The only reason this is up is because I've been bored out of my mind and I stayed up till like 1:30 so I could finish it. It's 12 pages long, so you're getting 2 extra pages. And it's a quick update. Moreover, the current word count is enough to put me in the 4O,OOO+ word, Ed, Envy, Romance, All rating, English category. Not that I'm keeping track or anything.
This chapter was very easy to write. My strategy of spending the hour between 5:OO and 6:OO pm working on Stuttering Toward Ecstasy is working. Basically, I do nothing but work on this for the whole hour. Even if I don't feel like it. I'll just stare at the computer screening, not getting up until the hour ends or I decide that anything is better than boredom. So it's pretty much saying to my muse, "come up with something or we sit here and do nothing for an hour."
Oh and just because I want you all to know, it's incredibly smoky outside thanks to all the forest fires (guess which state I live in!). I can't see the blue sky at all. Of course, it could be overcast, but I wouldn't know that. I can see the smoke in my backyard. I think the air is currently considered unhealthy or whatever the rating below Hazardous is. This of course means that I'm not allowed to go running. I have missed at least six days of cross-country training. I haven't run for 8 straight days. My coach said that missing two days in a row was really, really, really bad. But we're getting a gym membership soon, so it's all good.
And I'm going to run a triathlon around Labour Day.
Disclaimer: I don't own AIM, I'm not Laura Ingalls Wilder, and I don't own FMA.
http : / w w w . mnsu . edu / comdis / kuster / Therapy W W W / susca / msusca . html (remove the spaces and that's the website from which I got the therapy program from. I chose it because it was one of the few out there that I could find that didn't involve an electronic thing and was a complete outline. If the link isn't working Google Michael Susca and it's the subpage on the first thing that comes up. It's working noting that I don't own his ideas either. )
Vocab for the Chapter:
Head voice: called falsetto in males, for girls it's voice used to go really high. It's breathy and is more towards the back of the throat.
Chest voice: It's the voice most often in musicals. It's pretty much the voice you use to talk and it's right in the front of the mouth. It has more strength and projects better.
The transition between the two voices is called the break. Amy Lee is an example of someone with a weird, but awesome voice. She goes head in her chest voice and low in her head voice. Lithium is done pretty much in her head voice. During the last part, when she repeats "lithium," she uses her chest voice. I think.
I'm actually not sure if the sustained head voice that Sloth uses is possible. It may be, but I wouldn't recommend it. It works, in theory, because it's like she's singing and it's a different breathing/voicing than regular speaking.
…
I'm stunned.
Sloth Peccato, stutterer.
That just doesn't go well. It's like saying, Edward Elric, public speaker. It just doesn't make sense.
The room has broken out in whispers. The whispers are funny. They're filled with halts, stutters, and repeats. Apparently I'm not the only one who can't believe Sloth stutters.
"Well, now that that's done," Izumi says, rising with file folders in hand. "I'm going to put you in groups based on your disfluency and the severity of it. We'll start off with some basic group or individual exercises."
As Izumi makes her way around the room, the whispering dies down. I wait for Izumi to reach me. I'm normally in the group of the most severe stutters. The other kids don't block as often as I do and it's never as painful for them. Or they don't trip up on words, they just repeat themselves. It was a lot worse in elementary school. There I was thrown in with the kids who had minor problems. Like there was a girl who couldn't say the 'v' in river, a boy who couldn't say the 'sph' in sphere, and just things like that. The worst part was that most of the students enjoyed it.
I didn't. I was always the worst no matter what group I was put into. It was horrible. They all had these minor problems that they didn't even get teased about, their friends just corrected them. The only boy I didn't mind being partnered with was Devon. The problem with that was he was the reason most of the girls were in speech therapy. Devon was considered by a lot of the girls to be 'hot' and they would do anything, even fake a speech problem, to spend an hour with him. Needless to say, they weren't very pleased when I ended up becoming Devon's permanent partner.
Fortunately, the therapist was an understanding woman and referred me to Izumi.
…
When Izumi reaches me, Sloth is trailing behind her. I look up, puzzled. If Sloth is my group, then we either stutter exactly the same way or she stutters as bad as I do.
"Sloth," Izumi says. "You're going to be with Edward Elric."
Sloth nods. I smile at her and she gives me a small wave.
"You two have any classes together?" Izumi asks.
"English and History," I say, quickly. Izumi raises an eyebrow. I shrug. I don't normally talk for other people, but I owe Sloth for all those times she's saved me during presentations.
"Good, now let's move to the back so that Rose's group has room," Izumi says. I quickly gather up my stuff and follow Izumi to one of the back tables. My table wasn't that crowded, but Izumi likes to have us spaced out. I think that it's so we don't hear each other and get distracted. Though, with Sloth, it might be that Izumi doesn't want to risk even the possibility of anyone teasing her. Smart, considering the whispers.
"Here is good," Izumi says when we reach the last table. It's in the corner of the room and far away from pretty much everybody. "I'm going to look into the possibility of using some of the back rooms."
"I'm fine," Sloth says, sitting down.
"Sloth, do you mind waiting while I talk to Ed," Izumi asks, looking at me. I gulp. Izumi is going to find out how much I've regressed since school started and summer therapy ended. And she's really not going to like all the habits I've picked up or how avoidance of some words is second nature.
"No," Sloth says, getting up to move somewhere.
"Oh, you don't have to move," Izumi says motioning Sloth to sit down. Sloth turns to me with a look of desperation on her face.
"I don't mind, really," I say, smiling. I trust you. You've never made fun of me for stuttering, you've always waited for me, and you've never finished words for me. Why should I mind if you listen to my treatment?
I don't say that. It's too much and I would sound too admiring. Sloth doesn't look like she wants to be revered or admired at all right now. So, I keep my mouth shut. Izumi take a seat at the edge of the table, facing me. Sloth remains seated across from me, but she's fidgeting nervously. I don't blame her.
"So, Ed," Izumi says, laying her folders on the table. "I went to a seminar this summer and one of the pathologists had an interesting treatment program that I thought you might be interested in."
I nod.
"The first part is pretty simple, I just need you to write down all the times you avoided a word or used a substitution today," Izumi says in her quiet intense voice. I stare at her. She smiles and hands me a piece of binder paper.
She knows. She has to know that there is no way that it's going to fit on one sheet of paper. She's just waiting to see if I'm going to own up to it or if she's going to have to drag it out of me.
"I think I'm going—I think I'll need more than one piece," I say, avoiding eye contact.
"Thought so," Izumi says. "And you can start with the one you just used."
Dammit. I'd forgotten how close to psychic that woman is.
"Right," I mutter and focus my attention on the paper. "Should I write down when I st-st-st t-t-t-stutter as well?"
"No," Izumi says, "Just when you used a substitute or avoided a word."
"Do dreams count?" I ask, remembering the first part of my dream.
"Yes."
Well, I guess I didn't use avoidance or substitution in the dream. I just stuttered.
"So, Sloth, according to your file you've been stuttering since kindergarten, participated briefly in one of the school run programs before switching to private sessions, and then it all ends suddenly during the summer before middle school?" Izumi questions. I try to focus on my list, but I can't help overhearing.
"That is correct," Sloth says in her low drawl.
"What happened then?"
I may have said "the kitchen clock is a couple minutes ahead" instead of saying five, I write, trying to tune out Sloth's voice. I fail.
"I signed up for drama and the first play was a musical," Sloth begins. Her eyes flick towards me. I continue with my list.
"And…" Izumi prompts.
I wonder if just not talking counts as avoidance.
"I took singing lessons during the summer," Sloth says, anxiously. "And I—well, my voice teacher discovered that I didn't stutter at all when I sang in my head voice—you know what that is?"
Out of the corner of my eye I catch Izumi nod.
"Well, she and I worked together on really strengthening my head voice, so I could sing most of the musical songs in it. After that I tried to see if I could talk in my head voice without stuttering."
I scribble down more cases of avoidance.
"How'd that work?"
Stop eavesdropping Ed. It's not polite.
Avoided Envy's question of whether I wanted to go first or second.
Asked him what classes he was in, not which ones he was taking.
Avoided naming my favorite Evanescence songs, this really shouldn't count as I ending up stuttering Like You anyways.
"It worked as long as I could see people or wasn't caught completely off guard."
"So, you'd stutter if you talked on the phone or if a boy asked you out?" Izumi questions.
I can't help but tune in. Judging by Russell's 'pale, sexy, Italian woman' comment in History, he's going to be asking Sloth out pretty soon. Any information of her possible reaction will be an asset to him. Moreover, it will lower the chances of him screwing up, which will inevitably lead to him sobbing on my shoulder.
"Phone, yes. Boys, not unless I wasn't suspecting it or actually liked him," Sloth answers, smiling a bit more confidently.
"And finally, can I ask you to use your chest voice?"
Pointed at the questions on the board instead of saying "The Law of Falling Bodies."
Didn't explain my calculations to my lab partner, just showed him my paper.
Asked Envy which he wanted instead of—you know what, that's too embarrassing Izumi and you're going to take it the wrong way, so I'm not going to say what I was going to say, just that I didn't say it.
"Alright. I-I-Iya-I-uh-uh-uh-uh-huh-huh-huh."
I stop writing. Sloth sounds like she's hyperventilating or choking back sobs or—or beginning to block. She gasps for breath. I look down and close my eyes. I want to breathe for her or lend her my voice, but that wouldn't help matters. She's blocking and I block too and I can't breathe then either.
"I," she finally stammers out. And it's a dry, hoarse sound. "I have trouble with words like and and and and y-y-y-y-you. I-Iya-Iya-Iya I uh ah-ah-ahlso suck at transitions."
"Hmm, well, I'd like you to get used to stuttering a bit more before we decide on a treatment program," Izumi says kindly. "Is there anywhere you'd be comfortable stuttering?"
"Home's not so bad. And and and Iya-Iya-Iya-I I uh guess winterguard practice," Sloth says, staring at her lap.
"Alright," Izumi says, patting Sloth's shoulder. "I'd like you to try using you chest voice for talking at home tonight."
Sloth nods, visibly relieved that it's only at home.
"Now, Ed," Izumi says rounding on me. "Are you done yet?"
"No," I reply.
"How far are you?" She asks, looking at my paper. I'm already on the backside.
"End of siss-ssis-sseh-second period," I stutter. Izumi sighs.
"Right, well, I'd like you to stop using all those avoidances and substitutions," Izumi says. I gulp. This is not going to be pretty.
"Why?" I ask.
"Ed, when you have to think about exactly what you're going to say before you say it, you put a lot of extra stress on yourself. And then," she prompts.
"I ssst-stst-stutter even more," I mutter and fight the urge to roll my eyes. We've been over this about a billion times.
"Exactly," Izumi says. "So the first part of the program is to eliminate all of the cognitive secondary mechanisms."
"What's the next part?" I ask. So far this new program sounds like most of the other ones I've tried.
"We'll cross that bridge when we get there," Izumi says mysteriously. I glare at her. I hate it when people don't tell me everything. "Anyways, I'd like you two to spend the rest of the period talking about how you feeling when you stutter and what it feels like when you use a cognitive secondary mechanism—"
"What is that, exactly?" Sloth interrupts.
"Oh it can be anything. Like planning your sentences so you avoid your stutter words or using words like alright and okay instead of fine or using your head voice instead of your chest voice. Anything like that."
"Oh," Sloth says.
"Yes. So just talk about how it feels when you use those, whether they work or not, m'kay?" Izumi finishes. "Oh, and Ed? You're team leader."
I stare at Izumi as she walks away. This has to be the first time I've been put in a leadership role, anywhere. It makes sense though. I'm the one who's most comfortable with stuttering. But it's still a slight shock.
"Sss-ss-so," I bite my lip. I don't want to say 'Sloth' but I'm supposed to be setting a good example. I stop chewing my lip. Might as well. "Siss-sis-ssssl-slll-llll-llllah-loth, do you want tt-ttt-tto go f-f-f-f-first or ss-s-sssecond?"
Sloth stares at me for a moment before answering.
"Yy-y-y-you go first," she says finally.
"Um. Well, I don't lllllike it when I st-st-stutter," I say.
"Who does?" Sloth says with a rueful smile.
"I f-f—ff-fff-f-feel…" Stupid, like an idiot, like everyone's staring at me. Even if I wanted to I can't avoid stuttering. "…st-st-stupid and lll-ll-like everyone's llll-lll-llllooking at me. You?"
"I-Iya-Iya I uh don't like it either. I-Iya-Iya-Iya-I-I—it's just at home, and and and when I-Iya-Iya-I uh talk on the phone. But even when I-I-I-Iya-Iya I uh stuttering at school I-I-I-I-I-Iya-Iya-Iya I uh hated it," Sloth stops. She's breathing heavily and I wonder how it must feel to go back to stuttering after four years of relative freedom.
"What happened when you st-st-sss-sst-stst-stopped st-st-stst-stuttering at ss-ss-school?" I ask. People would've had to have noticed.
"Nothing. Not many people from my elementary school went to my junior high. And and and besides most of them and I-I-I-I Iya-Iya-Iya I uh think most of them just uh-uh-uh-huh-huh-huh—uh-assumed that I-I-Iya-Iyah-Iya I uh got cured over the summer or something," Sloth says, before meeting my eyes. "So what uh-uh-uh-about y-y-you? What's it like when y-y-you try to uh-uh-ah-avoid something?"
Which part? There's the fact that coming up with sentences, reviewing, and revising them takes time. The conversation generally moves right by before I can come up with a good reply. Or when I'm forced to say something that changes the meaning of a sentence. Or when I realize that I can't avoid stuttering. They all suck.
"Not good," I settle for saying. "I can't always avoid the words and s-ss-ssometimes it t-tt-takes t-too llllllong and people just assume that I don't have anything t-to ss-sss-say."
"Oh. Y-you you like Ceramics?"
"No, not really. I mean, I llllike English better, but it's kind of hypocritical, you know, 'cause of all the presentations."
"I-I-I-Iya I uh I uh like drama," Sloth reminds me. Her face is crimson and she looks tortured. "Uh-uh-Iya I uh hate stuttering."
"Is not using your head voice any better?" I ask. I can't see why she'd want to re-learn how to talk without stuttering. Wasn't her method working perfectly fine?
"Y-y-yes. No, I-I-I-Iya- I uh don't know," Sloth says. "It doesn't work ah-ah-all the time and it's hard. Stuttering's not any easier, but at least I-I-I-Iya I uh can fix it this way, maybe."
I nod. But I still can't help but wonder what it's like not to stutter.
…
After Speech I wave goodbye to Sloth and walk over to Ceramics. Russell's still in the room, packing up his stuff. I walk over to him.
"Hey, Russell," I say, plunking my backpack down by my seat. He jerks.
"Hello yourself," he mutters, shoving more stuff into his backpack.
"Bad day?" I ask.
"Larry wasn't here today."
"Come again?"
"Larry and I are the only guys at this table. The rest are freshmen girls, giggly freshmen girls."
"S-ss-sucks ff-fff-ff-for you," I mutter, trying to ignore the staccato sounds of my voice. Look, Izumi, I'm not using avoidance or substitution.
"Thanks for your sympathy," Russell says, scowling.
"Can't you just t-t-tell them that you've already decided who you're going t-to ask?"
"Are you kidding me? If I did that, they'd dive in for the kill! They'd want to know who it was, what I was going to wear, what she was going to wear, how I was going to ask her, everything!" Russell turns to me with a frantic look in his eye. "Bad enough that they're giggling at me, that last thing I need is them giving advice."
"Oh, and Russell."
"Yeah?"
"You're going t-t-to be llllate ff-fff-f-for Math, if you don't hurry."
"SHIT!"
…
Ling takes forever to show up. I fidget nervously in my seat. I hope what Winry says isn't true and that he won't hate me. Not that he wouldn't have a good reason for it. I just hope he can forgive me.
"Hey," I say when Ling sits down. He grins at me.
"Hi Ed," he says. I can't figure out why he's smiling. What does he know that I don't?
"Hey, I'm s-ss-ss-sorry about yesterday in the car," I say quickly.
"Hmm?" Ling asks, glancing at the blackboard. Today we're going to be watching a movie or something. So there's no need to have clay out. Instead the teacher has handed out a movie-study sheet. I glare at it. For some reason, Mr. Stevens seems to believe that he's teaching AP Ceramics and that people are actually interested in ceramics. There is the stray art student, but most people just want to pass the class.
"Winry was kind of pissed when I asked her when she was going t-to ask Russell to the dance," I clarify.
"Oh, well it's not like she's going to ask him this year," Ling says reaching for a study sheet. "Ugh, can you believe we're watching another movie?"
"You don't care about that?" I ask.
"No, why would I? I mean, it's a known fact that women cannot resist the sexy charms of Asians, like myself, indefinitely. She'll see the light, eventually."
I stare at Ling. I can't believe Winry managed to freak me out about this. Ling is such an utter optimist that he would never let anything, even the truth, stand in the way of his reality.
"But, really, was she mad about it?" Ling asks, hopefully.
"Oh, you have no idea," I mutter as the movie starts.
…
I blink quickly as I walk out of the room. The Ceramics movie was absolutely mind-numbing. Even Ling could barely keep his eyes open. Whoever holds the rights to it should stop marketing it as an educational device and consider selling it as a sleep aid.
I walk over to the front of the school and wait for Dad.
Al practically bounces over to me and it takes a moment before I realize he's dragging a dark haired boy with him.
"Hi Ed! This is Wrath!" Al says when he reaches me. He looks so thrilled. Wrath, on the other hand, just looks nervous. He keeps trying to edge away from Al, but Al has his hand firmly clamped to Wrath's wrist.
"Hi Wrath," I say. He looks up and I notice that his eyes, like Envy's, are purple. However, unlike Envy's, Wrath's are a dark violet.
"Are you sure this is going to be alright with your parents?" Wrath asks, plucking at his baggy pants with his free hand.
"Mom's out of town," Al says, grinning devilishly.
"I don't understand," Wrath says.
"Don't worry, nobody understands until it's t-too lllate," I mutter. Al shoots me a dark look. Wrath looks at me nervously. I sigh. Dad's late and Al, as busy as he is trying to make a good impression, doesn't seem all that eager to explain. Not that I would be, if it were Envy. But Al doesn't have any reason to be nervous around Wrath; after all, he's just a friend.
"Llllet's just ss-ss-say that Dad owes Al," I explain.
"Al, what's going?" Wrath asks again, more impatient this time. "And would you let go of my hand?"
Wrath blushes as he says the last part. Mentally, I slap my forehead at Al's social obtusity. Honestly, doesn't he know that people, especially guys, don't hold hands unless they're going out?
"No," Al replies simply. Wrath sighs and looks away. I roll my eyes.
"But I don't have my stuff," Wrath complains, taking another approach. Al frowns. He obviously hadn't considered this before.
"Well, we can just swing by your house, can't we?" Al says. Wrath looks at me, hoping to find sympathy or an escape route. I shrug. I have enough problems on my own without becoming involved with Al's.
I look across the parking lot. Envy's over there with his friends. Apparently, they're waiting for Roy or something. The girl who was talking to Envy before English is there. Envy is laughing at something she said and he's gorgeous. And suddenly, he stops and looks at me. I stare, transfixed. He grins and waves. I smile back. Maybe, maybe he'll come over and say hi and I'll—and I'll mess it up somehow.
"ENVY!" Wrath yells suddenly. I cringe. Al winces. Envy does a double take. I don't think he expected Wrath to be over here, much less holding Al's hand.
"C'MERE!" Wrath bellows again. Al looks like he's about to say something, but he doesn't. I glare at Wrath. Sure his brother is across the parking lot, but he doesn't have to yell that loudly.
Envy shrugs and saunters over.
It's all I can do to stop myself from drooling. Envy walks like a supermodel.
"Yes, Wrath," Envy says lightly, eyeing Wrath and Al's respective wrist and hand. He looks at me, I shrug again. With Al, holding hands means precisely one thing: I don't want to let you get away. It doesn't have to have any romantic connotations. It doesn't mean he likes you. Once I saw him holding the hand—well, wrist—of the boy he planned to beat up. Apparently Al was leading him to someplace where no one would catch them fighting.
"Um, Al asked me to spend the night and I don't know if Mom will—"
"She's going to say yes," Envy says, looking at Wrath puzzled. Al glares at Wrath, who tries to extricate himself out of Al's viselike grip.
"Could I get a ride home with you to—"
Wrath is interrupted by the sound of squealing tires and swearing.
Dad has arrived.
He pulls up by us and kills the engine. He glances at me and then looks pointedly at Envy. I blush. Fortunately, before Dad can do anything stupid, like invite Envy over for dinner, he catches sight of Al and Wrath. Wrath turns a brilliant crimson color and Al stares defiantly at Dad.
"Dad, this is Wrath, he's spending the night," Al states, daring Dad to object. He doesn't.
"Oh, is that alright with his parents?" Dad asks, eyebrows raised.
"Yeah, it is, Mr. Elric," Envy chimes in. Wrath glares at him. "I can bring his stuff by later, if you want. Like around six?"
I want to groan. We eat dinner at six. There is now a 100 chance of Dad asking Envy to dinner. This has not been my day. This hasn't been my week. It probably isn't going to be my month either. I sigh. The not-so-dark side is Mom's not here.
"That'd be great," Dad says. "If you're going to come around that time than you might as well stay for dinner."
"Alright," Envy agrees, smiling normally for once. I resist the urge to strangle something. Dinner is going to suck. Especially because Dad can't cook to save his life, let alone my love life.
"Oh, and nice car," Envy says. Dad beams. I sigh loudly. "See you at six!"
Envy grins manically at me before he walks away. I smile back. It's impossible not too, not when his cheeks are pink like that. Envy's blushing. Somehow that thought makes me smile all the more.
"Put the packs in the truck," Dad says. Al gleefully takes Wrath's backpack for him. I roll my eyes. He doesn't have to be so happy about the fact that Wrath won't bolt. (Unless Wrath doesn't have anything important in his pack. Then Al's just screwed.)
"Al, get in ff-fff-first," I say, taking charge of the seating situation. Al gives me an evil look and reluctantly climbs in. I sit down next to him. He opens his mouth to protest.
"Wrath, you s-sit on Al's llllap," I say. Wrath stares at me as if I've grown an extra head. I raise an eyebrow at him. He looks around, then gingerly gets in. I fasten the seatbelt around all three of us.
…
The ride home is far from comfortable. Dad's driving is exacerbated by the traffic. Al spends the entire ride moaning, groaning, and giving Wrath the entirely wrong idea. Wrath looks at me with an odd look on his face and I mutter something about Al getting carsick. Wrath, meanwhile, turns faintly green and goes rather quiet. I just sigh and wait for it to be over.
Once we're home Dad nearly drives off with our backpacks still in the trunk. Only a quick protest from Al saves them. Dad and Al then proceed to have an argument over what dinner is. Dad argues for Chinese take-out while Al demands that he be allowed to make dinner. I guide a dazed and confused Wrath to the front door and assure that, no, it doesn't happen all the time and yes, all of our neighbors think we're insane. I let us both in and Wrath follows me to the kitchen. He fidgets nervously when I rummage through the cabinets looking for something to eat. I sigh. I hate making conversation with unfamiliar people. But at least Wrath knows how to act around a stutterer. After all, Sloth's one.
I still can't get over the shock of that. It's just so bizarre, I think as my fingers touch the edge of the Sweet And Salty box. I grin. Food at last. I pull out three bars.
"Want one?" I ask Wrath. He jumps and looks up, uncertainly.
"Um, sure," he says, hesitantly. I toss him one and he fumbles the catch. "Is your brother always like this?"
"No," I say carefully, resisting the urge to scream 'I'm neutral, like Switzerland.' I don't involve myself in Al's affairs and he generally returns the favor. "But, if you think this is bad, wait until you s-ss-see him on a sugar high."
Wrath blanches.
"He—he's not joking—this isn't part of some stupid prank?" Wrath asks, looking at me worriedly. I wonder why he trusts me, if he doesn't trust Al. It can't be because of Envy and whatever he feels about me. Maybe it's because Sloth thinks I'm a decent human being. Or because I haven't started a malicious rumor about Envy after everything.
"No," I say again. "Al pranks precisely three people: me, Dad, and Russell."
"Oh," Wrath says and stares at his feet. I finish eating my peanut bar and toss the wrapper in the garbage under the sink. I wait for Al to come in.
"Ha! I win! Dad said we could—"
"Think RAPIDLY!" I yell and chuck the Sweet And Salty bar in front of Al's knees. He dives for it and manages to catch it.
"I own the universe," he says, rising from the carpet to enter the kitchen. I roll my eyes. Al has supernaturally good reflexes. It's one of the reasons he's good at pretty much every single sport he's ever tried.
"Dad s-said we could?" I prompt Al.
"Oh yeah! We get to make dinner. I figure it'll be okay if we start it at like four thirty," Al says and looks at me.
"Don't worry, I won't help," I mutter, preparing to leave the kitchen.
"No, you have to supervise him," Wrath says, with, surprisingly, a smile. I raise an eyebrow. "Last week he managed to torch the Biology project and we weren't even working with fire."
Al glares at Wrath. I smirk. I am definitely going to bring this up next time Al insults my kitchen skills.
"Alright," I say and leave the kitchen. Al's talking excitedly about photos or something and Wrath is listening.
…
The instant that I sign into AIM, I'm bombarded with IM's from all sides.
LuminousLight: I have no chance at grandchildren do I?
WinryTheRiveter: srry Ed
And most intriguingly, an IM from xSexyPalmTree.
XSexyPalmTree: Hey
I sigh. So much for studying or homework.
Stutterbug: Dad, aren't you supposed to be working?
LuminousLight: Yes, but the lack of future grandchildren troubles me.
Stutterbug: Why? Envy's a girl.
I smirk as I type that. Al's not the only one who enjoys pulling Dad's leg every now and then.
LuminousLight: WHAT?!
Stutterbug: Just kidding! But you know, just because Al was holding Wrath's wrist doesn't mean they're going to go out
LuminousLight: Yeah right.
Stutterbug: Al holds everybody's hand, whether they like it or not. And besides, there's such thing as adoption. And you really should be working.
LuminousLight: Fine. You win. But let me say this. Envy seems like a nice guy.
Stutterbug: You say that only because he likes your car.
LuminousLight has signed off.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Dad is so off-base some times. Al is not interested in Wrath that way. Wrath probably just had the bad luck to look extremely lonely and interesting. Then BAM! Al just glommed on to him and has been flustering Wrath ever since. The whole scenario is nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, that how Al makes a lot of his friends.
Stutterbug: Winry, don't worry. I'm not mad.
WinryTheRiveter: good because Russell's being an idiot
I brace myself. Now she's going to rant to me about Russell. The xSexyPalmTree window flashes orange. I wonder who has that username. It can't be Envy. There's no way he'd pick a name like that.
Stutterbug: Right
WinryTheRiveter: he is. But more importantly what does ling like?
Stutterbug: his car, teasing me about Asian sexiness, and Chinese takeout leftovers.
WinryTheRiveter: Lunch food wise?
Stutterbug: Mexican food and coffee
WinryTheRiveter: thnx!
WinryTheRiveter has signed off.
I stare at the screen puzzled. What was that about? I push those thoughts away and instead open the IM from xSexyPalmTree.
xSexyPalmTree: Ed, it's me.
xSexyPalmTree: Envy, because I'm guessing you can't read minds.
Stutterbug: hey. Interesting name you've got there.
xSexyPalmTree: Envy?
Stutterbug: no, sexy palm tree.
Stutterbug: It's not something I'd expect of you.
xSexyPalmTree: Shut up. I could say the same thing about your name. How'd you choose it anyways?
Stutterbug: long story. You tell yours I'll tell you mine?
xSexyPalmTree: You assume there's a story. But you're right, there is. So, you first? Why pick a username you can't say easily?
Stutterbug: I have a fatal attraction to S? But no, stutterbug was one of my dad's nicknames for me. My mom hated it. Something about it encouraging my stuttering or cementing my identity as a stutterer. But I like it. It's nice, like katydid
xSexyPalmTree: or flutterbudget
Stutterbug: Yes, though I never would have pegged you for a Little House On The Prairie fan.
xSexyPalmTree: Shut up. You've (obviously) read them too.
Stutterbug: point. Now what's yours?
xSexyPalmTree: Less cute and touching. When I first started dyeing my hair, Greed, my older brother, said I looked like a palm tree. I think I cried about that (not where he could see me). I was six. But my family's tossed around plenty of nicknames (fern, pineapple top, Christmas tree you will never see me in a red shirt, I assure you, moss head…).
xSexyPalmTree: I got into an argument with Greed over it once and I remember yelling 'Fine I may be a palm tree, but at least I'm a sexy one!' And I've been using it as an online name ever since.
Stutterbug: Wow. You're right. Less cute and touching.
Stutterbug: So, is your brother always so distrustful or is Al just special that way?
xSexyPalmTree: Let's just say that it's amazing Wrath didn't bolt for it.
Stutterbug: I think Al's hand had something to do with that.
xSexyPalmTree: Are you kidding me? Wrath knows karate, he could've gotten away if he wanted to. But I think your brother runs faster and he knows how to tackle people.
No. It's not that. If Wrath had tried to make a run for it Al would've done something mortifying. You see, Al has been known to kiss unsuspecting people as a way to immobilize them. It's frighteningly effective.
Stutterbug: But why is Wrath so paranoid?
xSexyPalmTree: It's not paranoid if they're after you.
xSexyPalmTree: But it's a long story. You should ask Wrath tomorrow, when you spend the night.
I blush. I'd nearly forgotten about that.
xSexyPalmTree: you are going to spend the night, right?
Stutterbug: yes. Why are you so paranoid?
xSexyPalmTree: I'm not paranoid. Why would I be paranoid?
The urge to type, 'I don't know, you tell me' is there. But that would be extremely immature. Besides, it's not like I don't have an idea of why. It'd just be nice to hear it from Envy instead of everyone else.
Isn't that a little unfair? Expecting him to make a move on you with all the encouragement you've given him.
I ignore the voice. Envy's braver than me. And I don't know anything. This is all just a hypothesis. Well, more of a theory really. It just hasn't become a law yet.
Stutterbug: Never mind. So what's been happening in English so far?
xSexyPalmTree: Well, you're going to need a copy of Dante's Inferno. When you're over at my house you should have Lust read it aloud to you. She's really good and Wrath's been begging her to read it to him. She hasn't started it yet.
Stutterbug: Okay. And day books?
xSexyPalmTree: Oh, those are two paragraph or so pieces of our most polished writing. He gives us a quote and we have to explain it. The first paragraph generally explains the quote and the second can tie in a personal experience, something we read, or an observation.
Stutterbug: Oh. What quotes?
xSexyPalmTree: Right. Well, they're given in sets of ten. So far we've only gotten the first five. They are: The unexamined life is not worth living—Socrates, Humankind cannot tolerate much reality—T. S. Eliot, Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting—William Wordsworth, As soon as one
xSexyPalmTree: sees with one's own eyes the whole, which one had hitherto only known in chaotic fragments, a new life begins—Johann Goethe, The moving finger writes; and having writ moves on: nor all they piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all thy tears wash out a word of it—Omar Khayyam.
xSexyPalmTree: Don't worry about making sense of them, either. I think that's Kärki's plan. Give us really obscure quotes that mean nothing.
Stutterbug: Oh. Can I see some of yours?
I immediately regret hitting the enter button. Now he's going to think I want to copy them or something.
xSexyPalmTree: Umm. Well, you see I kind of haven't started them at all. Except for the first one, but that's the one that was actually due sorta. All I have are ideas on some. Sloth has more, but she's at practice and then she's dragging me to audition somewhere later.
xSexyPalmTree: But yeah. I think she's slightly more ahead than I. Though her number 3 degenerated into a rant about how everyone grows up, except for males, who, according to her, retain the maturity of a five-year-old forever.
Stutterbug: Oh. Okay.
xSexyPalmTree: I promise to explain better tomorrow. Really, I swear.
"Ed! You'd better come down! Al wants to make dinner!" Wrath yells.
Stutterbug: Well, I have to go. Apparently your brother doesn't trust Al's cooking skills and now I have to go supervise.
xSexyPalmTree: No. Don't go.
xSexyPalmTree: You like me best. Remember, I'm greener and sexier.
Stutterbug: Yes, yes you are.
Stutterbug: But even sexy palm trees have to eat, so bye.
And with that, I sign off of AIM.
…
So, yeah, long chapter, eh? I know I had planned to include dinner, but hey, at least Ed and Envy conversed. And he's coming over for dinner. Plus, this was like a lightning fast update. Too bad I'm moving to a remote tropical island without any internet for the next six months to research an obscure breed of spiders.
Just kidding. I'm not a bug person.
Chapter Questions:
Time: Does it bother you that it's still Thursday, considering it started on a Tuesday evening?
What do you think of Sloth's stutter?
Who will make the first move? Envy or Ed (or will gravity take care of it for them)?