I’ve been bad at the NaNoWriMo thing. I think it’s the daunting task of writing chapters in order. So, instead, I’m going to try writing scenes (from that book I’ve been trying to finish for the last few years). Oh, and draw something too, because I’m horribly, woefully out of practice.

Starting with conflict. Because who doesn’t like conflict?

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After school let out, Laynie came over one last time. In theory, she was going to help me pack—and help my family eat one far-too-large pizza. Mostly, though, she sat on the floor of my room, picking at my blue cloth-spun rug as I bounced from one end of to the other, packing items in a frenzy.

“How long are you going to be gone?” she asked, watching me grab a ball from behind the dresser. “My dad’s premiere is next month, and he said I could take a guest, if you want.”

“Can’t.” I grinned, and held a Coney Island shirt to my chest. “July’s when we’re going down to the parks.”

“Oh. Okay.” She caught my eye as I folded the shirt. “I suppose I could ask Jim.”

“Ask whomever you want,” I grumbled, stuffing it into a side pocket. Couldn’t think about Jim. “Hey, did you know they opened up a new ride up at Six Flags?”

Laynie perked up. “Magic Mountain? We could go after you get back.”

“No, New England. It’s supposed to be super-cool. Goes upside-down and everything!” I put on my best demonic smile. “I bet Hal’ll be too scared to go. But that’s okay, my mom will be up for it. She loves scary rides.” I clambered into the closet and dug around. Laynie said something, but I couldn’t catch it from inside. “What?” I said, sticking my head out.

“I said, too bad you’ll miss the parade,” she replied, focusing her attention on my blue-and-green rug. “Fourth of July is killer. They have great floats, and the fireworks! No better place than the dam to watch them.” She made exploding gestures with her hands. I shrugged.

“Eh, they’re probably not as good as the ones in the city.” And ducked back into the closet. ‘Well, I like them.’ was her muffled reply. She said a few other things, but I couldn’t make heads or tails while digging around my game box, so I just made a couple of non-commital “uh-huh”s and “yeah, sounds cool”s.

“Aha!” I exclaimed, and pulled my travel Scrabble set—and myself—out of the closet to hear her say ‘tournament’s at the end of August.’ “Hm?”

“My soccer tourney?” she replied, skeptical of my listening skills. “You’ve gotta be back by then. It’s epic. We’re playing the northern California kids, and they’re vicious.”

“I don’t know if you can really be vicious if you never score,” I said. Laynie scowled, said nothing, picked at the rug again. I shrugged. “I mean, I don’t know all that much about soccer. It’s kind of boring.” I picked up that bottlecap I’d been saving for Hal off my dresser, and held it up.

“Oh man, did I tell you Hal and Annie are going to come get us?” I said, and slipped the bottlecap into the knapsack’s front pocket. “Annie’s promised a right celebration. A surprise party and everything!”

“Is it really a surprise if you already know about it?” Laynie asked, still idly picking at the rug.

I stopped packing for a moment, and walked up to her, kicking the tassels of the rug. They flicked her fingers, and she looked up, surprised. “What?”

I crossed my arms across my chest. “You could at least pretend to be happy for me. If you’re going to do nothing but wisecrack and tear apart my rug… You don’t have to be here, you know?”

It was, of course, precisely the moment after I said those words when I realized I’d perhaps made a mistake. Laynie stood in one swift movement, her normally tame bronze hair flung back in defiance. She was angrier than I’d ever seen her.

“I could say the same thing for you, Callahan,” she said cooly. “What are you still doing here? Your head’s been in the East Coast for at least a week already. Why even deign to spend time with us West Coast rejects, huh? Wasting time until you can go hang out with people who actually mean something to you?”

“That’s not fair,” I said, hearing my voice go higher against its will. “Why can’t I be excited about going back home for the first time in months?”

“It’s not home. This is your home.” She took a step forward, forcing me to unintentionally step back to steady myself.

“Just because we’re being forced to stay here for a couple of lousy years—” I raised my chest, standing on my toes to level with her, and glared. “You don’t even know what it’s like to leave everything you care about. And for nothing! Do you even know what I go through, being here?”

I picked up one of the books on my dresser and shook it in her face. “I don’t fit in, Lain. I get teased because your stupid friends would rather play pogs and dodgeball than read a book at recess. It’s like being in some sort of horrible alternate reality.”

“No one says you have to read every day,” she said, eyes narrowing. “Would it really kill you to come hang out with us once in awhile?”

“Yes. Because it’s. Not. Me!” I exclaimed. “I don’t like getting hit with a ball. I don’t like making fun of the lunch staff. I. Like. My. Books. I am who I am, and here, no one gets that. When I’m back home, everyone does. Why do you keep on trying to change me?”

Laynie threw up her hands and grabbed my book, throwing it on the bed. “You live here now. You go to school here. You might as well try and fit in.”

“Who says I want to be anything like you people?” I hissed, and grabbed the book. Tears were welling up against my will. “You’re mean, and selfish, and you don’t want to learn new things or expand your world or do anything but sit on the damn beach and sing Christmas carols—who DOES that?!”

Her eyes narrowed to slits. “You’re such a hypocrite. I don’t know how your real friends can stand it.”

“My real friends?” I replied, slamming my book on the floor. “Well, they sure wouldn’t treat me like you do.”

“Why you….” Laynie opened her mouth to say something, then started again. “All I’ve done is try and help you. This entire time. Life raft after life raft! It’s not my fault you’re absolutely insistent on letting yourself drown.”

“That’s because all you can do here is drown. Drown in stupidity and ignorance and suntan lotion—” I had gone too far again, and I knew it, but I barreled on. “—so maybe I’d rather sail back home than follow the rules of some vapid movie star’s daughter!”

Laynie raised her hand upward. For sure, she was going to hit me. I winced, and shut my eyes.

But nothing came.

“You’re not worth it.” The ice in her voice broke, replaced by something much sadder. I opened my eyes, but she had already turned for the door, and was down the stairs before I could even blink.

“I’ve gotta be going, Mrs. Callahan,” I heard her say, muffled through the floor. I tried to speak, to move, to say anything, but it my body was stuck. Broken. All it could do was listen. Listen to my mother ask her why she wasn’t staying for dinner. Listen to Laynie make an excuse about a movie. Listen to my mother ask her if everything was quite alright, and the all-too-quiet click of the front door.

And then she was gone.

“Lain.” My voice had caught up with my thoughts. I ran to my bedroom window, watched her cross-cut through our hedge, under the loose board in the fence, slipping back to her house. It was too late.

I stumbled backwards to the rug, numbly collapsing down to the floor, staring at the threads she’d pulled out.

“Andrew?” My mother was at the door. I snapped up and began throwing things into my knapsack with abandon.

She opened the door to find me digging under the bed for a wayward sock. “Laynie sure left in a hurry. Everything okay?”

“Yup!” In the space of two seconds, I had become a cheery packing robot. “Fine! She had plans with her dad. Got worried she was going to miss them! You know how much she likes spending time with her dad!” I went to grab a book, and found my mother’s hand firmly but gently over mine.

“Wyst,” she said, “Come now.”

But the cheery packing robot could not be dissuaded. I shrugged her hand off mine with a smile, and grabbed the book. “Really, mom. She was just concerned.”

I turned away to slide the book in my knapsack, and heard her sigh. I tried not to bite my lip; failed, looked down. “Okay,” she said. “Well, your flight’s bright and early tomorrow. Your dad should be home with dinner soon, then you’d best get to bed.”

“Okey-doke!” I replied, using whatever elements of cheeriness I had left to sustain the conversation. It worked, more or less. She left the room, closing the door behind her. As it clicked, I fell backward onto the bed next to my bag.

“You’re an idiot, Wyst.” I mumbled to myself.

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