Freefly (32 page)

“
Nice
,” she says.

“I figured you would approve.”

“You figured correctly.”

I peel open my own Snickers bar and sink my teeth into it.  My mouth full of caramel and nougat, I say, “Eventually we’re going to have to start working more vegetables into our diet.”

Sammie raises an eyebrow.  “Who says?”

“The food pyramid.”

“I don’t know what that is, but I doubt its authority.”

I shake my head and turn my eyes toward the game.  The players are getting warmed up, whipping a ball around the field so fast it’s hard to follow. 

“Utley’s looking good,” Sammie says.

“So is Luna.”

Her knees bounce up
and down.  “I hope they win!”
             

“I don’t know, Sammie.  They’re not supposed to.”

She turns to me with a sly look.  “I have faith in the underdog.”

I grin.  With a burst of music and applause, a singer walks out onto the field and begins belting the national anthem.  Sammie and I, along with the few thousand other people packing the stands, leap to our feet.  The singer’s powerful soprano becomes the only noise.  Sammie clasps my hand, and my heart beats faster. 

“I’m glad we made it here,” Sammie whispers.

“Me too,” I say.

Acknowledgements

Thanks, Shannon, for proofreading, Patrice for the backyard photoshoot, Annemarie for letting me write on our vacation, and Mom and Dad, for the whole feeding/raising/sending to college bundle. 

Though they really had nothing to do with this particular piece of writing, I also have to thank my college roommates
—
Heather, Sam, Hannah, Danielle, and Erika
—
for putting up with my writerly rants and moods.  I love you guys.  Also, thanks, Jen, for teaching me important stuff and repeatedly pulling me out of the abyss. 

Ladies at the Feather House:  You are amazing.  Thanks for all of your support this past year. 

Lafayette College English Department:  THANKS FOR SENDING ME TO GRAD SCHOOL!  (First year made possible by the March Fellowship.)  I promise I’ll write something a bit more serious. 

Finally, thank God, who makes all things possible. 

Things I Thought While Writing This Book

That People Who Know Me May Find Amusing

My goodness, this is violent.  Right off the bat
—
punching and hitting and stuff.  I really wonder about myself.

Fudge-face?

Person I sort of know who somehow knows I’m writing an eBook:  “What’s it about?”

Me:  “Uh, well, uh, a flying person.  And criminals.  And mad scientists.  It’s, you know, for fun.”

Person:  “Right.”

This is completely implausible.  I don’t care.

Am I using too many details?  I realize this entire endeavor was partly an exercise in better-detail-using, but how many times am I going to have to describe these people’s faces?  Seriously, the next book I write, I’m using faceless characters.  I’ll write a book about walls.  Talking walls. 

I use the word smash too much.  He smashed this.  She smashed that.  Smash smash smash.  Again with the violent themes.

My friends are going to think I’ve gone mad. 

There Sammie goes again, crying.  I’m trying to write her strong, yet I keep making her cry.  All my feminist cred, out the window.  As if the romance-centric-ness of this entire thing didn’t do that already. 

Wait, I didn’t want Jiminy to die!!  Writer-self:  “Too bad.  Muahaha.” 

I like writing as a guy better than writing as a girl.  Great.  That’s a fun detail I really wanted to learn about myself. 

She
explodes?
  You can’t think of
anything
better than that?  Writer-self:  “Heh.  Heh.  Sorry.” 

I’m a bit concerned about the fact that they sleep in the same room together every night.  I mean, it’s not like they’re doing anything, but still, I’m a Christian here.  I shouldn’t be writing that.  Then again, Damien is only trying to be kind, and
they’re
not Christians.  Then again, I created them and am more or less glorifying their actions.  Then again, I think having Damien take Sammie to the window and be like, “Sorry, the author is a Christian, so you can’t stay here tonight even though it’s one of exactly one places you feel sort of safe.  Get out.  Go on, now.”
—
would be less Christian than what I’ve got going on.  Not to mention totally out of character. 

Well, what if the arrow hit her in the heart?  Then she’d die.  I don’t think Thorne would shoot arrows at her if there was a chance she could die.  Writer-self:  “They are magical non-death arrows.”  Self:  “Oh.  I didn’t know that.” 

Where does Sammie go when she’s not at Damien’s or at the Tower? 

Maybe no one will think of that.

Of course they’ll think of that.  It’s a
huge
missing detail. 

Whatever.  The book is $2.99.  For that price, they can make up where she goes themselves.

Boy, do I love writing Damien’s parents. 

No one is going to buy this.  Except people who know you.  And then they’ll just think you’re weird(er). 

I should go to bed. 

Should I advertise that I’m using the proceeds of this book to feed myself at grad school?  I bet that’d up the sales.  My author bio pic could be me looking sad and hungry.  And maybe I could get that “Arms of An Angel” song to play. 

Mom keeps bugging me to write something beautiful or historical.  *Sigh.*

I SUCK!!!!

I’M AMAZING!!!!

She’s not good enough for him.  She’s just not.  I hate her.  (The awkward moment when you’re in love with the guy you created and get all jealous of the girl you created.) 

This is totally unprofessional.  I’m stopping. 

Okay, one more.   

About the Author

Michele Tallarita is a potentially schizophrenic 22-year-old from Pennsylvania.  She’s off to Temple University to get her MFA in fiction, so wish her luck.  If you want to read her short story about angsty swamp monsters, look it up on the
Young Adult Review Network
(
YARN
).