mop that passed for hair during the winter months. “I can’t afford to antagonize Smith, and Justin’s the teacher’s pet.”

“I bet he is.” Kat grabbed an empty test tube and slowly stroked it up and down.

Megan looked like she’d bit into a lemon. “That’s disgusting.”

Kat shrugged. “You’re right, it is—and I hear he’s even smaller.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I don’t care why Smith likes Justin. I already have two strikes and don’t need a third.”

“Smith doesn’t blame you for the fire. It’s not like you spilled the alcohol on purpose. And besides, it only scorched the wall. It’s concrete, for heaven’s sake. You’d need a bomb to do any real damage.”

“The fire department…”

“It’s next door, and the firemen did nothing. We’re the ones who put it out.”

Megan grabbed a stool from under her table and sat. She looked Kat in the eyes.

“I’m scared. I thought I could win the scholarship, but not with Justin hell-bent on seeing me fail. He’s bright, even if obnoxious as hell.”

“Jesus, Megs, give yourself some credit. You’re the smartest person in school, and I’m counting teachers. Besides, Daddy said if you don’t win he’ll…”

“No!” Megan jumped off the stool. “I’m not taking charity from your family.”

“It’s not charity. Daddy wants someone to keep me on the straight and narrow when I go to Servetus, and he’s more than willing to pay for it.”

“I don’t want to be your nanny.”

“I wouldn’t let you. But I have enough self-awareness to know I make some pretty bad decisions. If we hang in college I might earn something other than tattoos and hangovers.”

Megan took a deep breath and tried to relax. “I have to admit, it’s hard to imagine life after high school without you. But I want to earn my way to Servetus.”

“Suit yourself.” Kat tilted her head to one side. “But maybe there’s a way I can help?”

“Not by using your family’s connections to influence the judges.”

“I wasn’t thinking along those lines, although now you mention it…”

Megan shook her head.

“Dude, there’s no pleasing you.” Kat sighed, then flashed a grin. “Wait, I’ve got an idea. I can be your lab assistant. We’ve always worked well together, and with double the labor you should get more done than anyone else, including Justin. You can have the entire prize when we win.”

“What about your project?”

“It couldn’t win a kindergarten contest, let alone one at the high school level. You know science isn’t my thing. I’m just going through the motions because it’s required.”

“And if Smith doesn’t let us?”

“My mom helped organize the science fair, and she’s been all in on teamwork for years. I’d be shocked if the rules didn’t allow it.”

Megan sat on the stool and picked up a cooled beaker. She held it above her head and, after examining the precipitate that had settled to the bottom, sighed in disappointment and placed it on the bench. She turned to Kat.

“Okay, we’ll enter as a team. But only if Smith approves.”

Kat flipped her blonde curls as she jumped off the table and struck pose worthy of a fashion magazine. “Before I’m done with him, he’ll think it’s the best idea he’s ever had.”

“No, let me…”

“Let you get nervous and stutter your way through the ask?” Kat shed her lab coat, licked her lips until they glistened, and flipped her safety glasses into Megan’s lap. “This calls for a professional. I’ll wait for him in the hall so no one overhears what we’re doing. Wish me luck.”

Megan groaned as Kat walked towards the lab door, a predator in search of its prey.

Some girls are born with a killer instinct. And then there’s me.

A hand moving down her back interrupted the thought. She spun and found Justin again in her face.

“Is your guard dog running off to chase squirrels?”

“What is wrong with you?” Megan tried to move away, but he grabbed her wrists and pulled her into his arms. He held tight as she struggled.

“No girl turns me down and gets away with it,” he hissed in her ear. “You’ll give me what I want, willingly or not—doesn’t matter to me.”

She looked past Justin, eyes wide and pleading, but no one seemed to notice what was happening. Or maybe they didn’t want to get involved. Either way, Megan’s blood ran cold.

Then the thought of being assaulted, in class of all places, caused a tide of anger to rush through her body. She began twisting and squirming with all her strength. She’d have kneed him in the groin if he hadn’t preemptively turned sideways and leaned a hip into her stomach.

“Let go, you asshole—I’ll kill you if you don’t leave me alone.”

Justin held on, chuckling in her ear. No matter how hard she tried, Megan couldn’t break away. With each of his hot breaths her outrage increased, but her ability to fight declined. It only took a few seconds to realize she was no physical match for him. She didn’t have Kat’s skills.

With that thought, her anger collapsed into despair. Nausea followed.

Megan slumped forward as her body went limp, her forehead coming to rest on Justin’s right shoulder. In retrospect, it was precisely the right move.

Periodically, I like to mention certain passages from my reading that I find captivating. The following narrative, from Azar Nafisi’s Reading Lolita in Tehran, is the kind of lyrical narrative that I aspire to write. One day I might actually succeed in doing it.

I ask, Who can dance Persian-style? Everyone looks at Sanaz. She is shy and refuses to dance. We start to tease her and goad her on, and form a circle around her. As she begins to move, self-consciously at first, we start to clap and murmur a song. Nassrin cautions us to be quieter. Sanaz begins shyly, taking graceful little steps, moving her waist with a lusty grace. As we laugh and joke more, she becomes bolder; she starts to move her head from side to side, and every part of her body asserts itself, vying for attention with the other parts. Her body quivers as she takes her small steps and dances with her fingers and her hands. A special look has appeared on her face. It is daring and beckoning, designed to attract, to pull in, but at the same time it retracts and refracts with a power she loses as soon as she stops dancing.

Every Friday I post excerpts from my work-in-progress (WIP for those in the know). These will mostly be rough drafts of chapters, but in some cases I’ll drop in a full short story. Once the full story is completed (or the short story published) the draft will go away, so enjoy it while you can!

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Higgins woke to the sound of crackling wildfire, the flames licking his skin. He wanted to open his eyes, to find an escape. But the fear was too strong. The demons might see him.

When the last vestiges of sleep left, he realized it was cold. So cold the nerves in his limbs were sending desperate pleas to move. His brain, addled as usual, refused to transmit the appropriate orders. As a minor concession, it allowed him to raise his eyelids.

It was pitch black. He wasn’t at home—it smelled all wrong. Too much rot and decay. And the gut-churning scent of rodents.

He sighed. Another day when he couldn’t remember where he was or where he’d been.

Again came the crackling noise, but now he recognized it—dried leaves crunching underfoot.

“Where should we put her?”

A young voice. Male. Nervous. Either that or a natural soprano.

“All the boss said was in the park where someone will find her sooner rather than later.”

A man’s voice. Deep and gravelly. All business. No emotion.

“What about the gazebo? At least the animals won’t get to her.”

Higgins turned his head towards the lantern light filtering in through the screens. He was in the gazebo.

“I don’t care if they eat her for breakfast as long as someone finds her before there’s nothing left. Let’s put her on the picnic table.”

“Kids use this path to get to school.”

“Perfect. They’ll find her first thing.”

More footsteps in the leaves, a dull thud as the body hit wood.

“Let me fix her dress,” the young one said. “I’d hate for some kid to see her half naked.”

“Why should you care? It’ll make the press happy. And the boss. He likes his warnings to be graphic.”

“If you say so.” Young voice didn’t sound happy.

“Let’s get out of here.” The man was used to giving orders, even if not the boss. “We need to check on the lab before going back to the motel, and I’d like to beat daybreak.”

The light and footsteps faded away. Higgins tried to sit up, but only rolled off the low bench and onto the floor. A field mouse, startled by the movement, squeaked and ran through a hole in the wall. He could hear it hit the leaves and move off.

He eventually struggled to his feet, wondering the whole time why he was sleeping in the park. The last thing he remembered was taking his medication. One day he’d have to get a better system for recognizing the different pills. Clarisse used to do it for him, but not anymore.

He tiptoed to the door and, seeing no one about, stepped out of the gazebo. The moon shown full and bright in the crisp night air. He stood still, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the new conditions. Not a quick process at his age. When they did, he shuffled over to the picnic table.

“Poor lass.”

He didn’t recognize her, and he knew all the local girls. Most only by sight. Some stopped to talk when they saw him, but mostly in the summer. He wasn’t out much in winter.

Higgins shook his head to clear a train of thought that threatened derailment. He bent over to examine the body. No obvious injuries. No blood, thank heavens. But her skin lay tight across a slight frame, ribs and pelvic bone protruding into the night air. She was an anorexic. Or food was scarce.

He put his hand on her chest. Cold as the night. Not recently dead.

Her open eyes, set in dark sockets, stared lifeless at the sky. The only thing covering her body, besides many tattoos, was a dress of sheer fabric. It had gathered up near the shoulders, leaving the rest of her body exposed. He felt the fabric. Could be silk, more likely satin. Not a dress to wear about the house with the weather turning. More like something a girl would wear to bed if she expected more than sleep. If his memory was accurate. No way to know these days.

Higgins walked into the woods a short way, down to the stream. He rummaged around and found two flat stones. Maybe water-polished granite, but hard to tell without a light. He placed them over her open eyes, then did his best to pull down her dress. Even the dead deserved modesty.

Satisfied that she was presentable, he set off on a path that headed northeast out of the park and towards the abandoned warehouses near the railroad tracks. He’d phone the police from the last working pay phone in one of the derelict guard shacks. No reason to wait until a kid found the body. That would be a life-scarring experience.

Just to be safe, he’d call in the tip anonymously. He didn’t need to get involved with the police. They’d love an excuse to get him off the streets and out of town. Why make it easy for them?

Every Friday I post excerpts from my work-in-progress (WIP for those in the know). These will mostly be rough drafts of chapters, but in some cases I’ll drop in a full short story. Once the full story is completed (or the short story published) the draft will go away, so enjoy it while you can!

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Life is funny—no matter how bad the situation, it can always get worse. Right until the last vestiges of hope explode in your face.

Megan Lark, face down on her notebook, was so deep in self-pity it took a second for her to recognize Mr. Smith was talking.

“… got something to say. I said listen up!”

She raised her head and grimaced. Not at the sight of her chemistry teacher, although there was a time when his long, unkempt beard, mangled red beret, and silly suspenders elicited that response. But she’d grown used to the odd little man, including his habit of standing on an upended milk crate and making melodramatic pronouncements.

Today he was in rare form. Waving a pudgy arm overhead and flushing with the exertion, he looked like a homeless garden gnome trying to hail a cab. No wonder he had trouble controlling the class.

“Stop talking right now—I mean it!”

No, the source of Megan’s disgust was more prosaic. An invisible cloud of sulfurous fumes wafted past on its way to the intake vent in the ceiling. She glanced toward the adjacent lab table where Phillip worked. From the look on his face, the experiment had failed. For the third time today if the reoccurring smell was any indication.

Guess I don’t need to worry about him. Not that it’ll matter if I can’t get mine to work.

Mr. Smith removed his beret and flailed it about, an eager matador in a room full of indifferent bulls. At last, a nearby student let loose a two-fingered whistle that could pierce eardrums. All conversation stopped, the din of voices replaced by an insistent hum from the overhead fluorescent lights.

“You must learn to pay attention,” Mr. Smith whined. “What if there was an emergency?”

“Is there an emergency?” Phillip looked ready to bolt for the door. “Can we end class early?”

Giggles rippled through the room. Mr. Smith cleared his throat and inadvertently slipping into a smokers hack. It sounded like he was trying to bring up a lung.

“That was just an illustration, as you well know,” he said, regaining his composure. “But I do have something important to say.”

Megan followed his eyes as Mr. Smith scanned the room, pausing to stare at a group of boys near the back of the lab.

Whoever’s guilty has ducked by now and you’re too short to see them.

“I’ve been told…,” Mr. Smith began. “That is, I’ve observed some of you treating the upcoming science fair competition a little too seriously.”

Megan frowned. First prize was a full scholarship to Servetus College. It wasn’t possible to take it too seriously

“Talking smack is one thing, but don’t get carried away.” He jabbed his beret at the air to emphasize the words. “Keep your hands on your own experiments. Anyone caught sabotaging a project is out of the science fair. You can also expect a suspension.”

“Does attempting to burn down the lab count?” Justin Dekker yelled from the back of the room.

The class erupted in laughter. Megan’s face went red.

“Very funny, Mr. Dekker. I’m not referring to that regretable incident. I just want to make it clear that neither I, nor the school, will tolerate cheating in any form.” Mr. Smith, hands on hips, dared another interruption. To Megan’s surprise, none came. “

“Good, I glad we understand each other. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to the front office for a few minutes. If I don’t return before the bell, be sure to put a copy of today’s results on my desk. And don’t forget your final reports are due in two weeks—on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Judging takes place over break, so no late submissions and no excuses.”

A collective groan rose in the room as the students imagined the month’s worth of work they’d have to cram into fourteen days. And that included weekends. Who wanted to work on weekends?

Mr. Smith continued talking, but Megan stopped listening. If she couldn’t figure out why the expected chemical reaction failed to materialize, the experiment would be useless. And since it was the last in a long chain of experiments, its failure meant she’d have garbage for a final report. Maybe enough to pass the class. Not good enough to win the competition.

“Earth to Ms. Lark.”

Megan followed the sound of her name back to Mr. Smith. He was balancing on the crate with one foot in the process of stepping off.

“Sorry, Sir. I was thinking about my experiment.”

“At least it wasn’t an idle daydream. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t plan on blowing anything up while I’m gone.”

“I’ll be careful, Sir.”

A second round of laughter. Megan fixed her eyes on the notes in front of her and ignored the snide comments that followed.

The amusement at Megan’s distress faded away as Mr. Smith left the lab. Most students were, at best, reluctant junior scientists who wanted to finish their projects as fast as possible, turn in a report, and forget about chemistry during the holiday weekend. If it was up to them, they’d forget about it forever.

But Megan wasn’t most students. She had plans. First college—as a chemistry major—and escape from the small tourist town of Stratford. Quaint as it was, the nearby beaches of Lake Michigan had little attraction for a sensitive ginger who could burn under a mid-winter sun.

Next came graduate school. At her most optimistic, she dreamed of attending Stanford or Berkeley, but anywhere with a good doctoral program would do. Then, depending on how the breaks fell, a faculty teaching and research appointment or a high-paying job in industry.

Megan looked up from the doodles of molecules she was drawing in her notebook to see who was talking about a vacation to Europe. She immediately dropped her gaze to the floor and sighed. Justin, twirling a stainless steel ruler in one hand and carrying a jar of chemicals from the front cabinet in the other, was taking the long way back to his lab table.

And he was heading straight for her.