Veronica
One thing about life I've learnt is that objects can be better friends than humans. Stories? I've written hundreds of them, from the backs of my old notebooks to now, writing professionally, and they've often been friendlier than people I've met.
One thing I find is how vulgar some humans can be. Like his brother, for instance. He seems to slack around and do nothing all day, and he doesn't seem to be the kind of guy you trust. So who do you trust?
Meeting Katie
The auditorium lights were dodgy, he noticed. Someone would have to change the light bulbs soon. It was quarter to four, his watch said. He thought of the letter lying on his desk at home. It had taken him one week and ten spell checks to write so he could write everything, say everything he need to say. For this time, he had forgotten Katie was Unique, and had opened up to prospects that it could be someone else, someone new, exciting, and different, and someone he could connect with. Five minutes gone. He'd written the letter on yellow notebook paper in green biro per tradition dictated. Ten minutes gone. He'd cried and laughed and bawled and chuckled. He knew he was about to cry. The suspense was killing him. Fifteen minutes. Time's up. No one was there, not a footstep. So now there was no Katie and he was just a dumb, dyslexic kid who everybody hated, even the Gleeks and he hated himself and the time gone by and he wished they would just stop taunting him and the memories and now he was crying like a baby and that was wrong and he had no friends-
Jake stepped out slowly, wishing he hadn't done this. 'Dude, are you OK?'