Twinepathy (Part 2): Don’t Call An Ambulance

Hullo, everyone! I’m back with the next part of Twinepathy! Yay! I got an amazing response from all of you last time, and I can’t wait for you to read what’s next. If you’re new, or you want to catch up, click on the banner below to go to the first post. Share with your friends and add it to your Goodreads currently-reading shelf!

I’m frozen for a second before my brain kicks back in. I call for Brooklyn and Denver and scoop the girl up as best I can, bringing her into the house. Brooklyn appears just ahead of Denver and closes the door behind me. “What happened?” she asks, slipping into her calm, rational mindset.

I breathe deeply. Calming. Supposedly. “She passed out on the doorstep.”

“Who is she?” Denver asks, taking her from me – he’s stronger, duh – and setting her gently on the couch.

I shrug. “I don’t know. She didn’t have time to say anything before she just…” I motion with my hand, probably not making much sense.

Denver runs his fingers through his hair. “Oh, I wish Mom and Dad were here,” he moans. “We should call 911.”

Brooklyn and I exchange a glance. We must be getting the same feeling – something’s up, and having the girl sent to the hospital isn’t going to help. “Um… I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Brooklyn says cautiously.

“What do you mean?” Denver asks incredulously.

I can tell Brooklyn’s putting emotions in his head by her squinty concentration face. So I stall. “Well, I mean, it seems like she’s just exhausted or something, and she obviously came here for a reason, and we wouldn’t be able to find that out if we took her to the hospital. And besides, you know some first aid…” I hardly ever babble like this.

Denver looks back and forth between us slowly. “Okay. Whatever you guys think, that’s what we’ll do. I’ll go get her a blanket.” He heads out of the room and down the hall.

I look sideways at Brooklyn. “What did you put in his head?” I ask skeptically. I don’t think Denver’s ever been that peaceful and accommodating.

She shrugs. “Trust.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Is that even an emotion?”

“More like a combination of emotions,” she says, grinning, then turns to the little girl. Her face looks even paler now that she’s unconscious. “Albany, can you go get a glass of water? She’ll probably need that when she wakes up.” Denver appears with the blanket and hands it to Brooklyn. “Thanks. Can you get my bath salts?” Denver gives her a completely blank look.

“I’ll get them,” I grumble. “Denver, you can get a glass of water.”

“Right.” He heads off into the kitchen and I fetch Brooklyn’s smelliest bath salts. How can she stand these? I hand them to her, and she opens them, holding them under the little girl’s nose. Poor girl. Denver arrives with the water just as her eyes flutter open.

“Hey,” Brooklyn says gently, in her I’m-not-going-to-hurt-you-sweet-adorable-thing voice. “How are you feeling?”

The girl blinks slowly and turns her head to the side to stare at me and Brooklyn. She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes fix on the glass of water in Denver’s hand. Brooklyn helps her sit up, then takes the glass from Denver and helps her take a drink. She drinks like she hasn’t had water for days, and somehow she only spills a few drops.

“How are you feeling?” Brooklyn asks again, smoothing the girl’s hair out of her face.

“Where am I?” the girl whispers hoarsely, her face scared as she continues to look around.

“You’re in our house,” I say.

Brooklyn sends me a glare that clearly says ‘Let me handle this.’ I don’t even need a telepathic connection to know that. “I’m Brooklyn,” she says to the girl. “You passed out on our doorstep.”

The girl blinks. “I did? I don’t remember…” She frowns, scrunching up her forehead in a way that books would describe as adorable. It makes me think of a cute little pug, I have to admit. Her gaze locks on Brooklyn.

“What’s your name?” My twin asks, voice still gentle.

The girl’s forehead wrinkles even more. “I-I don’t remember.”

What? Amnesia? Noooo! What do you think will happen next? Are you enjoying this? Comment below!

Next Part –>

Be Careful What You Say In A College Coffee Shop

Hullo, everyone! Did you know that sometimes you have to write for school? Isn’t that nuts? I recently finished a 700+ word essay for my comp class about one of my least favorite subjects: *whispers* poetry. So much fun. But yesterday I got to write a short story for American Lit! Yay! I thought all of you would enjoy it, and it’s been a while since I posted a short story, so I present to you… Be Careful What You Say In A College Coffee Shop.

“I just don’t know what to do,” Steven said, rubbing his forehead. “She won’t eat anything except spicy chicken wings anymore.” The college coffee shop buzzed around the two of them, their lattes sitting untouched.

His friend Colin smothered his laughter and pasted on a solemn face as he leaned across the table. “That’s a problem all right. Have you tried everything? Steak? Ribs? Ground beef?”

Steven snorted. “If she develops a craving for steak or ribs, I’m in trouble. My wallet’s having trouble with chicken wings as it is.”

“Well, they’re normally picky, just not that picky,” Colin commented.

“I’m not sure what to do next. I think I might—” Steven stopped, looking over Colin’s shoulder at the person sitting next to them. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Colin turned around to look, and the girl turned from her computer screen. “W-what do you mean?” she stammered.

Steven pointed at her computer. “I saw it! You’re writing down our conversation!”

The girl shifted nervously and glanced at her laptop. Colin leaned over and read it. “‘If she develops a craving for steak or ribs, I’m in trouble.’ You are writing down what we’re saying!”

She shifted again. “Um, yeah. About that. What in the world were you talking about? I just tuned in.”

Steven gaped at her. “We were talking about my dog. Why were you writing that down?”

She laughed. “Your dog! And here I thought it might be your girlfriend.”

Colin leaned towards Steven, eyeing the girl. “I think she might be crazy,” he whispered.

The girl’s cheeks turned pink, indicating she had heard. “I-I’m sorry. I’ll stop.” She stood up quickly and began to pack her things.

“No, wait.” Steven stood up. “I want to know why you were writing down our private conversation.” He focused on making himself look as imposing as possible.

The girl visibly cringed. “Um. Well, I’m a writer. And your conversation sounded like something interesting to make a story out of.”

Steven gaped. “What?”

“That’s a story I’d like to read,” Colin said under his breath.

The girl sidled to the side, hugging her laptop to her chest. “Um, can I go now?”

Steven stepped back. “Um, if you want. I’m, uh, I’m sorry if I intimidated you.”

She scampered off as quick as she could, and Steven sat back down at the table. Colin smirked. “I guess the lesson for this ‘Embarrassing Episode In The Life of Steven’ is ‘Be careful what you say in public, because you never know who could be listening and your words might end up in a book someday.’”

Steven glared at him. “You need to work on that.”

Colin grinned. “I know.”

Twinepathy (Part 1): The Beginning

Hullo, everyone! Here’s that surprise I mentioned yesterday. It’s been over a month since the end of Avengers’ Isle, which was a ton of fun, and it seemed like all of you enjoyed it, too. Rather than start a sequel (which I was tempted to do after watching Age of Ultron), I decided to take a story I was planning and turn it into a serial story for your enjoyment. I present to you part one of Twinepathy. Enjoy, my dear friends! If you like it, share!

Hello, my name is Albany, and I have a telepathic connection with my twin sister, along with the ability to read minds.

Well, that may not be the best start, but I’m pretty proud of it. It makes this sound like it’s going to be an awesome story. Which it is. But the beginning… well… I promise it’ll get more exciting than this.

“Go fish.”

Denver, my older brother, moaned and drew a card from the small stack. “How can you guys beat me at everything?”

Brooklyn, twin sister extraordinaire and social butterfly, gives him a mischievous grin. “You’re just too obvious.”

Denver gives me a helpless look, and I shrug. “I’m losing, too.”

“And if I win…” Brooklyn studies her hand. “You have to treat me to dinner, Denver.”

He makes a moaning sound. “Okay, fine. But not tonight. You know I’ve got a date.”

Brooklyn makes a face. If there’s one thing she dislikes, it’s Denver dating. She would definitely prefer to only have to share him with me and Mom and Dad. It doesn’t matter to her that Ezra’s a sweet, slightly awkward girl that Denver’s gone head over heels for. It also doesn’t matter to her that she hardly does anything with him, anyway… but I digress.

“Two,” Brooklyn says to me. I mutter something under my breath and hand a card to her. She sniffs the air. “Your cookies are burning.”

I fly into the kitchen. I’m no cook, but I had to try the bacon cookie recipe I found. I mean, hello, bacon and cookies! My two favorite foods just have to be amazing together. I should’ve known I’d burn them. I can’t cook anything.

I pull out the extra crispy cookies just as the doorbell rings. “You should get that while you’re up,” Denver calls. I roll my eyes. I’ll be he and Brooklyn are laughing. I hate checking the door. Technically, since Mom and Dad aren’t here – they’re on a date – Denver should answer the door, since he’s the oldest. But of course they’ll make me do it. I check the cookies. Yep, they’re burnt enough that no one will want to eat them, not even me. I’ll have to beg Mom to try the recipe for me. What a waste of bacon and cookie. I sigh and wipe my hands on a towel before heading to the door.

I peer out the peephole and don’t see anything until I look down. There, on our doorstep, is a little girl in a ratty red dress, hair tangled and face smudged. She looks around eight years old, maybe a little less. I send a mental image of her to Brooklyn before opening the door.

“Hello,” I say, gazing at her. I notices she’s not wearing shoes, and her dress looks fairly new, just dirty and torn. “Who are you?”

She looks up at me with haunting blue eyes – hollow, scared, lost. Her mouth opens, as if she’s going to speak, but an odd expression crosses her face. She wobbles, then crumples to the ground, out cold.

Well, what do you think so far? Thoughts, comments? Comment below! Your comment could be the difference between the continuation of this series… and the end. No pressure…

Next Post –>

Tales From The Writers’ Desk: Crazy Drivers

This tale has been sitting for a long time… in my imagination, that is. I started writing it when I got my drivers’ license… three months ago. 😀 Enjoy!

I slam the door to my office and slump down into my swivel chair. I blow out a breath and growl, pushing my hair out of my face. The door opens slightly and Benedict steps in. “Trouble on the way here?”

I groan. “I hate driving. Honestly, what’s with people on the roads? Everyone drives so slow!”

Benedict sits down in the interview chair. “Really?”

I sigh. “Yes! There was this jerk in front of me who was just inching along! I was stuck behind him for over a mile, and I couldn’t pass him, thanks to all the other cars whizzing past. So I had to wait until I got to Lava Java.” I growl. “Thank goodness he didn’t stop, too.”

“That’s interesting,” Benedict says.

I frown. “Why?”

“Well, on my way to work today, there was a person riding my bumper almost the whole time.” He leans back in the chair. “I was quite relieved when they turned into Lava Java Coffee Shop.”

My face heats up. “Um…” This is awkward…

Benedict gives me a half grin. “Don’t worry about it. But you may want to work on patience… and your driving.”

Time to chat! Do you drive? Which one are you: the speeder or the slowpoke? (I’m the slowpoke…) Ever had an experience like this? Comment below!

**Author’s note: I’ve got a surprise coming tomorrow… **