Yay! A different person reviewed!
Not that I don't still love you, Dizuz. Seriously: you are awesome.
Don't get me wrong. I love both MrsAvanJogia and Jinrebust for their reviews, too. It's just—how can I not love the person who has made sure that each and every chapter of this story so far has had a review?
Just to clarify: when I say I love you guys, I mean that in the least creepy way possible.
I'm doing something a little different with this chapter, which involves the switching of perspectives. In all six chapters before this one, I've kept the entire chapter true to the perspective of one character and one character alone. For example, Chapter One was from the point of view of Chandie. All events and thoughts came through Chandie's eyes and Chandie's brain and how Chandie saw things.
In this chapter, however, I'm going to keep the time focused on one event and from one perspective short at a time, switching between perspectives. I find this way more fun to write and better for when more than one big event is happening at once. I also find it good for the sake of suspense in the more dramatic scenes.
I hope you guys enjoy!
Chandie walked at a brisk pace through the cold, windy air. Phoenix's song—Ode to a Staple—ran through her head. It was a fairly short song, repeating over and over again throughout the walk that was something less than lengthy.
You're shiny and silver and come in a stack.
When punched into papers, your stapler makes a "clickity-clack."
Without you, all papers would be separated.
You are highly unappreciated.
But from me, you are venerated.
In offices you can be found.
In cubicles you are all around.
You're probably made of steel, which I think is a compound.
When you enter paper, you do that folding maneuver.
When it goes wrong, you are removed with a staple-remover.
Chandie was positive the song would be stuck in her head for quite a while. The more she listened to it, though, the more she began to like it. Sure, it was strange, random, and just plain bad—but her friend wrote it. Even if she tried, she wouldn't be able to get the image of Phoenix's happy face from when he had been singing his composition out of her head. Seeing that this song made him so happy made it impossible for Chandie to hate it. There was too much positive connection with the lyrics and the random guitar strumming that was now in her head.
The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that she loved this song. It was amazing how quickly her opinion had changed—within minutes transforming from hating it to minding it to liking it to loving it. Ode to a Staple was suddenly becoming her new favorite song.
Rose was sitting on the edge of her bed, trying to decide what to do. She didn't have any homework to work on, and she really wasn't in the mood for reading a book—which was unusual for her. Overall, she was pretty much just bored. Nothing seemed to interest her at the moment, no matter what it was.
Her thoughts were soon interrupted with the sound of the phone ringing. Checking the caller ID, she saw it was her boyfriend Carl. She picked it up and pressed TALK.
"Hey, Carl," she greeted, happy to have someone to talk to and something to do.
"Hey," he replied. He sounded something less than happy.
"You okay? You sound nervous," Rose asked in a concerned tone.
"Honestly? No. I'm not okay," Carl replied. "I have some news . . . and I don't think you're going to like it."
Chandie continued walking through the cold with Phoenix's song running through her head. With every new word entering her mind, the lyrics became more interesting, the rhythm became catchier, and the singing became smoother.
It was an odd trick this song had on her brain. Just by having a positive connection with it, suddenly every aspect of the song was becoming much, much better in mind than in reality. Just by having that image of Phoenix so happy, so cheerful, so ecstatic as she strummed and sang, Ode to a Staple now sounded like the greatest tune in the world to Chandie.
Just as she was thinking about how happy Phoenix must be, her ever quickening pace of walking soon led her up to where the boy was now walking himself. He was moving much slower than his observer as he stared down at the ground. As Chandie grew closer, she was finally able to see the tiny drops of water dripping from the face of her friend and splashing down on the gray concrete below.
"Would you just stay out of my life?" Monty asked, one half of him hoping for an answer and the other half dreading what it might be if he actually received one.
"I can't just leave you to figure out your life for yourself," his father retorted, clear anger and frustration showing through in his voice. His fists clenched and his face turned a shade redder.
"Why not? It's my life!" Monty shouted, immediately regretting doing so.
"Don't yell at me, Montgomery," he said sternly.
Full first name—that was a bad sign. Still, Monty knew he was fine until his father started using his middle and last names, too.
He soon continued, actually bothering to answer one of Monty's questions. "The reason I feel so inclined to help you out with your life is because you've made it perfectly clear on several occasions that you very well could use the help."
"Would you stop saying that kind of stuff? I can take care of myself, dad," Monty defended himself.
"Obviously, that is not true."
"Obviously?" Monty questioned. "What's so 'obvious' about it?"
"Oh, just look at you!" He motioned with his hand toward his son.
Monty's eyes widened and his eyebrows rose. "Are you referring to my weight?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm. He did realize he had put on a few pounds after his most recent breakup, but it was not all that bad. "Because, just in case you've forgotten, last year I lost . . . a large number of pounds." His face reddened in anger. How dare his father bring up such a sore subject? He remembered the Thanksgiving of that year all too well. It would forever be engraved into his mind as the day he cut off the tip of Chandie's left thumb.
It had been an accident, a purposeful accident, or an accidental purpose. Whatever it was, cutting off a limb had not been Monty's intention—not even close. Sure, he had wanted harm to befall upon Chandie; however, he never would have wished for the girl to lose a part of a finger, especially not one as important as the thumb. From that day on, Chandie had been teased numerously by various students at Lincoln High—including Monty's sister and Chandie's own best friend, Rose—about her missing part.
That incident would forever haunt Monty's soul.
"What is it?" Rose asked with strong concern in her voice. She shifted around on her bed so that she now sat cross-legged.
"Okay. I'm just going to come right out and say it."
"Say what, Carl? What's wrong?" Rose held the phone close to her, gripping it as if loosening her hold would cause Carl to disappear off the face of the earth forever for him to never return.
"Please don't hate me," Carl pleaded with pure sadness in his tone.
"It would be easier not to hate you if you could just tell me what's wrong," Rose demanded, frustration leaking into her words. "You said you'd just come out and say it, so just come out and say it already."
"Rose, please calm down," Carl said through the phone. "If you're already this upset with me having not even told you the big news, then I'm not sure if I can tell you at all."
"No, no, no!" Rose said quickly, hoping Carl would hear her before hanging up if that was what he planned to do. "Please don't hang up. I'm sorry. Just . . . Stop with the suspense. Just tell me what's going on."
She listened intently as she heard the release of air of Carl taking a deep breath on the other end. It was when he finally spoke that Rose officially regretted encouraging him to say what was on his mind.
"Rose," he said slowly. "I'm gay."
Remember when I mentioned that I would begin writing a story called "The Truth behind Eddie Menuek"? Well, that's going to be put on hold for a bit. Instead, I've decided to begin writing a different story.
This story will be called something along the lines of "Second-Generation Mondler". This story will not actually contain any Mondler. However, it will be about Monica and Richard's daughter, Emma, and her relationship with Chandler and Kathy's son, Toby. I also will throw some other children into the story such as Rachel and Ross's Isabella, Emma's brother Daniel, Ross and Carol's Ben, and Phoebe and Mike's daughter Regina.
Some of the children's names are obvious where they come from, though others I'll be explaining in the italicized section before the story begins. I would appreciate it if you guys could take a look at the story once I put it up.
I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, and let me know if you like the switching-perspectives format. Also, any reviews on the idea of Second-Generation Mondler would be greatly appreciated. ;)