This is another early attempt at starting what ultimately became my Work-in-Progress. This one is more specifically Christmas themed, but still has little in common with the final story. You can see more about my efforts to start this story in my earlier post, Free Tickets.
The following scene takes place on the night of the annual Morgan County High School Christmas party, at the home of fraternal twins, Stacy and Marcus Addleberry. After years of getting the boot from his much cooler hostess sister, Marcus has finally managed to stay inside on party night. What’s more, he’s staked out a spot in the basement, sitting on the legendary SOMTKWPGOSGL—Sofa Of Much Tongue Kissing With Popular Girls Of Supreme Good Lookingness. Alas, his sister has no intentions of letting him stay.
Consider the eggnog, it neither toils nor spins. Unless I give it a swirl, then it spins in a really cool liquid pudding kind of way. Shame it doesn’t grow like the lilies. That would be nice—a never ending holiday beverage, a permanent Christmas break. I chug the glass, lean back on the sofa, and stare up into a scowl.
“Marcus,” Stacy growls down at me, “you’re under my mistletoe.”
I peer past her blistering face, see a weed nailed to the ceiling. “Somebody has high hopes for tonight.”
“Hopes that do not involve you.”
“I think we should leave that up to the impending party hotties.”
“They will not be interested in you. Besides, any hotties will be here because I invited them. And I haven’t invited you, so why are you here?”
“Well, it all started seventeen years ago when Mom and Dad did something I’ll explain to you when you’re older.”
“We are the same age, dweeb.”
“And I look back on our time in the womb with fondness.”
“This is my party.”
“Which was your attitude even in utero. Who’s the unfortunate boy for whom you’ve topiaried the ceiling?”
“There’s only one boy.”
“Ah.” My least favorite person in the entire world. “Him.”
“Go away, Marcus.”
“Why would I leave my own basement?”
“I didn’t invite you.”
“An oversight on your part. Happily, I’m not easily offended.”
“Marcus, I don’t ask for much.”
“Bit early for making resolutions you won’t keep. New Years is two weeks away.”
“All I ask is that you be gone.”
“I could take that the wrong way, you know.”
“As long as you take it somewhere else. Even you must have someplace to be on Christmas.”
She stares at me until I return to my eggnog, and because it isn’t bottomless, I can’t sip my way through the awkwardness that is the rest of my life with no place to be.