Creative Writing

Chapter One (Strangest Words)

Chapter One of a fictional story called The Strangest Words written by (myself) Michaela Kinnear
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  Every Sunday I go to a bookstore. It’s not very fancy. In fact, it’s almost the opposite. It lives right next door to a strip club called “Tittle” which makes no sense whatsoever, because a tittle is the dot above an “i”. The bookstore itself is nothing special either. Some books, some cheap trinkets that never usually work. Nothing is organized really well either. But, none the less, I go to the bookstore every Sunday. But, today is not Sunday. In fact, it’s Tuesday.   And I’m at the bookstore.  My best friend Harry found out that they have a hard-cover copy of all the Harry Potter books in prime cond ition, with the srcinal covers (who told him, I have no idea, but I don’t know why they would).   There’s probably a word to describe his “interest” with Harry P otter. Obsession. Obsession is a good word. Harry (my friend, not Potter) had dragged me along with him to the bookstore, for god knows what reason). Probably to get back at me for all the times I had dragged him there with me. It’s not like it bothered me , anyways. I loved going to the bookstore, as long as I checked out the non-fiction section. As much as Harry enjoyed Fantasy and Dystopian novels, I enjoyed reading about things that actually happened, people that actually lived. Harry had grabbed all the books, but even his abnormally large hands couldn’t hold all of them, so, he handed me the two largest books (Order of the Phoenix and Deathly Hallows, respectively), he should be a gentleman and give me the two smallest books. But seeing as he isn’t one (a gentleman that is), I wasn’t surprised when he shoved said heaviest books into my arms. Sometimes I don’t know why I like this guy.   “Harry,” I told him, my tone obviously showing how annoyed I was with him, “Can we just get the books and go? I have a thing at about- ” I chec ked the clock above the doorway the time clearly showing how late I already was, “ - 17 minutes ago.” I sighed.  Harry shushed me, as he stared in awe at the first edition copies (if you may or may not be able to tell, this second-hand bookstore had a lot of first edition copies of books) of the Lord of the Rings series. God, he is such a nerd. “Monroe,” he replied, “you don’t understand how much of a gem these are. First edition L ord of the Rings . First Edition, Monroe.”  I rolled my eyes. Yes, Harry, I wanted to say, I know it’s a first edition copy. It says right there on the page you’re open too, and also, I’ve been going to this b ookstore for the past year and a half. You would think I’d know about things like that.   “Yeah, yeah,” I a ctually said , “either get it or don’t Harry. I have a thing that I’m late for.” Harry didn’t even look my way as he shoved the last five Harry Potter books into my hands and carefully pulled the three Lord of the Rings books of the shelf. My chest seemed to sag slightly, at the weight of the books. I never realized I was so out of shape.  But it was probably the books being too heavy. I wobbled over to the register and heaved the books onto the little counter, scaring the employee behind said little counter as I did so. He jumped in surprise, the book he was reading snapping shut as he did so. “Damn it,” he maundered looking down at his copy of ‘Looking for Alaska’. I hid a smile as he mumbled something like “I was almost at after”. Well, he is in for a surprise because John Green is a murderer (I still haven’t gotten over Augustus Waters) . He looked up and smiled at us though. Oh, damn. The boy was cute. Like really cute. His dyed-blonde hair — you could tell it was dyed because his brown roots were showing — was hanging across his forehead, but I suspect some gel was involved because no one’s hair can be that perfect. He also had the bluest eyes I had ever seen in my lifetime. Ever. Except maybe Louis Tomlinson, Harry’s current crush.  But Louis is illiterate. And a douche. “So, Harry Potter fan?” The employee asked me, as he typed in the prices for each book.   Ooh. He’s Irish.   “I am, but the books aren’t for me they’re for - ” I looked to my left, but— surprise! —Harry wasn’t there. He was looking at some of the other books they had on display. “Harry!” I hissed, pulling him away from the books, just as he was grabbing one from the shelf. Harry sighed —Harry’s  sighs are these big overdramatic display that usually includes an eye roll and/or leaning his head back — but still put his books onto the counter. “They’re for Harry, my friend here.” I smiled at the employee, as I looked at the books that Harry had shoved onto the counter. “You didn’t.” I said, staring at the bright white book that was at the top of his stack.   “Oh, I did.” Harry replied, waving the copy of ‘ Tittynope and Oth er Words That Don’t Sound Right’  around like a lunatic. After my younger step-brother — named James Madison, because my step-mother had already named all her other children after famous people — had found out about my obsession (I am, in fact, all right with admitting I have an obsession) he decided to write a book of all the weird words he could find, and send it to his oldest brother — Peter Parker — an editor. And he published it. I shoved my face into my hands in hope that it would hide my embarrassment towards the whole situation. “Tittynope?” John -Green-guy asked, obviously trying to hold in a laugh. Oh god, Harry was actually buying the book. “It means a little left over,” I explained, my face still in my hands.    “Huh?”  Was John-Green-guy deaf or something. I pulled my face-which probably looked like a tomato- out of my hands, and repeated w hat I had said, “It means a little left over. For instance, ‘I have a tittynope of dinner.’”  John-Green-guy and Harry both burst out into laughter. Of course they would act like they were in middle school. What else should I have expected? “I’m going to leave now,” I said, pointing at the door as I checked the clock above it, “Oh, god it’s already 1:14. I really got to go. Bye, Harry. Bye, John-Green- guy.” I tried not   to sound as awkward as I didn’ t know John-Green- guy’s name.   “I’m Niall!” He called as I left the bookstore. Niall. I wonder if there was ever anyone famous named Niall. Xx. “Sorry I’m   so late, Zayn,” I told my cousin as I slid into the booth that Zayn had occupied at the diner that Zayn works at , “Something came up with Harry.”  Zayn nodded with understanding. He knew how Harry was. Zayn lived across from him, which was actually how Harry and I had met. I was visiting Zayn and as I left I bumped into Harry who spilt his whole large cup of miso soup on me, and then blamed me for ruining his dinner. Harry had then invited me into his house, given me one of his shirts, and then told me to change. At first I was very uncomfortable, but he insisted. After he ordered another miso soup and some Crab Rangoon (my favorite), he told me he was gay, and in no way turned on by me being bra-less. I then became more comfortable around him, knowing that they wouldn’t fall into the cliché of friends -who-fall-in-love. I really did not want my life to be like some stupid romance novel. “How is curly, by th e way?” Zayn asked, smiling at me. A couple months after me and Harry had met, Harry moved out of his old ‘flat’ (British people and their weird sayings) and into the one down the hall from me, because it was way cheaper. “Good, good,” I told him, “Still ‘in love’ with Louis, but besides that, mentally sane.” Zayn laughed. He knew how much I hated his whore of a roommate, and how he was playing with my best friends feelings. The fact that he had a girlfriend, yet still managed to flirt with every human being without being slapped evaded me. I would have beaten the living daylights out of my boyfriend if he ever did that to me, if I had a boyfriend. “So, anything interesting with Harry today?” He tried. I smiled, before (probably) blushing like a maniac   “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” I answered, “We went to my Sunday bookstore— you know, the one where the owner always hits on me? — because he wanted to get the hardcover first edition of the Harry Potter’s, right? I mean, of course he has to, have you seen his collection of Harry Potter stuff? His apartment could be a museum! And then, he of course notices the first edition of the Lord of the Rings. And I mean, yeah, he has to get them because they came out in like, 1950, and first edition? That’s pretty awesome. I don’t even like the Lord of the Rings and I think it’s cool. Well, he had already handed me the two largest books, which is pretty rude, seeing as he should be a gentleman- ”    Zayn interrupted me, “Get to the point, Norma.” Oh god, the awful nickname. Marilyn Monroe’s srcinal name was Norma Jeane Mortenson. My family thought it would be funny if they called me Norma — seeing as my birth name is Marilyn Monroe — or sometimes even Norma Jean to annoy me. And boy does it annoy me. “Anyways, there was this cute guy there reading John Green — I named him John-Green-guy, I know, so srcinal — and he apparently did n’t know what tittynope means, so  of course I explained it to him .”   “You explained tittynope  to him ?” Zayn asked, trying to hide a laugh.  I already understood how idiotic I was, telling him. I didn’t need Zayn to further explain why.   “I know, I   know!” I replied, embarrassed, “I’m always a total idiot around anyone I’ve just met - ” Zayn gave me a look, “alright, around anyone ever. And whenever I’m nerv ous I just become a talking dictionary and then I ramble. I mean, I was about to explain the srcin of the word to him, but it didn’t seem like he was listening. ”   Zayn laughed, “He  was probably still reeling from the fact that tittynope is a real word. But hey, at least he’ll remember you.”   I wanted to hide for eternity. “I am the most humiliating person on the whole planet.”   “I can’t disagree with that one.”   “ZAYN!” I yelled, attra cting the attention of almost everyone in the small diner, I lowered my voice, “You’re supposed to make me feel better.  I embarrassed myself in front of someone who could possibly be one of the most beautiful people to ever walk this earth. ”  Zayn laughed, “He’s the most beautiful person to ever walk on Earth? Oh, how you wound me! I thought that title was mine!”   I chuckled, “He had nice hair.”   “Which is Marilyn talk for he’s a hot piece of ass who I wouldn’t like to bang over and over and over - ” He drawled out, trying to embarrass me. My face flushed, “That doesn’t mean anything. It just means Niall has nice hair.”   Zayn ‘ooh’ed, “So his name is Niall?”   “Yes, h is name is Niall .” I grumbled as I took a huge gulp of the coffee Zayn had gotten for me. I am an American, and I am proud. Or, at least, I pretend to be. Americans suck, most of the time. “Well, that’s nice!” Zayn stated, his tone going up an octave, taking on a girl tone, “Was it love at first sight? Oh! I bet it was? Has he asked you out yet? Is he like, the Edward to your Bella?”   “Zayn!” Perrie, Zayn’s boss and girlfriend, called from behind the counter, “ Stop teasing the pour girl, can’t you see her face? It’s about as red as a tomato . And, shouldn’t you be waiting the tables? Your break ended a fe w minutes ago.” Zayn’s eyes moved from Perrie’s face to the walls, looking for the clock. “See you later?” He asked, after seeing that he was, in fact, late for his shift.   “Yeah, totally,” I said, a little disappointed that I didn’t get his advice about Ni all. He always said the most inspirational things. Even though, most of the time, he was a jerk to me, he did say some of the best things.
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