4th Annual "No Kiss Blogfest" Entry

Hey All! Hope you had a fantastic New Year's. Today I have two blog posts up: My usual, first Wednesday of the month, Insecure Writer's Support Group, and my entry here, to the 4th Annual "No Kiss Blogfest".

Big, huge props to Frankie, from the blogs Frankie Diane Mallis and the First Novel Club, for hosting this awesome blog hop once again. This year, my entry is a  bit lengthy and I apologize for that. It's taken from my current WIP, and I kind of got a little carried away...as we crazy writerly types tend to do from time to time.  Please don't feel obligated to read it all. Although, it would be wicked cool if you did, I wouldn't blame you for  skipping to the last couple of paragraphs. That's where all of the "No Kiss" action (or non-action as it were) takes place.  I hope you like it. *Crosses fingers here* OK, I'm off to read all of your fabulous entries- and commiserate with all my IWSG peeps. -Peace!

     The rain was relentlessly pounding the pavement, almost as hard as my feet, but still I ran. I just had the pleasure of walking in on mother; the boy she was with this time looked younger than me. There is no way I will ever get used to the image of mother snorting and whoring. Rage fueled my feet forward.
 

     The way she looks at me- like I am the one who is twisted, hurts the most. Well, she can go on playing her sick games with her little boy toys. No matter how many times she offers, I won't join in. I won't be like her. I won't. I clamped down the little voice inside my head, whispering that it's too late. I am already every bit as wicked as she is.
 

    My breathe escapes me in short bursts as I push myself past the pain, running faster and harder than I ever have before. I know from experience trying to out run that image in my mind is futile. Still, I'm compelled to try.
 

  The muscles in my calves screech in protest. Someone lays hard on a horn, making me jump. I risk a quick glance back and spy a car full of boys trailing me. I groan when I recognize a familiar parking permit dangling from their rear-view mirror. Crap! They went to my school. Which left zero chance of me not being recognized.

 

  “Dianna! Hey McQueen, slow up!”

 

    I hear them hollering my name, even over the music I have blasting through my ear buds. Ugh. And I can only imagine what I look like. I ran out of the house in next to nothing. My soaking wet cotton tank top is plastered to my over-inflated chest and I could totally feel my shorts riding up my butt with every additional step I take. I dismiss them with a nod and wave. Then, I make a quick dash to the left, intending to cut through the woods and head for the safety and solitude of the park.

 

   The rain quieted immediately beneath the trees, but not my thoughts. Pushing past the pain, past the twisted life my parents and I lead, isn't easy. Being born with a silver spoon in your mouth isn't easy either, especially when your mother insists on keeping that spoon lit. The palatial home I live in, the brand new Mercedes I drive, having the best of everything, right at my finger tips- I know what people think. Living the fabulous life of Dianna McQueen, must be nice, right?

   Who would suspect the ugly secrets lying beneath the beauty of my family? People want to believe the fairy tale. They don't have the desire or will to see beyond it. Because if anyone bothered to look beneath our polished veneer, they would find monstrous human beings driven by such a vicious greed for success, it supersedes any familiar relationships or reason.

   I don't want to stop running, but I am all out of steam. I can push no more. There is a bench a little further up the path, where I know I can stop and rest a minute. But before I can reach it, I run smack into a tree.

   Well, at least I thought it was a tree. Turns out, it was him. I couldn't really think of anyone I'd like to run into less, out here in the woods. What the hell is he doing out here anyway? I thought I was the only idiot who ran in the pouring rain. Guess I was wrong.

   “Where the heck did you come from?” I sputter, when I finally catch my breath.

   “Sorry. I didn't see you.”

   “Obviously.” I don't know why it irritated me so much that he was just about the only male alive who would fail to notice me, running towards him in a soaking wet tank top and booty shorts.

   “The other side of that path.”

   “What?”

   “I came from the other side of that path.”

   “What are you doing out here?”

   “What are you doing out here?”

   “Running. You?”

   “I, I, was reading. But I lost track of time.”

   “Who reads, in the pouring rain, all alone, in the middle of the woods?”

   “I'm just as surprised to see you out here, all alone. I didn't think it was possible”

   That, was a dig. At school, I am never alone. I leave a trail of male groupies/stalkers in my wake, as well as a bunch of underclassman, who hang on my every word and copy every last detail of my outfits. And of course, there are my two beta girls, who always flank my right and left. I didn't ask for that kind of attention, but because of who I am, I naturally receive it. Knowing that, why does this freaking guy pointing it out, get under my skin so much?

   Come to think of it, why does he get to me at all? He's a nobody. No one even knows where he came from. He just sprung up one morning on the pefectly manicured lawn of Shore Hills Prep like a bad mushroom. I called the shots at school. I was in control of everyone and everything around me, including our illustrious Dean. Yet even I couldn't flush out the truth about how one dirt poor Raphael DeLaCruz, came to afford to be there. He's just standing there, staring me down. Dang it! That's my line. I need to pull my crap together. How can I just stand here and allow someone like him, to get the better of me, Dianna “The Ice” McQueen.

    He steps closer.

   “What are you running from Dianna?”
I straighten up, throw my shoulders back and my most condescending mask on.

   “I'm not running from anything.”

   “Anyone ever tell you you're a terrible liar?” My mouth pops open, shocked. He smirks.

   “I'm guessing not. No one tells you anything they don't think you want to hear.” He is right of course, but I'm not about to tell him that. A cold shiver ran up my spine, and I start to shake. Raphael takes off his ugly, beat-down jacket, the one that everyone at school mocks him for wearing, (including me) and closes it around my shoulders. He uses it as leverage, to pull me close.

   “You know nothing about me. Nothing.”

   “That's not entirely true. I know girls like you don't run alone in the pouring rain for no reason. I also happen to know you are the most desperate, most miserable person I have ever met.” As if to soften the blow of his harsh words, he smiles and pulls me closer still. There is not even an inch of space hanging between us anymore. We are chest to chest, and I relish in his embrace and the warmth of his skin. Which takes me by surprise. Even more suprising, is how the smell of his two dollar pine scented soap, comforts me. A lock of damp hair falls down, covering his eyes. He flicks it off his forehead with a shake of his head. Then he  lowers his head back down, slowly, until his forehead, touches mine.

   “Whatever. I'm rich and beautiful and the most popular girl at school. I have everything. I am far from desperate.” My voice trembles though, completely betraying my brave words. Also, it sounds a whole lot less patronizing than I intended, as a whisper.

   “Don't worry. I won't tell. Your secret is safe with me. You can keep fronting with everyone else. Mira, just don't try and spout that crap with me mami, because I can see right through you.”

    I know it's true. But how? How did this freaking kid see right through me, past all I fought so hard to keep hidden? My whole body begins to shake now, from head to toe. Whether it's from the cold or his admission, I'm not sure. The only thing I am sure of, beyond a shadow of a doubt, is if he lets go of that dumb jacket now, I will collapse right to the ground.

    I force myself to look up and meet his eyes. Like everything else with Raph, when I look beyond the basic, what I see is not what I expect. That includes the plain, boring, brown color of his eyes. Because what I see as I stare into them is a reflection of  everything I lack and desperately desire, staring right back at me. And every single one of my objections to kissing him, dissolve in that instant.
 

   Raphael leans down at the same moment I stretch up, our

lips just a breathe away from touching, when I hear the shouts and

sounds of pounding feet. I have a pretty good indication it is the

Shore Prep boys I blew off back by the road. I can't allow the kids

from school to see me vulnerable like this, with him. He knows it

too. Because before I can wiggle my way out of his embrace, he lets

go and slips back into the woods disappearing from my sight.