Short Story

“Nice one, you little thief,” Comstock said, clapping me on the shoulder. He and Cresswell filed in as I took my key back out of the lock and dusted myself off. Closing the door behind me, I followed them inside. Comstock was waiting in the sitting area in front of the door, but Cresswell had disappeared somewhere into the maze of bookshelves.

“No?” she inquires, clearly wanting to know more. Capheus thinks he might have an idea where this is going, so he

“Y-yes?” I stutter, playing at a young man in his early twenties still trying to make sense of the world, still nervous around women of such cadence and karat. She gazes at me in a vulnerable yet authoritative way from under lowered lashes, turning me red and blinking fast.

She glances at his hands where it says You can't break me and she wonders what kind of past is haunting him.

“Not until I’m holding his head,” he replies, deliberately tapping his fingertips on the smooth surface of his wooden armrest.

“What?” The younger asks, twirling some noodles on his fork (because it’s easier than chopsticks) then taking a bite.

“Ok, let's go.” She stands up, straightening her 5 foot 3 frame, shuffling her feet toward the door as I run to the front room to grab the cards from the drawer under the lamp. I sneak through the kitchen grabbing a cookie from the cabinet, like Winnie the Pooh grabbing his honey after

“So what does Emma do if she’s around someone who doesn’t speak sign language and she needs to talk to them?” She asked, trying to get information out of the young boy.

He slumps in the chair and leans back into the soft leather he pops his shoes off with his toes with little effort and sets his socked feet up on the edge of the table. He picks up a paper from the arm of the chair and eyes it curiously it appeared to be a floor plane of some house with several notes and scribbles all over it, he lays it down with a satisfied look. And then gazes admiringly at the vast collection of books that lined the wall.

“So, what was that about?" She asks. "Not that I mind having the air knocked out of me every once in a while. But did you really have to do that this early in the morning? I haven’t even had breakfast yet,” she says, giggling.

“Okay, Z,” Nathan drawls out, smiling sadistically at her. “Why the fuck did you call me out here at school in seven in the morning?”

“ You don’t know how to play tag?” She stands in shock. “ It’s okay, I can teach you tomorrow. Let’s meet right here tomorrow, this time I’ll take the bridge.”

“Well, don’t I feel stupid,” she chuckled to herself as she put the picture back on her night stand. Staring at the letter, she debates on if she should read the rest of

Bang, ching, fling! The boy’s locker room erupted into vigorous sounds of lockers closing and opening. The zero period class was always considered one of the calmest physical education classes of the day, but tempers were always flared on Monday. Who could resist? Monday, also known as the mile day during P.E., was loathed at Rockefester Jr. High.

Lyanna just shakes her head, falling very unladylike into the chair. Pulling the skirt of her dress into her lap, sighing as she puts her boots on the table.