Well, here's the next chapter. I'm sorry for the delay. I had writer's block. (I dislike that as much you probably do.) The excerpt from The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe (which I also don't own) really inspired me. So I put it in here. This is for all my reviewers - LostWithoutHim, Becky Galler, and The Coffee Gladiator. Thanks! (hands out cookies)
A little shout out.
LostWithoutHim: You could be right. Ace does seem like Dally from "The Outsiders".
Previously...
Eyeball bit his lower lip. He didn't want to tangle with Abigail when her baby blues were blazing. She was dangerous like that sometimes. Abigail, in the meantime, got to her feet and walked over to the Cobras. "Well, I better get back to Fredricka's and get some sleep," she said. "Excuse me, boys." They moved aside and let her through. Ace then spoke up. "Abigail's right," he said. "I am gallant." "Hey, so are we," said Eyeball. "Right, guys?" "Oh, yeah," said Vince. "Yep," said Charlie. "Too true," Billy concurred. "Absolutely," said Fuzzy.
The next day at Castle Rock Junior High, Abigail and Fredricka were walking down the hall together. Soon, they would split up at the end of the hallway. Abigail went to Study Hall and Fredricka to Music.
"Anyway, I was tied down to the bed. Then Ace walked in. He headed over to the bed and got on top of me. Then, smirking, he pulled out his switchblade and flicked the blade open.
"My eyes widened in horror. His smirk grew wider. Then it happened…"
Abigail spoke in whispers, but Ace could hear her a mile away.
Ever since he had seen Abigail slap the rapist the previous night, he had been intrigued by her.
There was something about her - the brown hair, the blue eyes, and her witty way of making up stories. She just had something in her. He couldn't get her out of his mind.
But for some reason no one could fathom, girls loved him. He would always be able to reel in the girls. The only problem was they'd never be cast back out to sea.
Ace knew he could reel in Abigail Jackson… and never cast her back out to sea.
Sometimes he would often see her with a book in her hand. This only intrigued him more.
It came as no surprise that she got her ideas for stories from books. He also wondered how she got so smart that she was able to get straight A's in Language Arts.
His grin grew wider as he cooked up a plan.
Meanwhile, Abigail stepped over the threshold of her Study Hall class and found her seat in the back.
She loved to write. She was the sort of person who sometimes needed solitude to concentrate her abilities and polish her skills to the point where they attained the brilliant shine she was forever seeking.
She just let her pencil take her where it would. It was almost like a meditative state, or a prayer…a way to bring herself back to her center and contemplate the issues and problems in her life without actually thinking on a conscious level.
She never knew how her stories would turn out. She would just sit down and start writing, and wait to see what would happen.
For Abigail, sometimes it was hard for her to believe she actually made her stories up.
Anyway, she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a pencil. Then she reached into her desk and pulled out her notebook.
She preferred to write with a pencil because pencils had erasers. If she made a mistake while writing, she would just turn her pencil and erase the mistake, and then keep writing.
After opening her notebook, she then thought for a moment.
Then she began to write.
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, Nevermore.'
"Thus quoth the raven, nevermore," Abigail whispered to herself.
Then, as though she was struck by a bolt of lightning, a thunderbolt of inspiration hit her.
Feverishly this time, she began to write.
She filled about three pages. Then she put her pencil down and took a break, just to be on the safe side. She never wanted to get writer's cramp…or writer's block for that matter.
Halfway through, she was looking down at her story when she heard Mr. Smith start yelling- a rare occurrence. So she perked up her ears.
"Mr. Merrill, you cannot come and go as you please in this classroom!"
Abigail looked up and blinked. Her heartbeat quickened.
Ace had been to about 4 study hall classes all year and didn't stick around long at the ones he did show up for. Ace looked at Mr. Smith and said,
"Well, I'm here. So let's keep learning, shall we? Study Hall is ever so intriguing."
He turned and walked towards the back of the room and Abigail noticed he looked cool as a cucumber. He continued to walk back towards where she was sitting and as luck may have it, there was an empty seat behind hers.
Well, here goes…
She then looked at her notebook and started writing for the third time. The sound of the pencil scratching the paper caught Ace's ears. He looked over, and as he sat down, his smirk grew wider.
The dark chocolate hair of hers (which sometimes looked like it turned red in summertime) was a giveaway. So were the pencils sticking out of her pocket and the notebook on her desk.
Abigail was so busy staying focused on her story, she didn't even notice Ace slither like a serpent into the seat behind her.
Then she stopped, sensing…something…evil in the air.
"Ahh, smart and beautiful. I like that," purred Ace's all-too-familiar voice behind her.
Abigail froze. Her entire body ceased to function.
That voice…
She could take a lot of dares from Teddy Duchamp, defend Chris Chambers, and yet she would never forget it. It had haunted her dreams, taunted her with forbidden promises, and now it rolled over her senses like honey.
As if in slow motion she turned her body, her eyes resting to the position where the voice had came from, and there he sat, his eyes gleaming, as though her every thought was right in front of him, an open book for him to read…
Ace Merrill…!
"Hello, Abby…" he purred.
Oh, I bet you're wondering 'What is Ace planning?' Well, give me some ideas, and I'll see what I can do about the next chapter.
