[Ambrose]

Michelle had to finish her homework assignment before seven, or else. Those were her mom’s words. What would happen if she didn’t get her assignment done by seven was anyone’s guess but Michelle was a good guesser and she guessed as much to know it was entirely in her best interest to obey her mother’s wish. The homework in question was geometry, calculating angles and arctangents and all that nonsense. She had never been a visual learner nor did she particularly excel in math, so geometry was a challenge for her. Oft she imagined the parallelograms and the isosceles triangles were the bars of the imaginary prison that she would frequent on Sunday nights. The only escape was to grit her teeth and spend several hours of a perfectly good weekend doing it. And then there were the phone calls, Ashley Simms calling to see if she’d watched last week’s Cute Guys With Musclely Arms, which of course she had, and to speculate about whether Marcus and Kelly were likely to get together in this week’s episode.

But this Sunday night she absolutely positively had to get her homework done by seven–and not just because her mom would go incredible hulk on her if she didn’t–and she had every intention of meeting this lofty goal. Because this Sunday night, she had, hold the phones, a date. Yeah, she could hardly believe it herself. Her, Michelle Gellens, awkward social person extraordinaire–or ASP for short. She could just imagine Ashley gasping and turning bug eyed after telling her, as she would shortly, the hot news. She had it all planned out in her head too. She’d say “So guess who it is?” to which Ashley would practically scream “Tell me!” and she would say again in that smug voice of hers “I said guess.” Of course, Ashley would never be able to guess who Mr. Mystery was. She herself did not know who he was until last Friday around four o’clock.

He’d come up to her in a leather jacket and tattered blue jeans, looking like he belonged in college or in a TV show instead of at her high school. In fact, she had thought he bore striking resemblance to Mike from Cute Guys With Muscley Arms, that is, until he spoke to her and all thoughts in her head ceased to exist. He’d said “hi”, and it seemed at the time like the doors to heaven were opening up behind him. He was drop-dead gorgeous, with long wavy black hair and intense blue eyes. She almost melted like a stick of butter looking into those eyes. Fortunately, instead of melting, she managed to say “hi” back, although her voice sounded admittedly a little skittish. The conversation continued on, with Blue Eyes saying something and she nodding in total agreement. Her mind was only able to register the words “date” and “Sunday” and “seven” and just when she thought the time bomb inside her was about to go off he turned and walked off, at which point, she had the guilty pleasure of observing a backside that might have been torn from a magazine ad.

All she knew from her surprise encounter was that his name was Dylan and that there was good chance his father was a Greek God. That meant she would get to be a Goddess for a night, and it also meant she would have to sneak one of her sister’s expensive dresses–please don’t crucify me Stasha–along with some of her La Mer lipstick. She estimated that it would take her an hour to finish her geometry, which left her with a sparse two more to get ready. In her head, the parallelograms were battling with a bunch of tiny leather-jacketed Dylans whom her imagination had gifted with broadswords and steel helmets. She commanded herself to focus for several more minutes when the phone rang. It was Ashley.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe what Marcus said to Kelly last week. Doesn’t he know she’s dating Chris?” Her voice was an excited mix of girly astonishment and incredulousness.

There was no skipping over the show and Michelle listened with less than normal enthusiasm as Ashley confided her thoughts about Marcus and Kelly’s latent romance. Afterward Michelle said, “So guess what?” and after the conversation had played out like she had imagined in her head, she broke the news about her date.

“No way!”

“Yes way.”

“NO! WAY!”

This two-word conversation continued for some time and then Ashley finally said, “You better tell me everything tomorrow, and I mean everything.” Michelle could hardly think past seven o’clock this evening, but told her friend that yes, she would definitely divulge all the gory details over lunch the next day. Cross her heart and hope to die. That is unless her heart happened to burst between now and then from over-excitement. Then Ashley, recovering from gossip induced shell shock, went into length about how big of a deal this was for Michelle, what with her history of lackluster boyfriends that had been, in her words, “so nerdy” and also the only boys that Michelle could approach without being a complete and utter ASP. This was her chance to show that skank Megan and all the other ditsy cheerleaders that there was a new candidate for Prom Queen and one that didn’t have to blow the football captain to gain recognition.

When Michelle finally hung up the phone, it was a quarter till six and she cursed herself. Pep talk with one’s friend was a critical part of the date preparation equation, but right now the only equations that mattered were the ones staring her in the face. She looked over the remaining problems, trying to will her brain to understand them. After a few frustrated minutes, she decided, most begrudgingly, that she was hopelessly and inevitably doomed as far as her and the Monday Quiz were concerned, and began to randomly scribble down numbers. Fifteen minutes later, she was plundering her sister’s wardrobe where she happened to find a most exquisite treasure that was only a smidgeon too long for her. She shortened the bottom with thumb tacks and then disappeared into the bathroom to do her makeup. There might as well have been a WARNING, DO NOT TOUCH label on her sister’s designer lipstick because it was locked away in not one, but two plastic containers. She applied a liberal amount and then licked her lips and smiled at her sharp reflection. She might have thought her sister a nutcase for spending so much money on this stuff but one thing was for sure: it did the job. The dark red transformed her from an ordinary teenager into a femme fatale. She was surprised to find she could look so pretty. If Blue Eyes didn’t lay a wet one on her tonight, the universe might as well implode.

At a quarter till seven, she was waiting outside her house, under the pretense that she was taking out the garbage. That excuse wouldn’t have held a drop had her mom been home and not at her meeting, but fortunately it was her dad she’d told it to, he who had only peered over the newspaper at her with fleeting interest and said “Don’t forget the recycling.” In addition to the dress and the makeup, she had also stolen her sister’s Armani purse. She felt like a million bucks, and when a car showed up in her driveway at five after that number had gone up tenfold.

“Hey.” It was one word, but it might as well have been a freight train bearing down on her. Her heartbeat skyrocketed and her legs turned instantly into Jell-O. “Hey.” She managed, before climbing into the front seat. Now removed from school and green lockers and drinking fountains, Blue Eyes looked much older, and, if possible, even more handsome. He was still wearing his leather jacket and tattered jeans, like they were his halo of sexiness. How is it possible that he can be into me? Michelle found herself thinking. Then he flashed her a five-hundred-degree smile, revved the engine a few times, and they were off.

It hadn’t even occurred to Michelle where they were going. No, such mundane thoughts seemed to escape her at this moment. All she could do was think about how lucky she was. Then Blue Eyes turned to her and said, “Hey, you know what?” to which her head had spun around of its own accord and she found herself listening more intently than she ever listened in any of her classes. “I was thinking, instead of your typical dinner and a movie, I could show you something really special. Would you like that?” Her head then began to move rapidly up and down. Michelle the conscious being had been replaced by Michelle the loyal puppet. And she was all too willing to let him pull the strings.

“I’m glad you agree.” He said, but all she heard was his blue eyes and radiant smile. All she saw was his brisk, charming voice. Inside, she felt like an adult, not the adolescent girl who popped pimples in front of the mirror and made penis jokes with her friends over the phone. The lipstick and the dress had helped of course. But it was the way he looked at her that had done it. It was the way he looked at her that made her feel the way she did now. The pearly gates had opened all the way and she had officially died and gone to heaven.

Some indefinite amount of time later, Michelle found herself at the top of a hill overlooking a beautiful sunset, and coincidentally, a severe drop-off a quarter of a mile beyond blocked off by guard rail. They’d driven up in silence, Blue Eyes a beautiful statue at the wheel and she his number one spectator. Now Blue Eyes was staring confidently ahead, the cuff of his leather jacket popped, making him look like a fearless pilot on his way to battle. God he was gorgeous, she thought with a wayward glance, oblivious to the fact that the car was now aimed right for the cliff.

When she realized this, reality tore the strings from his wonderful grasp and she felt her heart start to pound with something other than blind admiration. The car was idling at the top of the hill and she was suddenly aware that she was sweating. Her voice stuck in her throat. Across from her, Blue Eyes gripped the wheel like a drag racer, readying himself for the flag. His face had become a twisted mockery of its former self. His eyes flashed dangerously in their dark sockets and he was smiling a disturbing, toothy smile.

“Dylan.” She said, and then as if on command Blue Eyes put the car in gear and floored it. “Dylan.” This time it came out a high-pitched squeal. Her heart was beating out of control. Blue Eyes, now better described as Dark Eyes, looked wild and possessed and still, somehow, impossibly handsome. “Dylan!” It was a scream. But Dark Eyes seemed not to hear it. His eyes were trained unflinchingly on the guard rail that they would collide with in a matter of seconds. Fearing for own life, she launched herself at him, yanking fiercely on the wheel. His grip was unfathomably strong. She felt like she was tugging on a cement block. The car didn’t so much as veer an inch in either direction. Up ahead, the cliff loomed like an impossibly bad outcome. Everything was happening now in slow motion, like she was in a dream.

She wished now more than anything that she could go back to her room, back to drudging through her geometry homework. How could she have been so stupid and irresponsible? How could she have agreed to go out with some guy she barely knew? And, most importantly, how could he be so good-looking? Now she was going to die. Dark-Blue Eyes had turned out to be some psycho, who woulda’ guessed, and now the two of them were going to go down in a fiery blaze.

The guard rail was straight ahead. She could feel the impact moments away, hear the rending metal. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Then, at the last minute, Dark-Blue Eyes threw on the breaks and performed a quick and skillful 180 that she was completely oblivious to. The car came to a sudden stop and her eyes shot open. One moment they had been heading at breakneck speed toward certain death and the next they were stopped peacefully at the end of the road, the sunset once again in main view. Her entire body was trembling. She was too stunned for words.

Then Dark-Blue Eyes turned to her and spoke seven words for her; seven words that reflected the seven inches between the back fender and the guard rail, words that only vaguely registered in Michelle’s mind. He said: “What’s it feel like to be alive?”

[Peppy]

Man, oh man, that was good. Well, the ending was portion was good, thrilling and suspenseful, and the rest was more of a technicality, in my opinion.

Dude, I think you need to make your paragraphs shorter. They're just too long, way too long to capture any willing reader who look at it and say, "I'll read this...but the paragraphs look monsterous...and long. Nex time, maybe."

One thing, in the end, aren't there six words not seven? There are seven syllables, but not seven words.Hmmmmmmmm... Nonetheless, it had a good ending, and with a good ending the story needs to be read twice, I say.

There was another thing I was going to say, but I forgot.

[Ferris]

Hey chief,

Good story, you managed to keep me reading, but your first and second paragraph are too long, my eyes got lost in there once or twice.

Your choice of language fits the theme quite well, I was impressed that you manged to convey the excitement of teenagers without sound overly corny (though, by rights, it is corny anyway!).

Some of your sentences can be quite awkward, I wont pick them out, I think it could just be my opinion for the moment, so I will see what others say.

Overall though, I found this very readable from the middle to end, but the introduction could do with an overhaul. I got the impression this was going to be a story about oppression and abuse the way we are told about mother being hard with homework - all in character, but perhaps too in character and distracting the rest of the content.

I hope that waffle made some sense!

Ferris

[Gurdit]

Well, to me, it appears like the story itself works. The message works. The writing works. Michelle works. Dylan doesn't. You're writing it from Michelle's perspective, it's true, so maybe you can be spared a little for not going into any detail at all regarding Dylan and his character. But it is still quite incompatible with the scenario. Why would he do something like that? Who is he? Why is he interested in an ASP like Michelle? Leaves too many questions unanswered to be a complete story.

That being said, your writing is just fine, except that I wish you'd use either a proper em-dash or a double en-dash to signify the em-dash here. There are no other bones to pick, and this is one of those rare stories you come across on SM that, while reading, don't have errors (spelling and/or grammatical) jumping out at you every now and then.

[Ambrose]

Thanks for the comments guys. This almost should have gone in the Stream of Conscious section seeing as how I whipped it up with very little thought as to how it would work as a narrative. Anyways, looks like the experiment was at least part a success

[Jimbalaya]

Yep, that was a pretty good read. I don't have a problem with the long paragraphs, you are known for them, but this story was so good, I just got pulled in and didn't notice anything else unitl I finished it.

I thought you did a very good job with the voice of the piece and had no issues with it.

That last line made me think. Was Dylan a ghost or something? Or maybe he was only dead on the inside and was inquiring what life felt like because he didn't know?

You did a good job with the emotions of the piece, I think my own heartbeat accelerated at the final scene.

Great work, overall. A pleasure to read.

[RENA HANDS]

Did you mean…(Often)Oft she imagined the parallelograms…

Should not ‘to,’ be here be capped…(TO)to which her head had spun around of its own accord…?

Fricken A man! This was an absoulet FABOULOUS write! A story filled with so many twists and turns (no pun intended). Just when I thought I knew what was coming, BAM! You surprised and stunned with a dropped jaw!

I highly rate without any doubt, (though u don’t need it)…5/5!

[Vorcla]

Hmmm. You want to come out and grab them by the shirtfront at the beginning. To that end, I agree with the comments that the first couple of paragraphs could be broken up.

There are logical breaks at "The homework in question..." and at "And there were phone calls..." in the first paragraph. Also, you could put a break at "She could just imagine Ashley..." in the second paragraph. Kind of breaks up the scenery a little and makes it physically easier to read.

Originally Posted by Ambrose;

Her, Michelle Gellens, awkward social person extraordinaire–or ASP for short

To be grammatically correct here, you should say, "She, Michelle Gellens..." However, since it's quasi-dialogue, you can flip a coin.

Beyond the nitpickeys, this was an engrossing read. You have a way with the "dark" stuff.

Bet Michelle thinks it was the Date from Hell!