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THE PROSPECT: Chapter One (FREE TO READ)
🕑 Added 2022-12-13 18:41:36 +0000 UTCWelcome to chapter one of my unpublished story, THE PROSPECT!
This chapter is FREE to everyone so you can see the story I'm offering and get a sense for if you'll love it (I think you will!) ;)
The other chapters will be available to patrons from Tier 1 and up.
This was originally supposed to be part of the Harrison Street Crew series, but because of contract issues and technicalities, it never got made! I thought this would be a fun place to give you all the exclusive early access to it while I figure out where I should publish it.
And I'd love to hear your thoughts! I'm thinking it should maybe be a Radish or Kindle Vella story!
Also, fun little easter egg, but this here is a picture of MY guitar (with a quarter jammed into it). So how much of this story do you think is fact vs. fiction??? ;P
Chapter One
Southie, Boston
Ten Years Ago
Tricia
This is my spot. I smiled as I climbed the grassy hill in our neighborhood’s little park. Southie wasn’t known for its sprawling trees and nature, which made this spot even more special. None of my friends knew about it.
My brothers didn’t bother me up here unless mom or dad needed me. The top of the hill was covered by shrubs and trees and the path was a steep incline, usually making all my friends turn back the other way. But when you got to the top? It was spectacular.
As I took a deep breath, I noted how the warm summer air smelled fresher up here. Once I got through the trees at the top, the clearing was a shade of green I didn’t know existed in Boston. The perimeter was thick with trees shielding me from view of anyone below.
My favorite spot to sit was lush with moss and in the spring and summer, always had a thick tuft of daffodils sprouting from the moist soil.
It was perfect.
Usually, I opted to bring my ukulele, but today, I felt drawn to my guitar. It was a bit more cumbersome to lug to the top of the hill, but there was a certain sound I couldn’t get from my uke. My small journal was tucked into the back pocket of my jeans and I pushed my pencil into my ponytail during the walk.
With each step, the guitar bounced against my butt and I smiled, hearing my dad’s voice in the back of my head. “You could always borrow my banjo, Tricia,” he’d said, smiling. “Give that punk music of yours a twist,” he had added that last bit with a wink as my mom swatted him with the kitchen towel. He was kidding… I think. Dad barely even knew how to play his banjo despite being born in Kentucky and moving to Boston when he was in college.
I was pretty sure he’d only learned how to play in an effort to meet girls… though according to my mom, that one backfired.
My thighs burned as I pushed up the final part of the hill, using my forearm to move aside the branches and crawl beneath the foliage to the clearing.
That’s when I saw him. In my spot.
My older brother, Sam's best friend... Milo Hutchens.
God, he was cute. His light brown hair was beginning to turn blonde like it did every summer. It was so long that it flopped into his eyes and he kept raking his fingers through it, pushing it back, only to have it fall right back in his eyes once more.
And his blue eyes were so bright in the afternoon sunlight that they nearly blinded me.
I stood there dazed, stunned that there was another human up here. In my spot.
As I took a step forward, a branch caught one of my guitar strings and the quiet clearing echoed with the abrasive, warbled sound.
I winced and Milo’s gaze jerked to mine, seeing me for the first time. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. He was a year older than me in eighth grade and we’d been in the same school for as long as I could remember. There was a time he and Sam used to play with all of us neighborhood kids. Before they met Sean and Mike O’Connor and became too cool for us.
We’d grown up together, but never once had we been in class together. Word around school was that he wasn’t going to move onto high school next year if he didn’t get his act together soon.
I swallowed hard. Even the thought of being held back made my chest tight with panic.
My parents would kill me. They would kill Sam, too. He had already been grounded three times this summer for being out past curfew and getting caught with cigarettes.
Didn’t Milo's parents care? Didn’t they notice he was suddenly friends with all the bad kids in school? The ones who snuck away during gym class and came back with hickies on their necks and bloodshot eyes.
When I still didn’t move, Milo lifted his eyebrows. “I won’t bite,” he said, twitching that smirk higher.
“I know,” I snapped.
He made me nervous; truth be told, he always did. Even back when we were only six and seven playing red rover in the street. When he would call my name, Red Rover, Red Rover, Send Tricia right over! My heart always sped up. And even though strategy told me to run for Renee’s hand… she was weaker and I could easily break through her hold, I always ran for Milo. Just to feel his arm connect to my belly.
But we weren’t six anymore. And the challenging way he lifted his eyebrow may as well have been him taunting me to run directly at him.
As usual, I fell right into it. I inhaled a deep breath as I stomped across the clearing to the soft patch of grass beside him. Next to the daffodils. My daffodils.
I felt his gaze on me the entire time. Every move I made, he watched me out of the corner of his eyes.
I should be annoyed by that, right? But deep down, somewhere beyond my belly, a thrill sparked and set my nerve endings on edge.
The air buzzed between us, alive and crackling with tension.
I retrieved my journal from my back pocket and dropped it to the ground along with my pencil. Then, I unknotted the soft cotton scarf I had tied around my waist and draped it across the grass before settling myself in the middle. My denim shorts were frayed around the edges with holes just below the pockets.
I looked down at them, strumming my fingers across the threads as though they were the strings of my guitar. I didn’t know where to look. I couldn’t practice my songs and write with him sitting beside me. And I couldn’t get up and go home. I’d look like a chicken.
So, I sat there. Doing nothing. Wasting time.
“You gonna play me something?” He ran his fingers over my guitar and plucked one of the strings gently. I don’t know what it was about seeing his finger tweak my string, but that tightness in my belly? It was now a full on boa constrictor squeezing my guts.
I rolled my eyes, mentally poking the boa constrictor, visualizing him relaxing his hold on my belly. “Yeah, right, Milo.”
His expression dropped briefly, going serious. “Call me Kiddo,” he said.
“Why?”
He shrugged and sucked on his teeth. But I caught the way he ducked his eyes to the grass, escaping my gaze. “Just like it better than my name.” Then, looking up, his easy smile was back. “So, you gonna play me something or not?”
“I don’t really have anything practiced,” I said and cleared my throat. It felt raspy and my voice was lower than usual as I spoke.
“Aw, come on. Play me something.”
What if he didn’t like it? What if he didn’t like me? The only people I’d ever played my songs for were my parents, my brothers, and my best friend, Jenna. What if my voice cracked?
“I’ll sing for you if you sing for me,” he said, breaking the silence.
My head jerked up, locking eyes with him. “You’re a singer?”
His grin widened. “Nope. But no way you’ll feel self-conscious after hearing me sing like a dying cat.”
I giggled at that and covered my mouth with my hand, hiding my crooked teeth. I was supposed to get braces in a few weeks. Would I still be able to sing with braces?
“How about… I’ll play you one song. If you tell me why you prefer Kiddo over Milo. ” I asked in a moment of bravery.
He blinked, his bright blue eyes darting all over my face like he was memorizing every inch of it. “I’m named after my dad,” he said. “And he left us when I was really young. So, I don’t like to go by his name if I can help it. My mom’s called me Kiddo ever since I can remember and it just… I dunno,” he shrugged. “It suits me, I think.”
I swallowed hard at that, my mouth drying like sandpaper. It was so… honest. So raw. That was the sort of thing musicians wrote about. Heartbreak. Real angst and tragedy.
I was such a poser. I didn't have any real sadness in my life. I’d never even had a boyfriend for God's sake.
“Your turn,” he said. His gaze landed on my lips and stayed there. I felt a tingling awareness buzz over my mouth and I licked my lips which suddenly felt parched. The boa constrictor was back, only this time he was just south of my belly and that squeezing feeling resulted in a delicious ache.
I didn’t want to play my music for him. Especially not now. But I had made a deal… I didn’t go back on a deal even though Jenna told me if you don’t say ‘no backsies’ you totally can.
I lifted my guitar in my arms and flipped open my journal to my favorite song. It was slower than most of the ones I write and would sound better on my acoustic guitar than the other songs.
I was saving every penny from my allowance to buy an electric guitar. At the rate I was going, I’d be lucky to buy one when I graduated high school.
“Promise not to laugh?” I gave him a stern look and his blue eyes flashed as he held up a hand.
“Swear on my life,” he said.
I took a breath and started to sing, my fingers drumming across the strings. My eyes drifted closed and the melody and words flowed through my body from my tongue to my fingers like I was one fluid entity and the strings were a part of my body; one with my fingers. I didn’t need to think. Or read. I knew this tune in my bones.
I finished my song and blinked open, my eyes adjusting to the sunlight. I found Milo sitting even closer. So close I could feel his breath.
If I listened hard enough, I could maybe hear the sound of his heart beat.
“That was fucking incredible,” he said. The good girl in me flinched at his use of the f-bomb. But the bad girl in me got goosebumps.
“Thank you.”
He lifted his hand to my face and I startled, pulling back from his touch. “What are you doing?” I asked.
Again, he smirked. “This,” he whispered, brushing his thumb down my cheekbone to the corner of my mouth. Then, he pressed his lips to mine gently.
I gasped. I’d never been kissed before. Never had a boy looked at me with that much intensity. Milo’s hands scooped into my hair and he utilized my gasp by sliding his tongue inside my mouth.
Holy. Crap.
Jenna said it was good… making out. But I didn’t know it’d be this good.
I set my guitar down on the blanket beside me and threaded my fingers through his hair, sighing. It was just as soft as I had imagined it to be.
He shifted and I felt his weight on top of me, pushing me to lay back, his tongue plunging into my mouth. I moaned and the noise was so foreign to me, I almost didn’t recognize myself. Milo grunted and his pelvis pushed against mine, something hard pressed into my belly.
I wasn’t stupid. I paid attention in sex-ed class. But knowing the science of it and feeling it against my body were two very different things.
Milo… Kiddo… whatever the heck his name was… might only have been born a year before me, but when it came to experience, he and I weren’t on the same page. Forget the page… we weren’t even reading the same book.
He was experienced for his age and I was naive for mine. My cheeks flushed and I gulped for air as I pulled my lips from his.
“Wait,” I gasped.
He sat straight up and I pushed onto my elbows, looking at him.
He tilted his head and it took all of a second for him to read between the lines. To realize what I wasn’t able to say out loud: I wasn’t ready for this.
I knew this wasn’t his first kiss. I’d seen him making out with Kelsey Pearson under the bleachers during a football game. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d done other stuff, too.
His eyes softened and he sat back, exhaling a deep breath and pushing hair back from his face again. He gave me a small smile. “Sorry,” he whispered.
I sat up too, tugging at the hem of my shorts. “I just… I haven’t—”
“You don’t have to explain anything,” Milo said. “For real.” He got very serious for a moment, holding my gaze. “You say wait… we wait.”
I nodded, not sure of what else to say.
His eyes flicked to my journal where the lyrics to my songs were written and he brushed his finger over it. “You ever been paid to play before?” he asked.
I nearly snorted, but just shook my head instead. “No.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a quarter. “They say you’re not supposed to spend your first payment for any new business,” he said. “Mr. O’Reilly at the corner deli told me that’s why he had those dollar bills taped up on his wall.” Then grabbing a Leatherman’s tool from his pocket, he reached for my guitar. “You trust me?”
Did I trust him? Was he serious? He partied with high school kids and cut class on a regular basis. He was dragging my brother down with him. And he tongue kissed girls in the middle of a field.
But he also stopped when I asked him to. Not that that made him a freaking hero or anything… but in that moment? It made him my hero.
And right here? Right now? I kind of did trust him. “Yes,” I whispered.
He dug the knife into my guitar and I whimpered at the sight. It was like that knife was slicing into my flesh. What the hell is he doing? The strangled gasp paralyzed me as I watched him carve out a shallow cylinder and then hammered the quarter into the wood. It seemed to fit snugly and flush to the base. “There you go,” he said. “So you always remember your first tip playing music.” There was subtext beneath what he said.
So you’ll always remember me.
As if I wouldn’t remember the guy who gave me my first kiss, my first tip, and the first person outside of my family or Jenna to hear my music.
I ran my finger over the quarter and strummed the guitar, breathing easier when the sound wasn’t warped from his carving into the wood.
“I told you to trust me,” he said, chuckling.
“Yeah, but I didn’t know you were going to carve into my guitar,” I fired back, smiling to lighten my words.
I wanted him to remember me, too. I wanted this moment to be as special for him as it was and would always be to me… even if I wasn’t his first anything.
Reaching behind my neck, I untied the knotted hemp necklace Sam had given me last year for my birthday. He had punched a hole in my favorite guitar pic and crafted it into a necklace for me. I held it out for Kiddo.
Kiddo took it cautiously, eying me. “What’s that for?”
I shrugged, not really having an answer. “Just feels like you should have it. Sam gave it to me last year.”
“I’ve never been much of a jewelry guy,” he said.
A horrible lump lodged in my throat. He doesn’t want it.
My face grew hot and shame twisted in my stomach. I was so stupid. Thinking this afternoon meant something to him. “You don’t have to wear it,” I mumbled, shrugging and reached out to take it back from him.
He jerked it high out of my reach. “You didn’t let me finish my thought,” he said. Then, he slipped it around his neck and ran the pic between his thumb and forefinger. “I was saying, I’ve never been much of a jewelry guy … But this is really cool,” he finished.
I shook my head. “Now you’re just saying that because you think you have to.”
He dropped his head, giving me a look I couldn’t quite read. “Tricia Jenkins,” he said, catching my chin between his thumb and forefinger. He dragged my gaze up to his. “I grew up a block away from you. Your brother is my best friend… And I like you. This necklace is the best gift I’ve ever received. I’m not just saying that.”
I swallowed hard and wiggled. I was achy and tense and… God, I wanted him to kiss me again.
There was a rustling down the hill from us, then I heard Sam's voice. “Kiddo? You up there? Damn, this hill is steep.”
Kiddo's smile flickered, then dropped. “I’m supposed to hang out with Sam tonight. But could I call you sometime?”
He wanted to call me? Shock stunned me, making answering him nearly impossible. I didn’t have a cell phone like Jenna. I nodded, rendered speechless as he stood, pointing to my guitar. “I want to hear something more upbeat, next time, okay?”
“Coming, Sam!” he called. And with that, he took off running down the hill.
“Dude, is that my sister's necklace?” I heard Sam say and I couldn't help but snort a laugh. Guess I hadn't quite thought that gift through.
I ran my finger over the quarter embedded into my guitar and grinned, my stomach flipping over inside my gut.
But Kiddo never called me. And that night, he, Sam, and the O’Connor brothers were arrested for stealing a car.
Want to keep reading CHAPTER TWO for FREE!?! Find it here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/prospect-chapter-75880074
