Chapter Eleven

             It was the sort of thing Nicolle knew would be talked about for years to come; the Big Fight in the Lunchroom. Once all of the students who witnessed it were gone students would still be talking. It had all the ingredients for a public bon mot, for a public mystery; if anything, the odd nature of Nicolle’s ‘rise to authority’ and even odder rescue (complete with her refusal to open her eyes and the Chess Club encircling her like a band of protective wolves) would reignite the conspiracy theories surrounding her new Club. Maybe even that one kid’s theory that they were lizard people bent on conquest.

            Elijah walked ahead of Nicolle, not beside her, at a fairly quick pace; Nicolle tried to keep up but something in her knees " that something attained from being publicly humiliated, she figured " robbed her of strength; she still had the shakes, and only now, several minutes after the incident as they were walking up the second flight of stairs to the empty third floor, did the pumping blood in her ears slow down.

            It was awkward, walking along behind Elijah, but it still allowed Nicolle the opportunity to watch him without fear of being seen. You two can’t beat me, he’d said. Know your place. He wasn’t a big guy, not really, but he was lean, and she didn’t doubt for a moment that Anthony and Clay would regret ever challenging him; just his walk, casual and confident, gave her the impression that he could be dangerous in a fight.

            She was admiring him from behind " his dark soft curls, his olive skin, his tush " when he slipped a hand into his pocket and brought out a key. They approached the Hideout’s door and he unlocked it, twisting the knob and pushing it open; Nicolle followed him inside with her breath held. He didn’t turn the lights on, giving the room a deserted feeling, and giving them a sense of privacy; it exhilarated her, being alone in the dimly lit room with Elijah Beaumont.

            “Wait over there,” he said, pointing to a table by the window; there was a chess board on it, its pieces untouched. Sunlight came through the window in a golden square over the table, making one of the few well lit places in the room. Nicolle didn’t ask him why but simply complied, walking over to the table and taking a seat.

            Elijah busied himself; what exactly he was doing Nicolle didn’t know. When he had told Presley he would only be a minute Nicolle had expected as much; didn’t he merely need to touch her and she would be healed? Not that she was complaining with what they were doing, but couldn’t they have just ducked into a corner for a moment, healed her eye, and that been that? And yet Elijah was dragging a heavy book from the bookshelf, the anatomy of a human on its cover; he disappeared for a minute before returning with a bottle of vitamin water. Throughout all of this he didn’t look in Nicolle’s direction; she watched him covertly, never looking directly at him.

            At last Elijah returned to the table and sat, sliding the chess board aside and laying the book down instead. He did not speak as he did this, making an uncomfortable atmosphere. For Nicolle, at least. She could practically hear Vee two floors below: What are you waiting for Darling?! Do it to it! Say something!

            Nicolle cleared her throat. Nothing followed for nearly a minute, Elijah reading his book; finally, clearing her throat again, Nicolle spoke, her voice croaky and weak.

            “Thank you for stepping in down there.”

            She visualized her wishes: a lock of his hair falling over his brow as he looks up, smiles at her modestly, saying something debonair like I was happy to do it, or (shoot for the stars!) I love you. He never looks up though.

            “Presley asked me to,” he said, his voice detached; he was reading. Then, closing the book with force: “Dead blast it…”

            “What, what is it?” Nicolle asked.

            “Wrong book,” he said, standing and walking back to the bookshelf. “Don’t know if the right one’s up here… and I don’t want to be up here long…”

            Nicolle nodded, unsure why. He pulled his shades off to better see the spines of the shelved books, his forehead furrowed; not in concentration, Nicolle thought, but in frustration. He didn’t seem mad, really, but irritated… that word got it best. There he had been, having lunch with his supermodel girlfriend, when the moronic new girl got herself slapped, forcing him to get his feet wet; this wasn’t how Nicolle had wanted their first alone moments to be.

            “There it is… good,” he said, lightening up a little; standing across the room, ignoring Nicolle entirely, Elijah flipped through the pages; after a moment, perhaps from habit, he began to hum; Nicolle didn’t know the song. Within seconds the hum became words. Elijah was singing. It was barely audible but his voice was surprisingly lovely. It sounded like it might be a rock song.

            “What are you looking for?” Nicolle asked.

            “How to heal a black eye,” he murmured.

            “You don’t know?” she asked, and instantly regretted the wording, fearful she might appear to be questioning his talents. Indeed, he glanced up at her; though she couldn’t read his expression at all it jarred her regardless.

            “White Artistry is a complex practice… it’s not magic. I can’t just touch you and cure you. I haven’t healed an eye bruise in a long time, it’s a little different.”

            “Oh,” Nicolle said. Welp. She felt dumb.

            “Common misconception,” he said; whether trying to comfort her or complaining she did not know. He returned to the table and sat down, his eyes still on the book. Without looking he unscrewed the top from the vitamin water and took a swig.

            “So... you drink vitamin water?” My word, I’m floundering for a topic. “I’d think Artists of the White stay healthy anyway.” She chuckled needlessly.

            His stare remained on the flipping pages; he stopped on a section with a large diagram of an eye. “The B vitamins help me maintain energy... some healing procedures can be taxing.” He paused as he read on the page. Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. “The E, A, and C vitamins will provide your body with a little backup, so the healing doesn’t tire you. This is a small thing so it won’t tire either of us, but I was thirsty, so...”

            “That’s pretty smart thinking,” she said, smiling a smile that went unseen. “Pretty smart of you to think that up. To, you know... think up that drinking that can help and all.”

            At last his head rose and she saw his eyes. Artist of the White? Those eyes were more grayish-silver, an overcast sky preparing to rain; the light from the windows made them nearly metallic. Nicolle’s heart lurched with hope that her compliment would at last draw a grin to those lips.

            “It wasn’t my idea,” he said. He looked like a lion, all that calm intensity. “It was my father’s.”

            “Oh, right,” Nicolle smiled, nodding big goofy nods; she forced herself to stop trying so hard. “Yeah, I heard a little about him"”

            “Did you now?” Elijah said, his eyes back on the book. Nicolle recalled what Vee had told her about Elijah’s father: Dom talks about him a good bit... he respects him a lot.

            “Yeah, and, you know... he sounds like a real inspiration.”

            “Inspiration,” Elijah said.

            “Yeah, you know, and um... I heard that you and Dominic made the Chess Club in his honor. That’s pretty big of you guys.” Nicolle brought her voice to a soft, gentle volume; she thought of it as her wooing voice, tilting her head slightly as she spoke. “Your father would be proud of what you two have done with the Chess Club.”

            Elijah’s beautiful face rose to meet her own, and he asked, “Really?” “Yes,” Nicolle whispered. Elijah smiled at her, the sun reflecting between his White Eyes, her Black... he took her by the hand, so carefully, and pulled her closer…

            Elijah’s face rose and looked at Nicolle. “My father was an Artistry obsessed fool. He sacrificed the well-being of his family so he could experiment all day and night with it. My mother lost her husband to it. His sons lost their father to it. In his thirst to learn more about Artistries he left when I was eleven. I haven’t seen him since.”

            The silence of the Hideout was absolute; no ticking clocks, no birds chirping outside, nothing. Elijah remained looking at Nicolle for a few seconds after his last word before slowly going back to the book on the table.

            At first she could say nothing. Then: “I’m sorry.”

            “Don’t be,” he said. He flipped the page; reading, reading.

            “You know,” she spoke, warning lights going off in her head that she had already said too much, but she couldn’t stop now, “my pa left when I was little, too. I was eleven, too.”

            Elijah inhaled. Exhaled. Attention still on the book. Then, rather gruffly: “I’m sorry to hear it.”

            Nicolle’s eyes rested on the sunlight bathed book in front of him, hypnotized by the glow; somehow " somehow " it loosened her nerves just a bit. “He… he wasn’t very nice to me. He would hit me sometimes, but not a lot. He called me bad things. You would think that I would be glad he was gone, that he left and everything, but… but there’s still a big dark hole there. I mean, he didn’t leave us for Artistries or anything like that,” she chuckled needlessly again, a humorless, sad thing. “But he still left us. It hurts to be unwanted. For someone to leave you, no reason given, just poof… I’d go to bed on nights after he’d yell at me and think to myself ‘but he still loves you’. But he left me behind and never tried to talk to me again. It hurts to be unwanted. It hurts to be left to fend for yourself.”

            Perhaps five seconds passed after Nicolle’s dazed soliloquy before she looked up from the book, expecting to see the top of Elijah’s head as he continued reading. Instead, he was looking at her again. Not with irritation, not with boredom; the look on his face was unmistakably sympathetic.

            “Yes,” he agreed quietly. “It does.”

            His White Eyes locked onto her Black Eyes for a moment; Nicolle’s heart raced like a piston. So carefully he reached out his hand and caressed her face…

            His White Eyes locked onto her Black Eyes for a moment; Nicolle’s heart raced like a piston. And then: so carefully he reached out his hand and caressed her face. Nicolle’s heart stopped, her breathing stopped. He leaned forward over the table so that their faces were only about a foot from touching.

            “What,” Nicolle breathed, her head going dizzy. “What are you doing?”

            His reply was an expression of confusion. “I’m… healing you now.”

            “Oh,” she said. Right. Welp. She felt dumb again.

            “I just found what I’d been looking for; won’t be too difficult to patch this up,” he said, looking at the area to the lower right of her eye. His hand was warm and strong cupping her jaw; she felt a weird urge to turn her head and nibble on it, taste the heat of his skin on her tongue. His breath smelled clean despite just having left lunch; did Artists of the White automatically kill bad breath germs?

            “Ah!” Nicolle suddenly gasped, her fists balling. “Ah!”

            Elijah avoided her eyes, his hands still on her, his face still near her own. “The sensation of healing something like this can be a bit odd until you get used to it…”      

            That it was; it felt as if her bruise first was frozen solid then blistering hot before, finally, soothingly cool. She poked and prodded beneath her eye; the soreness was gone. 

            “All done,” he said, pulling away.

            “Cool,” she said. “Thank you.”

            He nodded. “Of course.” Then: “Your friend’s not so lucky, though… he’d better find a doctor soon.”

            At first, lost in the high of being alone with Elijah Beaumont -- lost in the high of Elijah Beaumont talking to her, touching her, making her go “ah” -- Nicolle had no idea what he was talking about. Then she remembered: Timmy’s nose had been broken in the fight.

            “Oh, yeah,” was all she said.

            Elijah was walking back to the bookshelf to put up his book. “And, if I may ask a favor…” He paused as he pushed the book into place. “… if Presley happens to ask what happened up here -- I doubt she will, but if she does -- I merely showed you where the ointment is.”

            “Oh… okay,” Nicolle said, nodding. “I can do that.”  

            She’d not brought anything up with her so she was prepared to go. Elijah hadn’t either but apparently the things for his next class were kept in the Hideout; he grabbed his black bag and began putting books in it. Nicolle watched him without a word; she technically had no reason to stick around any longer. But she did.

            “So,” Elijah said, “you stayed at the van Valen’s the other night?”

            Nicolle took a risk at playful humor and said, “If I did would it be any of your business?” One of Elijah’s eyebrows shot up; she quickly remedied the situation by adding, playful humor abandoned: “I did, yes.”

            “I only ask because Vee told me to ask you if I got the chance what it was she was coaching you on,” he said. 

            Nicolle’s eyes widened. “She did?”

            “Mmhm.” He was looking right at her.

            “Just fashion and stuff. Fashion. Clothes.” Nicolle drew circles on the carpet with her foot, not daring to look up. After a moment she heard him approaching; his bag was slumped over his shoulder in a confident pose.

            “Ready?” he asked her. Nicolle was touched, and powerfully; on the way up, had she needed to stop and tie her shoe, he’d have left her. Now look. He was waiting on her.

            “Almost,” she said. Both of their sunglasses were sitting on the table near the window; Nicolle jogged over, retrieved them, and came back, handing Elijah his pair. “Now we are.” 

            They put on their shades, opened the door, and walked out. Somewhere along the middle of the first staircase Nicolle noticed the difference; she wasn’t wearing her sunglasses, she was wearing Elijah’s. She had accidentally given him the wrong pair. She said nothing though, and hoped he didn’t realize the change: wearing his shades -- the lenses that hid the famous White Eyes -- felt strangely intimate to her. 

            Once they reached the ground floor Nicolle turned for the right; Elijah turned to the left. Without thinking Nicolle spoke, sounding more longing than intended: “Where are you going?”

            Elijah turned around; he studied her for a moment and Nicolle wondered what he saw. 

            “To see Dom and Vee,” he said. He elaborated no farther. It seemed their fifteen minutes of togetherness was at an end.

            Nicolle fought back a tone of disappointment and replied: “Oh. Okay. Goodbye then.”

            He gave her a cordial smile, turned, and walked away. Nicolle did the same but could not fight the urge to turn and see if he was looking at her. He was gone, the chapter in Nicolle’s head titled Nicolle and Elijah Alone coming to a close. Her heart was pounding and her breath was hectic; already the memories formed in Room 44 mere minutes ago had attained legendary status for her, moments she was sure she’d reminisce upon to her dying day.

            She moved over into a corner of the already empty hallway and removed Elijah’s sunglasses, turning them over in her hands with surgical care.      

            Elijah Beaumont, Artist of the White, Nicolle thought with awe. I’m not done with you yet.

 

            Vee scanned the world from behind the dark tint of her shades. None of them had the guts to meet her rotating gaze head on but the Chess Club was on their minds still. Well... two members in particular were.

            ... she’s in the Chess Club now? How did that happen...?

            ... definitely strange going on. Her eyes stayed closed...

            ... he was so freaking confident... maybe he could have beaten them both...

            ... Elijah is so hot.

            Vee scowled; that last one had come from her far left, on the other side of Elyse and Marie; it wasn’t common for her to be capable of reading Brooklyn’s thoughts but, lookey there, one had slipped through. Or just maybe Vee’s telepathic abilities were getting better. Not an impossibility. She hoped Brooklyn wouldn’t make a move on Mr. Beaumont; she thought Eli was too smart to fall for her ways but most guys were not; her Blue Artistry usually liquefied them where they stood, knowing just exactly what a man wants and all. She decided to keep her eye -- and her mind’s eye -- on Brooklyn McKenna. For Nicolle.

            ... it’s fortunate that I have never discovered myself in a predicament such as that... poor Nicolle... (Marie)

            ... that I created on my own, blind be my eyes tonight " tonight " hide my sight that sees in vain; before and after is all gone... and everything has been time gone... (Peter, singing a metal song)

            ... what’s up, milady? Why you looking so tense over there?

            Vee turns to her right; Dom smiled at her as if to say caught ya. “Spill.”

            “You know already,” Vee said, still not quite able to loosen up. She felt an itch in her fists; she wanted payback. Alyssa Craven was her name, the insensitive broad; did she not care that Nicolle came from such a painful home life, that her situation was a delicate one? Did she really intend to push her even further into that hole? What kind of person voluntarily caused such a sweet person like Nicolle pain? Vee craved revenge. Nicolle may not yet have the cojones to bring Alyssa Craven down to size, not yet. But Vivian van Valen did.

            “Yup,” Dom said, taking a swig of milk and putting the carton down. “You know the answer’s no.”

            “Come on, Dom,” Vee said, turning to him. “You saw everything I saw. She was on the floor when we came in! One of our own, knocked to the floor by some idiotic heifer who has the maturity of a thirteen year old! It’s in the interest of the Chess Club to make a scene, to get back at her!”

            “It’s the truth, I know it,” Dom said. “You think I don’t? But it’s like dad used to say: ‘the coolest head prevails’. We’re not doing anything until you become less...” he considered what to say, Vee shooting him a warning glance the entire time. “... vengeful. Less vengeful.”

            “All I know is Nicolle is doing back-flips on a sword’s edge,” Vee said, turning her eyes back to the lunchroom. “Few have been through what she has and I’m doing my best to repair things for her. I won’t abide others undoing that.”

            “You won’t have to,” Dom said, cramming an entire slice of ham in his mouth; Vee faced him with a look of disgust.

            “You’re gross,” she says, but started to smile a little.

            “We’ll protect Nicolle,” Dom said with full cheeks. “And we’ll avenge her if we need to. But not yet.”

            “Hm,” Vee grunted.

            “Eat,” Dom ordered. Vee looked down at her own ham slice; everything was untouched.

            “I’m not really hungry,” she said.

            “You were absolutely starving on the way down, right before you heard that girl’s thoughts and broke out running,” Dom said. He takes her fork and gently pokes it into her hand. “You need food, Vivian. Chow down. There’s nothing we can do now anyway.”        

            Vee tenses her jaw and looks away. Why does he have to call her that? No one else ever did; if they tried she typically told them to call her Vee. But with Dom...   

            Get your head in the game, van Valen. Knock it off!

            So she did. No point getting on that thought train; where it led, nobody knows.

            ... Presley must be heading to class by now... gives me a few minutes... I wonder if they’re still eating in here...

            Vee looked to the door, anticipating his arrival; Eli walked in, saw her at the Chess Club table, and started for her. What could he possibly want? She’d have thought he would avoid the lunchroom for the rest of the day; heads usually turned when a Chess Clubber passed anyway, but today there was a bit more fanfare to it: there he is, she heard from nearly everyone sitting in the lunchroom. That’s him, he totally stepped up earlier!

            He seemed one hundred percent oblivious to everyone and everything save Vee; he approached the table and sat down across from her with the look of a man wanting answers.

            “Yessir?” Vee asked, popping a piece of bread in her mouth.

            Before he could speak Dom did: “Man of the hour, there he is. Who knew my baby brutha was such a hero.” Eli didn’t smile.

            “Where did she get that black eye, Vee?” Eli asked. “It wasn’t from that Alyssa girl, was it?”    

            “Why do you care?” Vee asked with a grin. Check it out, she thought with glee. You’re not the cold hearted fella you wanted everyone to believe you are. You’re concerned about her.

            Eli cocked an eyebrow impatiently. “That bruise came from a punch to the face. Not a slap, or whatever. Someone punched her in the eye.”

            Vee nodded. How much would Nicolle want him to know? Would it embarrass her if she told Eli? “Someone did, true.”

            “Who? Why?”

            “She’ll tell you if you ask her,” Vee said, seeing a good opening to get them together again; turning him into a confidant for her would be freaking ingenious. Before you know it there would be that first kiss and, whaddya know, they’re dating! “But I won’t make that public without her consent.”

            Dom chuckled. “Please... you’re constantly taking info without consent. Madam Blue.”

            Vee gave him a flat stare before pelting him with bread.        

            “I’m not asking her that,” Eli said. “I was just curious. She seems,” he shrugged, “kind of nice. Not a violent person. Struck me as strange that a person would punch her in the face.”

            My thoughts exactly. Without a doubt, Nicolle Darling had it rough.

            The Chess Club, moving as one body, got up, threw away their trash, and exited the lunchroom. As they walked back to the high school Vee leaned in to Eli, who looked deep in thought.

            “You healed it?”

            He nodded, looking away. That topic’s over, looks like.

            Elyse moved over next to Vee. “I gave Nicolle your next class. I knew you typically spent that period alone and assumed you’d like the company.”

            Vee nodded. “Good thinking.” Alone didn’t quite cover it though; Presley was in that class too. She was sort of an honorary Chess Club member, thank you Elijah Beaumont. What a pickle; just as she was beginning to have hope for Nicolle and Eli she remembered that girl and her hope unraveled. She was Eli’s girlfriend; together they made for the sexiest couple in school, or probably several schools combined. And you know... they were happy together, no denying it. Vee loved Nicolle " already they were like sisters " but overcoming the problem of Presley Llewellyn would be like shoveling away a mountain.

            Yodelehehoo... come on now, milady. Don’t look so down.

            Vee looked ahead of her, where Dom was now walking alongside his brother, leading the group. He was smiling at her with that cool guy grin. She smiled back.

 

            Nicolle remembered the day she first heard what she used to call “the voices” (which, of course, turned out to be Adam), the day when she wondered if her sanity was slipping away from her. On that day, her back against the wall and her hands in her hair, every eye in the hallway was on her. Today was no different, save perhaps that even more people were looking on; that’s the new member, they said. And she was in a fight in the lunchroom today, the one named Elijah Beaumont stepped in and stopped it!

            It was easier to take the stares of the world behind Elijah’s cool shades; they were something of a talisman they imbued her with strength. She moved with dignity and held her head high; she thought she did a good job but still would have liked another Chess Clubber walking beside her. Her next class was in a few moments but she tried not to hurry; she recalled how Elijah, Dom, and Vee walked and tried to mimic them, that confident glide, no hurries, no hurries...    

            The place on her cheek where he had touched her felt warm; surely it was just her imagination. Nicolle couldn’t help but replay the events of the lunchroom with a powerful cringe, but the events that followed in the Hideout always chased away the pain. Would her heart ever slow down? Even as she went to bed later that night, hours away, would his influence on her wane?

            She came to the door of her next class " it was locked, the teacher not yet back from lunch " and found two others standing there: Vee and Presley, Vee not quite facing Presley. Nicolle had been nearly frantic in her desire to recount the events of Room 44 to Vee " she’d already envisioned such a meeting in her head, complete with hugs and hopping " but Presley’s presence muted that. Presley’s presence muted a lot, actually. For a short while it was as if he were her own. The overwhelmingly beautiful girl waiting at the door to Room 30 brought down those illusions of grandeur with an kind smile.

            “Hi,” she said.

            “Hey,” Nicolle said.

            “How are you, how do you feel?” Vee asked.

            “Better.”

            “I couldn’t believe Alyssa,” Presley said. “How barbaric. And Anthony and Clay! How’s your friend doing?”

            Nicolle wondered that herself. She hadn’t seen him at all; apparently he’d left school. His mother had likely come to pick him up, cuddling him and promising to talk to the principal. Nicolle felt deeply sorry for him; what a day for Timmy.

            “Not sure, I haven’t seen him, I"”

            Nicolle’s heart lurched, a fish on the hook: Elijah appeared around the corner. Presley, seeing Nicolle’s attention change direction " and hopefully seeing nothing else " turned and smiled.

            “My hero,” she said. Vee sighed behind her.

            He smiled and Nicolle wanted to cry. God, she was falling in love with this guy. This guy who smiles like a seraph at other girls. This guy who touched her and made her all better.

            “Not really,” he said.

            “You saw how they ran,” she said, poking him in his hard stomach. “They didn’t want any of my Elijah Bonecrusher Beaumont.”

            Her teasing brought another smile from him. This hurt, and badly; far worse than her mother’s fist or Alyssa’s words. He was supposed to be her Elijah Bonecrusher Beaumont.

            “Will you need a ride after school or can your dad get your Vette here first?” Elijah asked her. Nicolle noticed: he had yet to look in her direction. For what reason? Did he just not care? Does Presley dwarf me that badly?

            “Yes sir,” she said. “It’ll probably be fixed by this evening though, he told me.” Her expression changed to one of curiosity; to Nicolle’s shock she looked in her direction and then back to Elijah. “Oh yeah, what happened to you earlier? You were gone longer than expected... what did you do?”

            No jealousy, no anger; just puzzlement. Elijah shrugged.

            “Someone had moved the medical supplies,” he said. “Took me forever to find it.”

            “Uh huh,” Presley said with an innocent smile. “You know you have the magic touch, I was beginning to wonder if you’d used it on someone other than me, Mr. Man.”

            It was one hundred percent joke, no accusation at all in Presley’s words, and yet oh man; Elijah’s jaw tensed and he seemed to have stopped breathing. There it was: the spot on Nicolle’s face where he’d touched her was aflame again; the air became like lightening.

            “No,” he said. He didn’t seem to have let out his breath yet. “Just lost supplies.”

            “Ah, okay,” Presley said, looking to Nicolle, whose nerves served up a nice wobbly smile for Presley. 

            And deep down it resonated within Nicolle: she and Elijah had had a secret moment. Alone, locked away from the world, he’d laid his gentle hands on her and it was their secret. She’d done something Presley Llewellyn, Blue Hawaii, Maple Hill’s finest female, had never once done: look into the eyes of Elijah Beaumont " the real eyes of Elijah Beaumont " and it was just for them, Nicolle and Elijah.

            Elijah turned to leave as the teacher, Mrs. Guthrie, appeared with the keys in her hand; she unlocked the door with a click and everyone poured inside, Presley waving goodbye to her beau before doing the same. Nicolle did not yet move inside; she watched him walk away. He didn’t turn to see if she was still there, or wave at her, or anything like that; it was certainly possible " certainly likely " that his mind was not entertaining thoughts of Nicolle Darling at all. But Nicolle watched him leave just the same. When you loved someone, she thought, that was what you did.

            Nicolle and Elijah, she thought, and walked inside the classroom.

Reviews

[Lost in Wonderland]

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! I just want to lock Elijah and Nicole in a room and say "PLAY NICE"

Just kidding haha. But I love the story and relationships you've woven together in this novel!

On to the ext chapter!

[ScottWinchester]

Thank you so much :) Those words look so small in print, but really... thank you.

[Lost in Wonderland]

any time:)