Sample Chapter – Prologue

This is my Faulkner stream-of-consciousness tale that weaves the events and people I meet into the fabric of my life. Reader let me tell you a little about myself. My story starts with my freshman year of high school. Only my freshman year was spent at Granite Park Jr. High, in a quiet suburb of Salt Lake City Utah, known as Sugar House. I was thought of as cute, but despondent, especially in my sophomore year. Don‘t let me give you the wrong impression. I‘m not cute like in a drop-dead gorgeous way, but rather in a cute like I-remind-you-of-your-little-sister way.

I am not being an overly harsh critic of myself. I am more of a realist rather than a pessimist. To be truthful, I know I am not beautiful, but I wouldn‘t consider myself ugly either. There is nothing real memorable about me for the good or bad. My height has been described, as five foot nothing. I‘m nothing more and nothing less. In fact, someone once suggested that I should go out with this guy named Tuttle because we would make a great couple because we were both short. Oh yes, height consideration is the most pressing factor when considering a relationship. I know all good marriages start with size equality. In case you had not picked up on this tidbit of information, I have developed a better than average ability to be sarcastic.

My weight is also average with me being neither thin nor heavy. My hair is long, fine, straight, thin, and it is a mousey brown color with red and blonde highlights that show up only when the lighting is perfect. My eyes, on the other hand, are one of the physical attributes I actually like about myself. They are expressive brown eyes. However overall, I am very average, even my name, Jane Harris, is very commonplace. Plain Jane, that is what my moniker should be.

I might be considered shy until I feel comfortable around someone. Because I am so incognito in a crowd, I am able to be observant. People watching is a favorite past time of mine. You can glean a lot of information about people just by being quiet and unobtrusive. My best friend is a guy named Chance Morgan. We have been friends since grade school, and being the tomboy that I am it seemed perfectly normal to have a boy as my best friend. Someone ought to write a book about someone who lacks panache and flair (oh wait, I already did that). Ode to the plain, the Jane Eyre‘s of the world. Okay, that‘s a little over the top, considering I only think of myself as plain only as far as outward appearances go. According to Webster, plain is also without intricacies or difficulties, which I am not. In the words of the modern philosopher, Shrek, ― I am like an onion with many layers. Only most of the time, people solely do a surface gloss over of physical attributes. They miss the many layers that make up a person.

The world is made up of a pittance of pretty people and a plethora of plain people. However, the pretty people minority seems to rule the lives of the majority. Their image is the illusion we crave to replicate. I wrote in jest, ―Ode to the plain. Maybe my story really is meant to be a champion for the average Joe, or Jane, in my case. My story got its start when I was required to create a blog for a technology class. The teacher was the only one with the password. Later, I created a new one and only gave out the password to a few people. Chance was one of the ones I gave it to since I shared everything with him. I must warn you that I do some of my best writing between the hours of three and five in the morning during my bouts of insomnia. My thoughts become raging torrents, as my dreams seem to liquefy. I often lie in bed and try to clear the din in my head. All the noise and distractions that keep my mind racing, keep me from the coveted REM sleep that I so desire. Eventually the din becomes so loud, that the only means of silencing it is to take pen to paper. If I have not scared you off with my ramblings, perhaps you would like to journey with me while I reminisce the highs and lows of my past.


11. Charmin Squeezable

On the first day of school, my junior year, I was sitting in the back of the class that I was dreading the most. Actually, it wasn‘t so much the class, but rather the instructor. Mr. Goldberg was rumored to be the surliest teacher in the entire school. This was the only class Chance I had together, but with stressing about the teacher I totally spaced off saving a spot for Chance. I was sitting with my head down when someone walked by me. I smelled him before I saw him. His scent enticed me to lift my head and take notice of the confident creature swaggering down the aisle. His cologne smelled like ambrosia. He was of medium height and build with cinnamon-brown hair, cut short with a little ducktail curl at the back. What really caught my eyes were his cute buns. They were Charmin squeezable. Then I noticed he was also wearing holey Levis and his boxers showed through some of the holes. He was loud and proud of his Cupid boxers. My heart was definitely struck by one of Cupid‘s arrows.

He sat down next to my best friend, Chance Morgan, and they started talking. That was the first that I spotted Chance, but there weren‘t any free seats next to him. I must have missed him coming in since I had my head down. Chance looked up and smiled at me, his hazel eyes crinkling up at the corners. He must have noticed me ogling the mystery guy. His friend, in turn, glanced my way and smiled impishly at me. I had thought his backside was his best side, but boy was I wrong. The front was just as breathtaking. His eyes were warm milk chocolate brown that you just wanted to drink in. I had an impulse to jump up and kiss him on the spot. Of course, I couldn‘t do that outside of the fantasyland that I lived in daily while dreaming of the perfect guy. However, if I am not mistaken he just walked into my life.

Next thing I heard was Mr. Goldberg calling the class to order. Even his voice was grating. What a rude awakening from a pleasant daydream. The only way I am going to survive the semester is to check into fantasyland the minute I walk in the door. Hopefully I could pay attention enough to get a B out of the class. Mr. Goldberg must have called my name at least twice, but I hadn‘t heard him. He made fun of me for not being able to pay attention long enough to answer, ―Here. Instantly I got my dander up and I just glared at him as I answered ―Here! I was irritated to the point that I even forgot about Chance‘s dreamy friend. As soon as the bell rang, I vacated the room like it was on fire.

Chance and his friend caught up to me just outside class. The heinous teacher was all but forgotten as soon as Chance introduced me to his breathtaking friend. The vision of perfection had a name, Trevor Jameson Thurgood, and his friends call him T.J. Hopefully I will be counted among his friends, his very good friends.
About a week later, Trevor had Chance give me a letter from him. He had written me this long note on toilet paper. What a strange guy. He was extremely cute, but strange. The letter was sprayed with his cologne. That ambrosia smell that had captured my heart wafted from it. In closing, his letter asked if he could call me. That sounded promising.

When I saw T.J. the next day, he flashed me his impish grin and asked, ―So, can I call you? ―Of course you can, I replied.

He started calling a couple of times a week. We would talk for about an hour or more, or until my dad would kick me off the phone. We talked about everything and nothing. He came over to the house and we studied or did homework together from time to time. He never said anything about how pretty my mom was, so I wasn‘t self-conscious about inviting him over to my house. Because he was around more than most guys, my dad got to know him a little. My dad came up with two nicknames for T.J. He was calling him Guy Smiley until he saw him driving his yellow VW Bug, and then he started calling him Bug Boy. I was enjoying spending time with T.J., but he never once asked me out. Study dates were not exactly the hot date I pictured in my daydreams.

I was starting to get the friend vibe from T.J. Just great! I must be a guy-friend magnet. Having a lot of friends who are guys isn‘t bad, but it sure would be nice if some of them thought of me as a girl and not just a pal. It would be even nicer if they asked me out occasionally instead of just asking my advice on their love life. Even though I have kissed lots of boys, it never seems to develop into a relationship. I wonder if it was my great listening skills that put me in this position. I should put out a sign over one of the couches by the office: Dr. Love is in. Maybe that could be a part-time job for me.