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    AleMaho
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

All I Ever Wanted - 1. Chapter 1

Here is Chapter 1 of All I Ever Wanted

“How much you got?”

“Seventeen,” he said.

“Oh! Well that’s a pretty good grade anyway,” I said cheerfully.

He shyly smiled back and nodded while putting his test sheet inside his bag. I stared at his movements. His face showed no expression whatsoever. It seemed indifferent, as if that grade was not what he had expected.
That was the only time I talked to him that day during school. The rest of it, I spend it staring at him and looking away every time my stare became suspicious.

“So, my parrot died last night,” said my friend.

“I did not even know you had one,” I said, picking my stuff, ready to leave.

“Yeah!” she said. “It was hilarious. The feathers were scattered all over the cage. There was no sign of the body,”

“That’s kind of creepy, don’t you think?” I asked.

“Yeah,”

“Maybe you left the cage door open and it fled,”

“I had not considered that possibility,”

“Like you ever consider possibilities, Victoria,” I said indifferently.

“Touché,”

I soon found myself outside school. I started the usual walk to my house, a few blocks away.

“Josiah, wait!”

I turned around to meet my best friend..

“Hey!”

“Will you do the Biology report?”

“As always,” I sighed.

“Great, so call me tonight?” she said, half-asking, half-stating.

“As always,” I repeated laughing.

We hugged each other and walked away. When I got home, the first thing I did was to lock myself in my room. I took my clothes off and stay only in my briefs and white t-shirt. I threw myself to the bed and closed my eyes. I just wanted to rest a while, but somehow I ended up asleep.

I had one of my usual dreams that afternoon. I was in school, with my friends…and he was also there. More important, he was with me. We were holding hands and every now and then we would look at each other and smile. Oh! How happy I seemed and how impossible that dream was. The solely thought of being with him…

When I woke up, I realized I had slept two hours. I washed my face, put on some clean clothes, grabbed my books and went to my study.

The study at my place was actually really small. It had a sofa, a desk with my computer and a book case, full of books of course.

I quickly turned on my PC and started doing my literature assignment while I waited. As soon as I realized the computer had logged in and was ready to be used, I pushed my books away.
I ran iTunes and started playing random stuff. I then logged on to Facebook, checking for any news. I noticed I had several notifications and quickly checked them. All non-important except by one. There it said: “Christopher Robin has posted something on your wall”.

My heart began accelerating so fast. I was afraid to even click the link. My hand literally moved in tremor as I reached the mouse and clicked the link. I got anxious in matter of seconds.

“Hey Jo, what’s up? I was wondering if you could come over and help me out with Math. It’s giving me a HARD TIME. Let me know before six”.

I probably stopped reading at “come over”.
I loved it when he called me Jo. Most of the people did anyway, but coming from him, it made it more special.

Christopher lived three houses away from me. That only made things worse, though. He lived so near, and I could hardly think of excuses to go to his place. I remember one time I went and asked him for an eraser, because “there wasn’t any eraser in my house”. How lame is that?

So, I’d rather have him away? No I wouldn’t. What a mess!
And he was asking me to go to his house. It felt…different?
Of course, these were only small thoughts and I didn’t pay attention as to what was “really” happening.
I was about to see him, and that was what mattered.

“Sure, I’ll be there at 4:30,” I posted on his wall.

I must have stared at his profile picture endlessly, because I jumped when a little “pop” sounded. It was him, talking to me via Facebook chat.

“Thanks,” he said.

“No problem,” I typed mechanically.

He typed a happy smiley and three seconds later logged off. I sat motionless processing what was happening. I was going to his place. I was going to be with him. Of course not in the ways I wanted. But, the thought of seeing his face already put a wide smile on mine.

I quickly took my books, headed to my room and grabbed some appropriate clothes. I took a shower, more like a rush-shower, and dressed myself.

Every minute I was thinking in so many things at once. My heart was beating so fast I was actually panting. I brushed my teeth and grabbed my bag with my books. I checked my cell phone: 4:00 pm.

I had never thought the wait would be such a punishment. The next thirty minutes I spend them sitting motionless at my living room. I had never wished so bad for the clock to reach a specific hour. Not even when it was Christmas Eve and I wanted to open my presents.
It felt like an eternity.

Every second of it, though, I kept thinking about him; his face, his eyes…mostly his eyes. Though I prefer my guys with baby blue eyes, Christopher had dark, black eyes. But they were perfect. No wonder why so many times I had spoke with him and ran out of words. His penetrating eyes had an intimidating effect. At least, they intimidated me.

And he had such an awesome black, spiky hair. I actually envied him in that aspect. The longer my hair got, the curlier it got. It was so frustrating. His was another story: the longer his hair, the better. Long hair suited him perfectly. He didn’t use gel, but somehow managed to keep it straight, kind of mohawk-ish. It was so perfect…he was.

4:15 pm the clock changed. I wanted to curse out loud. I was getting extremely anxious. How couldn’t I? I was about to spend time with my other. The one I secretly wanted; he, who quickened the pace of my heart by only looking at me; he, who could stop my breathing only by smiling at me. I could easily faint if I were to hear his voice…

4:30 pm the clock changed. I immediately sprang up and called for the house maid.

“Angela, tell my mom I’ll be at Christopher’s.”

“Sure,” she replied from outside.

I swear I must have run, for in a matter of seconds, I was outside his place.
I took a deep breath and rang the gate bell. I tried to calm myself, for I was shaking uncontrollably and panting again.

How pathetic was I? Getting anxious and stuff about something…impossible! I pitied myself in that moment. Obviously, it would never happened; not in a million of years; not even if I wished for it after blowing the candles of my birthday cake, or if I wished for it upon a shooting star…

The gate opened and there he stood. I stare at his perfectness. He was wearing a blue, polo shirt with jeans, which were tight enough. His hair was messy, yet it looked like he had styled it a bit. His pale enough skin contrasted really well with his hair and dark eyes.

“Right on time,” he said smiling.

Crap! I’m so desperate.

“I didn’t want to keep you waiting,” I said, trying to smile.

He chuckled and I tried to keep up with it.

“Right! Come on in.”

We entered his house and I quickly noticed how empty the atmosphere felt. I swear, not even a clock ticked.

“Where’s everyone?” I asked, almost in a whisper. It seemed like a scene from a horror movie.

“Everyone?” he said smiling.

I suddenly realized what he meant.

“Dad is still working. My brother is in football practice,”

“Didn’t you have practice today?”

“I didn’t feel like going,” he answered.

“I thought you had to always go,”

“My brother called me in sick,”

“But you aren’t, right?” I smiled, stepping away from him trying to make a joke out of it.

“I am not,” he stated happily.

Next we moved to his bedroom. If I had ever felt that my room wasn’t “enough” for me, now I would feel it more often.
Christopher’s room was first of all big. It was amazingly painted in green and blue shades. It had posters of his favorite bands, most notably AC/DC, all over the wall.

And it was full of stuff: the bed, an a/c, t.v, computer, working desk, even a small fridge in one corner.

“Josiah?”

I must have been in trance.

“Wow,” was all I could manage.

He laughed.

“You share room?” I mumbled when I realized there was only one bed, but it was big enough.

“No! Everything is mine,” he said in a jolly voice.

“You are lucky,”

He threw himself to the bed and laid on his back for a couple of seconds. I couldn’t help but to stare again. His so perfect body was right there in front of me. The things I would do…

“So,” I said, trying to push my thoughts away, with little success. “Should we get started?”

“You have to be home early?” he asked, turning around, but still laid back, with his arms behind his head.

Once again, he proved to me he had a great body. From where I was standing, I could easily see his biceps were hard steel.

“You got to go early?” he repeated.

“It’s not that,” was all I could say.

It was happening. I was running out of words…again!

Being with him; breathing his scent was already intoxicating me.

“We should get started then,” he said suspiciously.

I quickly approached the desk.

“No! Come on over,” he said, patting the bed.

I froze. Was he seriously asking me to sit beside him? That close? Did he have any idea of what he was doing, what he was provoking to my body? Of course he didn’t.

I mechanically sat beside him. I was so near I could smell his perfume. So sweet.

“So, what gives you the most trouble?”

“Everything,” he said laughing.

“You can’t be that bad!”

For the next, probably twenty minutes or so, I sat there explaining to him every exercise in my notebook. He was constantly nodding and making fun of how my 2’s looked weird. Eventually, I started to warm up. Occasionally, I froze when he smiled at me, or I mumbled my words too fast out of nervousness.

“You’ve done most of the talking,” he said. “Would you like some water?”

“Sure,”

He went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water.

“Thanks,” I said

“So tell me…”

The door flung opened. There stood Kevin, Christopher’s brother.

“You are supposed to knock,” said Christopher rudely.

“Sorry,” he said indifferently. He quickly glared at me. “I did not know you were on a date. Since when are you friends with that?”

“Kevin, get out!” Christopher yelled angrily.

“Where’s my…”

“GET OUT!”

Christopher stood up and literally kicked his thirteen year old brother out of the room. He shut the door and locked it.

“I’m sorry about that,” Christopher apologized.

“I should go,” I said without looking at him.

“What!? No!”

“Don’t worry,” I said nervously. “I always had impression that he didn’t like me. Guess I finally proved it,”

“It’s not that,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow indignantly. If there was something I hated was when people denied the obvious.

“He just thinks…” His face went red in embarrassment.

“That I’m weird?” I asked. “Let me rephrase it, that I’m queer?”

His silence hurt the most.

“I’m sorry,”

“Don’t be. I’ve lived through that all my life,”

The atmosphere suddenly felt tense.

“Like I said, I should go,”

I packed my stuff and headed toward the door.

“Wait!”

I turned around to meet him.

“I’d never…” he began but his face looked puzzled, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“It’s ok, Christopher. You don’t have to explain anything. I’ll see you later,”

I took a few steps, holding back the tears.

“We should do this again, some other time?” he shouted.

“I’ll see my way out,” I shouted back.

I cried myself till sleep that night.

Leave a comment, review, or any other kind of feedback. Feel free to like it! Afterall, that's the way to grow as a writer!
Copyright © 2011 AleMaho; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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Chapter Comments

Is the name Christopher Robin somehow allegorical of Winnie the Pooh? I was trying to find Pooh like influences and maybe see if he had a companion that might have the same philosophy as Piglet but nothing really struck out at me. It's also interesting that you chose math as the subject that Christopher needed help with and though I certainly don't dispute math as having unquestionable difficulty with some people, I wondered why it wasn't a foreign language or something like that.

 

If I had one thing I might suggest though, it would be to slow down your pacing a bit and add descriptions. I often found myself in reading the chapter thinking that it was more of a diary than an actual story because it seemed to be thoughts of a particular person rather than being immersed into his world. Bookcase with no description of actual book titles or friends that really were more or less just talking heads.

On 01/06/2011 09:33 AM, Kavrik said:
Is the name Christopher Robin somehow allegorical of Winnie the Pooh? I was trying to find Pooh like influences and maybe see if he had a companion that might have the same philosophy as Piglet but nothing really struck out at me. It's also interesting that you chose math as the subject that Christopher needed help with and though I certainly don't dispute math as having unquestionable difficulty with some people, I wondered why it wasn't a foreign language or something like that.

 

If I had one thing I might suggest though, it would be to slow down your pacing a bit and add descriptions. I often found myself in reading the chapter thinking that it was more of a diary than an actual story because it seemed to be thoughts of a particular person rather than being immersed into his world. Bookcase with no description of actual book titles or friends that really were more or less just talking heads.

You can actually think about it as a diary, insight thoughts. That is one of the main inspirations behind the story. And Christopher Robin is his nickname IRL.
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