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[jynxgirl.livejournal.com]

POST YOUR NOVEL EXCERPT HERE!!!!

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[ruth-the-sleuth.livejournal.com]

I had never had a friend before. I didn’t think I would know how to have one. I had grown up with boys, with a father who was no more than a boy, with boys who chased me, boys who loved me, boys who I fought with and kicked and punched and bit, boys whose teeth I cracked and sides I bruised, boys who showed up at my house at night and howled by the light of the moon. I lived in the company boys, then of men. I did not know girls. I did not know women.

When I woke up in the grass it was day and the sun was high, held in the small crown where the tops of the trees brushed against the whiteness of sky, and Shyla’s daughter was sitting beside me dappled with gold, pulling pieces of grass from her hair. She looked at me with iron-gray eyes and lowered her head and smiled, not at me.

—You’re the boyfriend’s kid, aren’t you?

—Yeah.

—She never had a boyfriend with a kid before.

—Really?

—No. Usually they don’t like kids.

—My dad never had a girlfriend with a kid before, either.

—He doesn’t like kids.

—Not really.

—Does he like you?

—I think he does.

—How do you know?

—If he didn’t like me he would have left me somewhere.

—He never did that? She did that to me.

—Well, once. He left me in California.

—When?

—This year. A few months ago.

—But you’re here.

—Yeah.

—You like your dad?

—I like him as much as he likes me, I think.

—You love him?

—Kind of.

—How can you love someone kind of?

—I love him but I do okay without him. I don’t think that’s how it
usually is.

—I guess not. I don’t know. That sounds okay.

—Do you love your mom?

—No.

—Why?

—She never asked me to.

—My dad never asked me to.

—But you do anyway.

—I thin that’s why I love him. If he wanted me to I wouldn’t.

—How did you get here from California? Did you hitchhike?

—No, I drove.

—You know how to drive?

—Yeah.

—How old are you?

—I’ll be fourteen in January.

—Well I was fourteen in June and I can’t drive.

—That’s because no one taught you.

—Who taught you?

—My dad.

—Will you teach me?

—If you want.

—You have a car?

—No.

—What did you drive up from California in?

—A Coupe Deville.

—Well, where is it now?

—I don’t remember.

—You can’t remember where you put a car?

—Nope.

Slowly, she smiled at me, looked down, and looked up at me again.

—Don’t worry, though, I said. We’ll find a car. There are cars everywhere. We’ll find a good car that runs smooth and I’ll teach you how to drive.

—Think you can teach me?

—Yeah.

—I don’t learn very fast.

—It doesn’t matter. This is something you have to know.

—I’m pretty good at getting rides.

—It doesn’t matter. Every girl should know how to drive.

—Why?

—Because you can leave. You can leave whenever you want to. You can leave anything.

—I’m pretty good at getting rides.

—Trust me, I said. This is better. This is the best.

She was holding three long pieces of grass, loosely between her fingers, and she began to plait them together, gold on gold on green on gold. She made a long braid and when she was done tucked the beginning into the end and made a crown and placed the crown, gently, on my head.

—What’s your name? she said.

—Miranda.

—Miranda. Miranda. Hello.