I'd love to write a joint with you. I agree, it's always hard to keep up with a story, and it's also hard to find a comminted joint partner, but I am! Promise! haha Here's the first chapter of one of my FF. It's called "The Music Inside" Although, I warn You, it's not my best. : /
Chapter One
I had to look at it. I had to! It was now or never. I told myself these words over and over again in my mind. My eyes slowly made their way down the page. It was in bold, black print. The words “waiting list”. It didn’t say “rejected”, which was good, but it’s didn’t say “accepted” either. I folded the paper back up and put it in my jean pocket. I didn’t want to read the rest right now.
The doorknob turned and my mom stepped through the door with a bag of groceries. “Do you need some help, mom?”, I asked. I didn’t want to tell her yet. I had disappointed myself, which was bad enough, but I couldn’t bare to let her down. She was a singer too. She never pushed any of this on me. I wanted to be like her. I want to live the dreams that she never got to. She was given a chance to perform on Broadway, which would have opened so many doors for her, but I squelched those dreams, although she would never admit it. She said that her dreams of being a mother were much bigger, which is why she turned them down when she found out that she was pregnant. They still offered her a role after I was born, which isn’t common, but yet, she still turned them down. It amazes me at how much she has given up to make my life better. She was the reason I even had that letter. She was the reason I auditioned. She was the reason I sang. So, to tell her that I was only on the “waiting list” wasn’t enough.
“Did you get the mail?”, she asked. It’s unbelievable how parents did that. It’s as if they could sense when you were doing something that you weren’t supposed to. I came up with a theory a few years ago, when I broke my mom’s favorite picture frame. I decided that people were allowed one secret at a time. Just one. So, in order to keep the letter a secret, I had to let out the one I was holding in. This was going to be interesting.
“Ummm . . . not yet. Speaking of the mail, do you remember when you favorite pair of earrings went missing?”
“Yesss . . .”
“Well . . . the went missing . . . sort of.”
“What do you mean sort of?”
“They went missing down the drain?” She looked furious, which is what I expected. The other thing I expect? GROUNDED!
I sat in my bed. The remote control laying beside me and the buttons on my laptop taunted me. I wanted so badly to turn them on. The only thing I was allowed to listen to was music. That was one thing that she never took away. I put in a burned CD and listened to the lyrics intently. I began to cry. I don’t know why. It wasn’t because I was grounded, that was no big deal. I think it was the song. How could someone my age write this? It was so heartfelt. So real. So raw. So deep. It made me want to get inside his head. He never really had much to say, which made me want to know what he was thinking. What was going on inside the head, past all of that curly hair. What was going on inside Nick Jonas’s little head? What powered him to write this? What was this thing that was so powerful and influential? Why couldn’t I have it?
