Taking Root

She dangled between slots. Two shaven

birches among 24 that supported and striped a porch.

She pretended the sinewy grasses

that tickled her ankles and dissolved down the delta

were a stirring flow tide from the river at the bottom of the 

hill. Stomach and thighs clamped against the wooden timber and for

a moment a curl glistened with pinioned copper

highlighting the sunlight in her raincloud eyes. The 

moment ossified and a haze crossed the sun. The mountains were

shadowed like cows. The sliver of weathered grain puckered her

upper leg, swelling the surrounding flesh. She glowed

but glowed a sickly amber. She should pull it out before 

it experienced photosynthesis. She could already feel the roots

worming their way inside of her and ten years later, a 

forest had swallowed this porch. 

©2014 Lex Vex

A Whole Slew of Frustrated

the kind that taps your foot
- the crashing cymbal-
halving the inter-
-val of ticks on your watch:
the frustration of a two hour wait.
frustration.
frustration
that  frustration
that  goddamn  frustration
that frustration that
oozes between pores
the frustration when you run
and diet
strengthen
and diet
lift weights
and diet
and the scale films a PSA that you've gained two pounds
the frustration of knowing not
how to rewind your mouth
or the hurt look that followed.
the literal burst of frustration
when a snappy looking woman
with tight lips and drawn on eyebrows
beats you to the single stall ladies room.
She is the same women who is always
asking for the manager.
the frustration of sister.
the frustration of parents.
the frustration of baby's first liftoff, baby's first altitude sickness
of his mother
of the other passengers.
The frustration when your narcoleptic boyfriend
passes out before he's texted i love you
or even goodnight
the frustration when you haven't seen him
the frustration when you havent had a good fuck in a while
the frustration when you've had no fucks ever
the frustration when all the fucks have sucked and know they won't get better
the frustration
of longing for  someone
a few towns over, someone
a few turbulences over, someone
you are over, someone
over you, someone
rolled over and nailed in some plywood box
someone unclenching his grasp on your fingers and
won't look you in the eye
or say anything
or do anything
the frustration of someone who lets you walk away with your pride.
thank god it exists to frustrate our lifespans
so we can feel as if we lasted longer
.
the frustration that it won't end

the frustration that it won't start
the frustration that everything is going fucking perfect
and seems too easy
and you are frustrated because you cannot describe
just how the sun is streaming
dappled light through mirrored glass
and caressing your
lips.

©2014 Lex Vex

20 Pounds Either Way

Mine was Italian                      

.

then i seared

pounds of skin

then i plucked

        ripped

        tore

gooey cookies effervescent drinks the sound of a beer cap penning all day by the window sharing controllers around the room for hours that reenacted unlived lives on screen the heartstopping second you almost finger the remote one channel too far and miss this hour’s M*A*S*H rerun

       away

to stuff it in a stretched out garbage bag.

body on the slab

i’ll order the thin slice prosciutto

we only have ham

we don’t carry much

ethnic food

in Utah

then cut it till its thin

thin

thin enough

         thin enough?

my wishes ossified

my energy an Athenian pillar

screaming NENIKEKAMEN!

my shoulders pretended they were cheap knockoffs

of roman knockoffs

of Praxiteles

i was of a brittle marble

And hollowed out inside

i went to bed

in a guillotine so I would

not feel the

pulsing  nerve endings

severed by the pounding foot path of the treadmill

t-shirts shrouded me

a belt noosed my waist

“wow you look so gorgeous now I didn’t even know it was You”

i kissed a truffle under my tongue

savoring its healthy goo

and I vowed to

get My Body

back

©2014 Lex Vex

Name Change

Note the name change -
I renamed the blog - which you can see above- Raw Eraser. I realized that while most of the stuff I write on here does need work, it is not necessarily horrible. The misnomer was getting to me. If you found it, you can see the URL is now changed to raweraser.blogspot.com. Hopefully everyone who does watch me can still find this. Posts will start being more regular as more and more prompts come in. Feel free to send some in yourselves!

~Lex

Glow in the Dark Chalk

New free form piece. Haven't poeted at you in a while guys-

Glow in the Dark Chalk

In your head
the chalk smears the asphalt with
vivid colors
but dust always fades
and the picture breaks apart
in glacier melted puddles. They
brown and are swept
down
the drain.
and what's left over, ingrained in
carpet
from crumbles of it found in
shoe treads
gives the fabric freckles
for a few more days -
but only in The Dark.
then they disappear too
swallowed
by the envious fibers
and all that's left
are the pictures in your head
that have faded even more than
the chalk

©2014 Lex Vex

Unfinished - Leave comments for where you think it should go next!

That was the day I died. The sky was haunted with the refuse of jet planes. The summer breeze was withering and I could almost feel the pale breath of frost on the wind, much too early for a late August evening. I smothered my hands in my armpits. And still, my pores puckered each time the blackened bows of the trees rustled with the refrigerated air. Squinting above me, as if by straining my eyes, half blocked by thick black lashes, I could see the first dusky stars, my eyes searched for where I knew Venus to be, uncaring of the lazy and familiar path. I think I saw it.

The hum of the woods had not settled down just yet. Birds stuffed themselves, hidden, amidst latticed branches and spider web foliage and even the people, holed up in their lakeside cottages below could be heard faintly. They were the sounds of screeching tires. They were the taste of distant laughter. A few screaming pixie children yipped and skipped far off in the distance, and I knew if I had half a mind to, I could climb a tree and maybe catch their bobbing silhouettes bouncing along the pier in the setting sun.

The ridge-line was not far from the grove. I don’t know why Dastan named it that. Far from a grove, it was a half moon of tall Cyprus trees. We had no idea who had planted them there, nor who took care of them, but they sprouted tall and clean and we had claimed that spot as ours. What was most special about the grove was the view: It sat, cloistered along a cliff face. It was near enough to the winding trail that leads to the observatory that, as children, my parents would let Dastan and I go up there on our own. It helped that they believed we would spend our evenings inside the great astrolabe at the zenith of the hill. In a way we weren’t lying. We did, indeed, watch the stars and pick out pinprick constellations and roll the names of stars off our tongues, watching the heavens dim and the stars flare. 

Bellatrix. Andromeda. Dabih. Achernar. Cor Hydrae: I loved the sounds of these as they rolled from my tongue. To annoy me, Dastan would memorize the translated names: “Zozma” became “Loincloth” or worse, he would call them numerically. 27 Tauri. HR 2948.

That night, I walked alone up the path, the beers I had in my canvas backpack clinking as I climbed over protrusions of rock that had been exhumed by the rains earlier in the season. By the time the metal husk of the observatory loomed in the distance, I the plateau near the grove. A cool sweat had misted on my back, and my limp camisole clung to my skin. The trek had warmed me some, but as soon as I stopped, I would be cold again. As I approached the trees, yellow lights started blinking on and off. The fireflies were awakening, and soon the entire grove would be filled with their heat, and an Aeolian hum of unexhausted mating would energize this small world.

When I came upon the trees, I forced my way through, leaving behind me a den of holy vice flashing its neon lights in sparkling brilliance. Sitting down, I opened my bag and popped the cap from one of the two beers. The walls of my mouth were parched, and there was no sense in waiting. I got through maybe half the bottle in one go. The hoppy thickness and bitter taste did little to quench my thirst, and my teeth scraped the thick residue from my tongue. My throat was coated but, if anything, the drink had made my thirst greater. Dastan would get here soon, and he always carried a weighty water bottle of red plastic on him at all times.

The beer and the walk had made me tired and, involuntarily, my eyelids slumped. In spite of the view I found myself forcing each lid, one after the other, to blink wide-awake. Suppressing a yawn, I lay back against the rough tree trunk, clutching my drink in my lap. It was just so relaxing up here, away from my opinionated mother, who, despite watching hours and hours of television never seemed to lack for a project to get me involved in, or from my father who had a habit of guilting me into singing for him when he pulled his guitar out in the evenings. It was especially nice to be free from my brothers, who’s tone deaf choruses clashed dissonantly with my fathers flat singing as well as his flawless guitar picks. I would only close my eyes until Dastan came. Then we would lie on our backs, knees dangling over the cliff face, hidden from the path by the trees and the distracting sparkle of fireflies.

“What are you doing you idiot?”

My eyes didn’t open right away but I knew something was off. This voice was not one I recognized, although at first hearing, my mind had immediately jumped to Dastan. But this gruff sound was well aged, speaking in sandpaper tones and accompanied by an answering voice.

“If you don’t wanna come down and get your pretty little wingtips in this filth, then shut the fuck up, would ya, Mic?”

“Hey, your mess. You cover it up. How much did he even owe you?”

“Kid was up one-k in the all American. Damn punk was all lit up when I found him, too.”

“What did you expect?”

I hadn’t moved an inch but I was wide-awake now. The sky was wrong. Scorpio had traversed along the edge of my vision and the sky’s inky blackness was perforated only by pinpricks. The moon had already set, and going through my moon chart in my mind, I calculated that it was at least after 1am. Where was Dastan?

            “I expected the son of a bitch to pay up. He knew I’d been on him. Sent him a warning two weeks ago. When the punk didn’t think I was serious I put a brick through his window.”

            “And a bullet through his brain? Trap, did you think, you big oaf? How the fuck are you getting the cash now??

            Trap grunted and a sound thumped through the ground. It was only then that I realized that since I had woken up the knotty sounds of the earth being ripped apart had created a rhythmic beat. As quietly as I could, I shifted myself so that if I tilted my head back I could see the shadows of the men.

            From my vantage, they clung to the earth upside down, Mic, the shorter of the two, standing, arms folded at the edge of a growing pit a flashlight in one hand and something I couldn’t make out in the other. The grove, now barren of lightening bugs, lay motionless and deaf in the umbra; the only sound the thump of the shovel slicing into rocky soil. Trap’s body seemed cut off at the knees, and although he was built in thicker lines than Mic, he struggled to lift each shovel-full of dirt. His hands trembled in the dark, and when the light hit his face for a moment, his eyes were wide with frenetic intensity.

            “Get that light out of my face!”

            “Oops, sorry—”

It was only then that I noticed the flash of T-shirt. Only when Mic’s flashlight swept over the ground that I saw the inert, broken figure lying on the ground. I knew that T-shirt, white with the Aperture Science logo, and from the ephemeral glimpse the flashlight beam gave, calico crimson splotches where I had never seen any.

            If I gasped audibly, the two men, intent on widening their sepulchral hole, never noticed. I stared at the sky, unable to keep watching. I wanted to be anywhere else, somewhere I could inhale sharply and pant and tense each muscle and scream. My fingernails wound around the grass shards at my sides, clenching them into a matted carpet. Inhaling on a count of four, I stopped, held my breath, and released.

            But on the digging went. The two men bickered as if they were doing nothing more than arguing over the Sox or the Yankees and sometimes Mic even had the audacity to chuckle. I was petrified wood, anchored to the ground, unmoving by the will of gravity and nothing more. Increment by increment I rolled myself over, keeping on my hands and knees. I became a soldier, crawling arm over leg under a barrier of barbwire tree limbs. I edged around the tree I had been hidden behind, gaging their response to the rustling I was creating at all times. They seemed to take no notice so I quickened my pace.

            The tinkling sound of the beer bottle, still inside my bag, was not very loud, as one of the straps hooked itself around my foot and was dragged over the shale it had rested upon. Immediately the searchlight bolted in my direction and I found myself blinded by the beam in Mic’s hand. I heard a thump as Tramp tripped over the edge of the hole as he scrambled over to Mic, but I ignored him and tried to camouflage myself in with the dense foliage. It was impossible to tell if they had seen me; their bodies stood silhouetted behind the sunspot of flashlight and, although their bodies never moved, they also had not come straight for me.

            Trap’s voice quivered. “Mic- Mic- MIC!”

“Shush- I’m trying to hear.”

“Give it to me, Mic! Give me my piece back!”

Mic said nothing but took a few tentative steps towards where I was hiding. Next to the flashlight his other hand was holding something I couldn’t place at first.

“Come on, man,” Trap said, clutching the wooden shaft of the shovel closer to his chest. “Its probably just a woodchuck or raccoon or something”

“What if its not?” Mic asked. He moved his hand and a funny clicking sound emanated from the object in it. My breathing stopped and it felt like my veins shut down circulation. A chilled horror swept through my chest. Mic cocked the gun in his hand again.

Had the watch on my wrist not been drowned earlier that day, the ticking hands would have measured time slowing down in front of us. Each breath I drew was ice.

Mic took a step closer.

“Dude, it could be a bobcat or cougar or something! Leave it alone”

Mic was close enough that I could make out the basic features of his face: a long slender nose with a neck to match, wide spaced sunken eye sockets and a scruffy dark haired face. Some of the light was bouncing back upon him and his skin appeared to be spotted and sunburnt. His face was hard now but neither angular nor entirely rounded in shape.

“Still, best to find out”

Mic pulled the trigger and there was a deafening sound.

©2014 Lex Vex

Sinner's Halo: Book 1 Weaver of Snares - Chapter 2

First Chapter  

Previous Chapter  

I'm not a slut, I just love love

                                                                        - Pink’s Slut like You

Chapter 2: Questionable Morals

            † Once the novelty of brightly colored math decorations had worn off, I found myself just as bored in math as I always was. The comfy armchairs someone had placed in the room (“to make it homey” my aging Math teacher, Mrs. Pufferman had said) only seemed to make falling asleep more likely. Fortunately there wasn’t any learning going on today. An hour later, the loud voice boomed over the speaker once more and we were released for different torture.

            Latin was taught in the language building, which, for reasons unknown to Liv, was shaped like a tape recorder and headphones. The teacher, Magister Dominic, was a funny little man in his late 30s who liked to add a joke to everything he said. Leaving the room after class, I was content that there was at least one class I would not completely dread attending.

            Liv had been with me every step of the way, but I had clung to her a bit as classes went along. I was polite to those she introduced me to, but I was too distracted by my surroundings to pay attention to who was in any of my classes. I know the Luke and his brother had been in at least one each; Zack’s limp had grown in the past few weeks, and while it wasn’t obvious as he sat, I could tell he was in pain. I was glad to see him without a walker, but wished he would use the cane instead of leaving it idle for Luke to carry when he refused to bring it with him. When we reached the beaker shaped building Liv turned to face me.

“Ok, Jenna, you’ve done really well in all of the other classes, so I think you can do this. Ill bring you to your classroom, but… I’m not in your science class, and seeing as I my own class three stories up, I’m sure you can sit through it on your own.”

I must have blanched, because she quickly added, “Don’t worry! Wait in your classroom when you’re done and Ill come and get you and we can go to lunch together, ok?” I nodded, embarrassed that she’d seen my nervousness. I was the ‘tough one’, but I guess even ‘tough ones’ have first days. Being out of my element had given me a disadvantage.

            Not unkindly, Liv grabbed my arm and pulled me through the building. Past classrooms and poster boards alike, Liv steered me through the maze of hallways until we turned a corner and an immense Aquarium, filling up a two-story stairwell, top to bottom, filled my view. I stared in wonder at the coral polyps glistening an aqueous rainbow of gritty terrain as a clownfish appeared between an anemone’s tendrils like a magician from behind a curtain. I wanted to study it more, but even as I spied the iridescent eyes of an eel from inside a gaping cavern, Liv grabbed my collar and dragged me across the hall to a door jutting out from an opposing identically structured Stairwell.

Unlike the one across from it, this one had shelves and shelves of brass and steal gears and motors all moving and whirring away like a clockmaker’s shop. The whole stairwell, encased a door, and the walls below the instruments were lit along the bottom by gas fires contained within a glass wall. Clear ducts ran from these fires to a mechanism at the top, just below an upper arboretum. A humongous knotted tree, situated one floor above, rose up through the mouth of the building’s beaker-like construct, and I wondered for a moment how everything stayed dry when it rained, with an open vent like that. Other smaller trees cascaded down what must have been an artificial hillside creating a waterfall of foliage. Some of the trees had begun to change colors. A metallic sign posted near the classroom door announced that the carbon dioxide let off from the fires in the glass were controlled and used as a resource to promote plant respiration, while also heating the entire campus. I’d seen a green building before, but nothing like this.

            All of this I took in in only a few seconds, as I was pulled through the doors lined with fire walls. While I continued to study the various moving machines from inside the classroom (the walls were glass on both sides, it turned out), Liv looked around for a seat, and having chosen one, plopped me down into it, before sprinting to her own class.

            Feeling a little dazed and embarrassingly in awe, I studied the human components of the room. The teacher, while absent, made a large presence, and despite the room having limited wall space, Posters covered every available surface. Two mottos were hung at the front of the classroom from pipes in the ceiling. The first was the school motto, “Nobis in Sapientia Pascat” which I had translated one day when the summer had taken an uncharacteristically wet and cold turn. Brochures had assured me that it translated to “We feed on knowledge”, but when declensions and verb forms were taken into account, I had found it mistranslated: It actually said, “Knowledge feeds on us”. The second motto, for I could only guess that a motto was what it was, concerned me a bit, and I questioned for a moment the sanity of my teacher. For Mr. Helvawitz, as his nameplate on the desk proclaimed him, had strung to the ceiling a lengthy swath of black fabric, which read in a bright red, spiky font, “WHEN YOU BURN, YOU LEARN”.

            I blinked then shook my head. What kind of place was this?

            I began scanning the room for people I recognized from previous classes. A few rows in front, I saw that girl named Trisha talking animatedly to an Asian boy with brown hair, who’s named I believed was Kevin Collins. He’d been in my Latin class before this. Scanning the rows behind, I didn’t seem to know anyone back there. Gracing my own row, there was a mousy boy twitching as he swung his feet in a desk too tall for him, and on my right sat a boy I had seen in pictures but never actually met.

“Oh, its you!”

             It was only after I said it that I realized that Asher had probably never even seen me. I was notorious for dodging out of pictures or at least covering my face during them. He raised an eyebrow but smiled lightly as he replied, only slightly awkwardly:

 “Its me…? Have we… met?”

             More crimson welled up in my cheeks. I had no plan for this and lying would only seem stupid later.

            “My name’s Jenna—uh, Jenna Doloramor. You know my friends—unless you aren’t Asher?”

            The boy nodded and relaxed back into his seat. When he chuckled it was easy and breathy. His hair was short, ashy blonde, and he had a cowlick that gave his hair a natural edge. He wasn’t bearded, but several patches of scruff were visible where he had missed shaving. Like Luke he wore a black button down shirt and belt. His tie was plain blue grey and some wear was evident as if it had been well taken care of but well used. His pants were dark, and it took me a moment to realize they were made of black denim.

            “You can get away with those?” I asked, gesturing at his legs.

            “Not a fan of the royal garbs, princess?”

            I couldn’t think of any quick comebacks, so I settled for ignoring his comment.

            “Black jeans—they’re Kosher around here?” I asked again.

            “Sure on me, but that’s cause none of the teachers want to steal a glance at my legs. I have a flat ass, you see.”

            I glanced at his butt for just a moment in spite of myself. It seemed pretty average to me, but I wanted Asher to like me. Liv had said he could be kind of rude, but so could Zack and Luke, and I wanted him to be my friend so I could integrate into my friend’s social group without drama. He seemed the type to enjoy a good fight.

            “Really? I was going to ask you if Sir-Mix-A-Lot had used your bubble butt as inspiration.” That caused him to snort into a smile.

            “How old are you? That song’s got to be almost twenty years aged.”

            “No way—” I said. “I used to hear it played at middle school dances—it’s only a few years old, right?”

            Asher gently cupped my hands in his and leaned closer to me. He gazed at me and I noticed his green eyes were flecked with red-brown stippling.

            “I’m sorry Jenna, but that song couldn’t be about me, and it couldn’t be about you—” For a second I was incredulous—my curves were plenty kickin’. “—because that album was produced in May of 1992, before we were born.” He looked at the wall with the whirring gears. “However, from the second I popped out of the womb a month later, it has been my anthem. Because I do, Jenna, I do. I like big butts, and I cannot lie—”

            “QUIET GUYS AND GALS!”

            My lips curled into a smile as I turned to face the front. I was still shaking my head at Asher, but I had to admit I liked the guy. It hadn’t been lost on me what Asher had said about his birthday. 1992… So he was a little bit under two years older than me, but still in high school. Despite my curiosity, I vowed not to ask him about it, or even snoop information out of Liv or the twins. His past was his own. If we were ever close enough, I’d let him choose to tell me.  

            The progression of this class was the most bizarre yet. Mr. Helvawitz exuberantly explained to us what we would study in the coming year, and that’s about where all relevant things left off.  Upon finishing the syllabus, he immediately started in on a lecture of the proper way to peel an orange. I tried to follow along, but none of it seemed important so I passed the time doodling in my notebook and occasionally chancing a look at Asher. To my satisfaction, he was writing in his own notebook, paying less attention than I was. Listening was a lost cause. When he noticed me looking at him, I shrugged it off, hoping I had looked love stricken and not like I had been wondering about his age difference. By the end of the lesson, I saw that he seemed interested in what I was drawing, and I looked down at my paper myself. I’d been absent-mindedly drawing a chicken.

            Just before the bell, I felt a slight bump on my right elbow. Looking up, I saw a note had landed on the floor next to my converse. Picking it up, hoping Helvawitz wasn’t a teacher prone to reading notes aloud when they were passed, I carefully opened it. Seeing Helvawitz had moved on from orange peels to talking about the safety concerns of electric can openers, I figured it was a safe time to read it.

            In excited scratchy handwriting Asher had written, “I have to leave straight after class for a needs meeting at the front office. I assume you’ll be sitting with us at lunch?” A needs meeting? I wondered. Liv had said there weren’t many kids here with scholarships. How did she not know her friend was one of them? The note ended with a smiley face. He was watching me when I looked up. So I smiled at him, and folded up the chicken doodle into a paper crane which I passed to him. He gestured, asking me if it was the chicken, using charades language instead of words. When I nodded, he pumped a fist and put it in his pocket without folding it.

            After that we doodled chickens, separate but now together as friends, pretending to listen to Mr. Helvawitz talk about the possibility of fey folk in Ireland until the bell for class sounded. Asher, true to his word, sprinted off directly after, but stopped long enough to send me a wave. Meanwhile, I sat around, waiting patiently for Liv to reappear and take me to the cafeteria. I was starving. However, Liv had a habit of getting distracted. Gossip fueled her, and while I’d only ever heard her gossip during the summer, when I was her main outlet for discussion, I had to bet that in a school setting she could find plenty of people to discuss the latest news. I stood up, hoisting my bag on my shoulder, about to go out and wait in the foyer, where, at the least, I would be able to check out more of the arboretum, but before I could, Mr. Helvawitz had pounced.

“So, Jenny,” he asked in a loud voice as if he were still addressing the class.  

            “It’s Jenna sir.” I corrected.

            “Oh, right, right, right. My mistake. It was just the way Professor Lyre wrote it down—my mistake. Anyway, Jenna,” Continued Mr. Helvawitz. “Where is it that you are transferring from?”

            I was relieved at how normal that question was. “Westhawk Regional.”

            “Local, ah, I see, I see. And, well, you must know the answer to this question Jenna: How exactly do under-privileged students feel about the use of the Spork over a separate fork and spoon, given the option?”

            I literally had no words for that.

            “JENNA!” Liv ran into the classroom. I dodged that bullet, I thought still a little shocked.

 “Sorry Mr. H, we’ve got to run. Jenna still needs to take some brain efficiency tests. I was just running off the paperwork just now. We’ve got to go.”

            Smiling broadly, Mr. Helvawitz shook his head and replied in a sincerely happy voice, “That’s perfectly fine Olivia. Take young Jennifer and have fun filling out those Brain efficiency tests. See you tomorrow, Gals.”

            “We will!” Liv said, and I nodded, forcing a smile onto my face.

 It was only after we’d left the building and made our way through a quad that I was no longer sure if the Brain Efficiency Tests had been a joke or not. Liv giggled when I brought it up.

“But who would believe that?” I said.

 “Apparently Mr. Helvawitz would. And you by the sound of it.” I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to wipe the smirk off of her face as she said that. I’d vowed to take the higher road though, and it didn’t require much effort to let it go.

            “Where is this lunch anyway? I’m starving.” Food and I had a love affair not even my mother could prevent.

            “Where do you think we’re headed? Girl, maybe you do need a brain test.”

            “You will not let that go, will you.”

            “Ha. You wish.”

            “Is that what took you so long? Getting yours?”

            “Oh, that.” She rolled her eyes. “I was just preparing my bio teacher. I wanted to know if I could get extra credit for reading some book on amebas over the summer. Turns out that we were supposed to read it anyway, so all I ended up doing was telling my teacher that I’d only done the homework by accident. Not quite the stuff I’d need to impress him.” I tried not to judge Liv for what or who she did, but since the summer, she’d talked about one thing: getting with an older man. She’d picked her bio teacher, a man I’d never met but who’s russet, flowing locks and Heath Ledger good looks I had heard about in far too much detail. Liv may have had some game with boys and girls our age, but I seriously doubted her chances with a teacher as stoic as Zack had told me Mr. Angues.

            “Ew, what’s with you and old men, Liv?”

            “40 isn’t old- 50 is the new 40, so 40 is the new thirty and thirty year olds are hot.”

            “I’m not sure that’s how that works.”

            “Well he sure looks thirty.” She said, folding her arms and sneering at me.

            It was a giant apple, the dining hall, with a large worm sticking out of the top as a turret with a table and students eating their meals, a view of the campus at their feet. Liv and I walked towards it, Liv still reciting the wonders of Mr. Angues

            “Appetizing,” I said, gesturing at the butt of the worm that came around to make a handicap ramp to the door of the cafeteria.

            The food was just as bad as the building’s entrance. The pasta was crunchy on one end, and falling apart on the other. I watched as the lunch lady slopped a hunk of mashed potatoes on my plate: the outside edge had a tough, leathery skin and when I poked it to determine texture, found the insides icy cold. I tried not to think about it while I waited for Liv to show me where our table met.

            Following closely behind Liv as she wove in and out between tables, I was relieved to see that I knew everyone sitting at the table.

            “Zachary Frederick Cane, how are Ya!” I boomed, as I reached the table to give him a hug before he could stand up. I didn’t want to watch him struggle, but I also didn’t want him to think I was worried, so I gave him a light punch on the arm which he returned affectionately. I sat down next to Zack and Luke sat down next to me, ruffling my hair a little. Liv trotted along behind us and set her things down between Asher and an empty seat. I had pretty much known from the get go she didn’t think of Mr. Angues as her soul mate, like she sometimes said, so I wasn’t surprised to see her trying to grab Asher’s attention. She’d flirt but she knew she never went far with anyone before she got bored and moved onto the next.

            “You treated our girl, Jenna, nice and well is Helvawitz’s class today right, Asher?” She asked, pinching his cheek.

            “Of course, don’t sweat it. I gave her the full run down.” Asher said, rubbing down Liv’s arm with his hand before pinching her in the side and making her squeak. I was a little surprised for a moment. Then again, I knew Liv had always been the flirty type, and I’d already pegged Asher as the same. This just made it look like they were together.

            “Honey-boo-boo-bear-muffin-face” Zack said, turning to me, wildly gesturing to look like the cover of a romance novel. I played along.

            “Suger-baby-lip-rose-kiss-nummer-farts!” I said as he pulled me onto his lap. I tried to support most of my weight on the bench without it being obvious to Zack. We brought our faces close together and his eyes merged together into one out of focus pool of grey. To sell it, I wrapped my arms around his neck, weaving my fingers through the short soft hairs on the back of his head. We rubbed our noses together for half a second then looked up. Luke looked genuinely amused, as he lay back, unaffected by the closeness. I turned to Liv who had an odd expression on her face I couldn’t quite identify before switching to disgruntled. Asher’s features were distorted into a look of amused disgust.

            Liv tried to get his attention again but he put his hand over her face.

            “That was the greatest use of the wibly-wumbly-gross-cute-couple dialogue I have heard in a long time. Congratulations, children, I will have to talk to the academy, but you may have earned yourself a Grossy nomination,”

            “Oh come on,” Liv scoffed. She grabbed Asher’s head between her hands and turned his face towards hers. I felt Zack’s muscles constrict where I was touching him and heard Luke sigh, exasperatedly “here we go…” as Liv brought their mouths together, going in tongue first. Asher looked genuinely shocked but went along with the kiss until she pulled away and said, satisfied,

            “Now that’s how you earn a Grossy.”†

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