Birdygurl’s Hobbies

If you’d like to know more about me, Birdygurl, author of TPC, here’s what I like to do!

READ!

ONE OF MY FAVORITE BOOKS, THE INKHEART TRILOGY:

Do you guys read Inkheart? Cornelia Funke is totally my writing role model!

MY FAVORITE MANGA AND BOOK, FRUITS BASKET by Natsuki Takaya:

Fruits Basket is definitely a must-see for anyone interested in Manga, drawing, reading, or even if they aren’t into reading! It’s touching, happy, sad, and funny all at the same time! Don’t let the dumb-sounding title fool you. Before I read it, I thought it sounded like a really stupid series (there are 23 books in all. I’ve read all of them) but when I tried it out I got totally into it! The #2 most popular Manga in America! (#1 is Naruto) Ages 13+ (but I’m 12 and it’s not bad for me, and my 10-year-old friend also reads it…)

ONE OF MY FAVORITE SERIES, THE LIGHTNING THIEF by Rick Riordan

ALSO BY RICK RIORDAN, THE RED PYRAMID:

DRAW

ONE OF MY DRAWINGS, A Manga picture of one of the Characters in my book The Mar, Rannun!

Do you like it?? Post a comment telling me what you think about it!

Chapters 1-6 of my currently-being-written book, Every Moment Spent:

CHAPTER ONE:
I’m the kind of person who likes to be cheerful. My mom says I’m gregarious. I didn’t know what that meant until it appeared in a lesson in my spelling book. The definition was, “one that enjoys and pursues the companionship of others.” That does suit me well. I was twelve when my mother told me, “We’re moving.” I didn’t like that. For one thing, I had lots of friends in Texas, and I didn’t want to move away from them. There are plenty of other reasons I didn’t want to leave, but that was the main reason. My mother hardly listened to me, I think, before telling me that I needed to “discover new things” and “not stay in one place my whole life.” She said that she had discussed moving with Dad, and when my parents decided to do something, there’s pretty much nothing I can do to stop it from happening.
Despite my continuous complaints, we moved to a place called Napa in Northern California. I have to admit, it was a really pretty place. Vineyards spread wide over entire hills, and it looked really pretty.
The first classes at my new school weren’t good. The kids seemed really annoying. Some launched spitballs at the teacher or at each other when the teacher’s back was turned, and others snickered about things I couldn’t catch. Several passed notes or threw paper airplanes made from notebook paper or assignment sheets. One particular kid was teased a lot, but I didn’t really pay attention during class. I got a bit of teasing, probably to see if I, the “new kid” was any good. They most likely decided I wasn’t any good at all, because I didn’t react to teasing and didn’t talk much.
When the end of the school day arrived, I started home immediately. Did I say “home”? Well, I shouldn’t have, because it was really too soon to call it “home” yet. I will call it my “house” now, because it wasn’t home.
On my way to my new house, I noticed a group of kids hanging around on the opposite sidewalk. I identified a couple of them as kids who went to my new school, so I grew curious as to what they were doing. As I approached, I heard jeering cries. I joined the circular group, and realized that I was part of a ring of people that was surrounding four kids. Three kids were jeering and beating up a fourth kid, who looked pretty miserable. He had a black eye, and had countless bruises on his face and arms and legs. He had black hair, just like me, and the sun reflecting off of it made it look shiny. His eyes were black, like his hair (I have hazel eyes), and his face looked terrified. The patch of bloodred hair on his head looked greasy and darker than it had earlier, during school hours. He was the same kid that was teased the most at school.
The three bullies, one girl and two boys, threw another punch at the kid. It hit him hard on the cheek, a little below his eye, and a rain of jeering followed the blow. A cut was formed from the blow, and a thick drop of blood ran slowly down to kid’s chin, looking sort of like a crimson tear.
I was horrified. Why were they doing this to the poor guy? I whispered to the person next to me, “What’s happening?” I thought it was safe to ask, because she wasn’t jeering at the boy, either. She appeared to dislike what she was seeing. “Who is that kid? I’m new.”
“His name’s Austin,” the girl replied. “People tease him a lot because he gets so afraid. Nobody really knows why he’s the way he is. He’s always really timid and nervous, but I don’t know how those bullies can stand tormenting him, because of the look in his eyes. He’s got eyes full of terror, reflecting with unknown bad memories.”
I locked eyes with Austin for a moment, and his eyes were wild with fear. Then I knew what the girl next to me meant. His black eyes had a terror in them that was unable to be described. It was haunting to look at. Finally, I wrenched my gaze away from him and looked at my hands.
“My name’s April,” the girl next to me said. “What’s yours?”
“Summer,” I replied. “That’s cool – both of our names are the names of seasons.”
“Yeah,” April said. “That’s neat.”
I watched for a few more minutes as the boy was beat up and laughed at by cruel school-goers. Finally, before the crowd broke up and everybody went home, a member of the three tormenters shoved Austin harder than I’ve ever seen anybody being shoved, and he stumbled backward, lost his balance, and tumbled down upon the cement. April and I winced. “I have to go,” she said.
“Okay,” I said. “If you go to my school, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” she replied, and left.
I stayed as the other kids all dispersed, the gang of three laughing the loudest and yelling the most cuss words.
Austin remained on the sidewalk, sitting in a tight ball with his head buried in his arms. When I approached, he bounded to his feet, and when I looked into his eyes I saw the same terror as before. His black eye and cuts didn’t veil the fact that he really was pretty good-looking, and I couldn’t help but think that it was a shame he was so afraid of life.
I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could say anything, Austin bolted off running. His legs carried him surprisingly fast, and I wondered if that was because he had many things to run from. In a few minutes, he had disappeared from sight, and I started back home.

CHAPTER TWO:
That night, I thought about Austin being beaten up by the cruel gang of four. As the sun set, I watched the sky turn orangey and pink while sitting at my desk, full of thoughts. Finishing homework is no obstacle for me — that was completed in about two and a half hours. For the rest of the day, until my bedtime, I sat on my desk with a drawing pad, pencils, pens, and colored pencils in front of me. I love to draw. Drawing helps me think. Lots of people say I’m really good at it, too.
While I watched the sunset, I thought about that kid. My grandma used to tell me, before she died, that when the sky is streaked with pink during sunset, I can know that she’s thinking about me. If you notice, the sky at sunset or sunrise isn’t always pink. It’s often orange and lavender or something. But when it’s pink, my grandma is thinking about me.
For some reason, when the sky is pink, and my grandma is thinking about me, I tend to think even harder than normal. I think about stuff in my life, like troubles I have, or events that take place.
So it happened, that I was thinking about Austin. I couldn’t get his eyes, his face, out of my head. I have picture memory, and his face was bright and clear in my mind. Those black eyes… that haunted look. Why was he like that? What was wrong with his life? I got the conclusion that his life was something horrible. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out something like that. But the question was, what exactly is wrong with his life? I planned to find out. And I planned to help him with the struggle that he was obviously facing.
When the sun had set, I went and turned on my bedside light. I don’t use my main light, because I figure it’s perfectly fine to just use the light of the day, and when that runs out, I can cope with just using my bedside light.
So I drew a picture of Austin. I skipped out all of his cuts, the haunted look, and the fear. I drew a normal picture of Austin (all my friends and family and anyone who sees my drawings of people always say that I’m the most amazing artist they’ve ever seen. Sometimes I don’t believe them, but then when I look at my drawings compared to professional drawings — not to boast — I can pretty much understand what they mean), with his black hair, black eyes, and good features, smiling. His patch of crimson hair looked cheerful instead of gloomy. Then I colored it in, shaded it, and colored in a good background of trees. I looked at it. It looked… perfect. I wondered if I could help him to look like that. No more teasing, no more beating and getting black eyes, and get him to smile and laugh, and talk. I sighed, then got some tape and hung up the picture on the wall beside my bed.
I scanned all the drawings and pictures covering my walls. I had pictures of animals and friends and family all covering one wall, and drawings all covering another two and a half walls. Disappointed, I realized that since I had only half a wall left for drawings, I might have to start replacing soon, and maybe putting pictures even on my roof. I could see drawings that needed replacing. Some I drew from a couple years ago, that weren’t so good, that I could store in other places.
I sat on my bed and began to draw April, the girl I met.
Just then, my mom walked in. “I never asked how school went today,” she said. “Was it good?”
“It was okay,” I answered.
“Good,” Mom walked over to my bed and looked at the picture of Austin. I gripped my pencil tighter. I hope she doesn’t get the wrong idea, I thought. “Who is this?” Mom raised an eyebrow. Great, I thought. She did.
“It’s a boy I saw at school,” then I bit my lip. What was she going to think when I just said I saw him? Why would I draw a kid I just saw? There was no way I was going to tell her about Austin. I wanted to sort it out myself. Sometimes parents and adults could really mess things up.
“Oh, really?” Mom said. She looked at me.
“Mom, seriously. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like that,”
“Sure,” Mom said, which really irritated me. “And who’s that girl you’re drawing?”
“Her name’s April. I talked to her for a bit,” I replied.
“Oh, that’s good. You’ve made a friend already! And what’s more, another season, eh?”
“Practically the only nice person at school,” I mumbled to myself.
“Eh? What’s that?” Mom asked.
“Nothing,” I answered.
“Well, goodnight, Summer,”
With that, Mom left the room.
I sighed again, and continued drawing. I drew April’s shoulder-length, dirty-blond hair, but I obviously didn’t make it blonde until I colored it in. I drew her cheerful eyes, then I colored it in, and added the picture to the wall, just below Austin’s drawing.
* * *
The next day, I saw April again at school. I had gotten my drawing pad out of my backpack (I like to bring it everywhere I go) and went out onto the playground during recess, when I saw April sitting against the fence and drawing. I approached her. She looked up. “Oh,” she said, “yeah… I like to draw. I don’t have really any friends here, and it’s my second year at this school, so I just sit and draw.”
I sat down next to her and looked at her sketch. It was a picture of an eagle in the top of a tree. “Wow,” I said. “You’re really good. I like to draw, too. Here, I’ll show you some of my drawings. I brought my sketch book, too.”
I started at the beginning of my sketch pad, which I started two days ago and was already almost finished with all the paper, and showed April each and every drawing. Her jaw dropped on the very first page.
“Whoa,” she said. “You’re not serious — these are your drawings?”
“Whose else would they be?” I inquired.
“I don’t know… but I’ve just… those are, like, the best drawings I’ve ever seen. How old are you?”
“Twelve.”
“Me too. But, those are pretty much better than… than… anyone!”
I laughed. “Thanks.” I told her. I showed her the rest of my drawings, and when I was finished and she was finished with being speechless after the third page, she said, “Why don’t you draw yourself?”
“I never thought of that.” I said. “Maybe I will. But I don’t really like to draw family members, and I don’t think I’d be good at drawing myself.”
“Do you always draw people?”
“Usually I do, but every once in a while I’ll draw something else.”
“Can you draw birds? They’re my favorite kind of animal,”
“Not really… but I can draw horses.”
“Can you draw wings?” April asked.
“Sure,”
“Then draw a pegasus! I love pegasi.” I had never really thought of drawing a pegasus, but as soon as April said it, I realized that it was actually a pretty good idea. So I drew a pegasus. It didn’t take long, because I couldn’t color it since I hadn’t brought any colored pencils with me, and I was surprised at how well it turned out.
“Wow,” said April. “That’s amazing. I wish I could draw like you.”
I tore the drawing out of my drawing pad and put it in April’s lap. “You can have it. Consider it a gift.” I smiled at her. She looked about to protest, but I said, “Really, it’s fine — I can just draw another when I get home.” April smiled at me. “You’re a really nice person, you know that?” I smiled back. I had already found a good friend. I had a feeling that deciding to move wouldn’t be so bad after all.
I stood up and looked around at the playground while April sat and finished her drawing of the eagle. I spotted the three bullies thrashing a third grader, a bunch of popular girls talking about something that I figured must be pretty stupid, and a group of guys playing soccer.
Then I caught a glimpse of Austin out of the corner of my eye.
He was nestled in the hollow of a bush — probably trying to hide from everyone else — sitting with his arms wrapped around his knees, watching the other kids playing. He looked so miserable and dejected, I decided to go and try talking to him again.
“I’m going to go talk to Austin,” I told April. She looked amazed.
“Why? He probably is just going to ignore you. It’s not use talking to him — he doesn’t reply to anybody. He never talks. The teacher gave up talking to him because he never says anything. He finishes his homework, but he’s useless about any socializing in school.”
I wavered for a moment, but then told myself that that he needed some encouragement. “I’m going to try anyway,” I declared.
“Okay,” said April, sounding doubtful. “Well, good luck… you’re gonna need it.”
I walked over to the bush. “Hey,” I told Austin. His head snapped over to face me. He looked, unfortunately, terrified. He didn’t say anything. “My name’s Summer.” I said. “I saw you yesterday… do you remember me?” Still, no reply.
“Look,” I said. Maybe if I just out and told him, he might realize that he should talk to me. “I want to help you. It seems like something horrible is happening in your life, and I want to help you with what you’re facing. Can you tell me what’s wrong? I promise I won’t tell anyone. Please let me help you.” Was that the right thing to say? I wondered. Will he even react? Oh, please let him talk to me! Let him realize that I’m here to help him!
There was no response, but I thought I saw something resembling a tiny flicker of hope cross Austin’s face. But then he stuck his head in his arms and seemed to shut me out. He began to quiver.
I decided that maybe it was time to leave him alone and let him think about what I’d said. If I kept telling him, asking him, to let me help him, maybe he would talk to me. At least tell me “no,” and not just remain silent.
I went back to April. “Any luck?” she asked. I shook my head.
“Didn’t think so,” she replied. “Trust me, people before have tried talking to him. None of them succeeded. He’s just too bottled-up and friendless to sense any hope, I think. Don’t get your hopes up too high. I think you’ll soon find that there’s no way you’re going to be able to heal him.”
* * *
That night, I tried not to let April’s advice get to my mind. Other people had tried… and failed? Was Austin really that helpless? Was he really that doomed? Doomed to a life of pain?
No, I told myself. I don’t care if other people failed. I will be the one to help him. I will be the one to succeed! I have to be! I may be his only hope. And if I give up… what future would there be for him? I don’t believe he can’t be helped!
I lay in my bed thinking for a long time, unable to get to sleep. When I finally looked at my alarm clock, it read 2:45 am. Good thing tomorrow’s Saturday, I thought, Or else I would be really tired at school. I sat up, turned on my bedside light, and began to sketch a second version of the pegasus I’d drawn earlier. I traced the lines over with a black ink pen, then colored in the drawing. I taped it to my bedpost and looked at it for a long time, then fell asleep.

CHAPTER THREE:
The next morning, I got up very early in the morning. The world was just starting to awaken from its nighttime slumber. I sat up and read some books, then went downstairs. I quietly took some cereal out of the pantry and poured it into a bowl with some milk. I went to the table and ate it with a special spoon that I had won at some weird booth at the fair. Now that I think of it, it’s a bit weird that I earned it at a fair booth. What kind of booth gives out decorated spoons as awards?
I picked up a piece of paper lying on the table and drew a guy with a hat on. He was swinging around a pole, and he had a mustache on his lip and bushy eyebrows so big they practically hid his eyes. I laughed when I drew it, then taped it above the stove so that when my mom started cooking, she could make eye contact with the random guy swinging around a pole with eyebrow shrubbery on his face.
I went back to my room, having finished my cereal, and felt a sudden desire to view all the drawing contest awards I had earned. Most of them weren’t much — just a first-place certificate or something. But every once in a while, I got a special card, a little plastic first-place cup, and if it was a really cool contest, they gave out money awards. I’d gotten a couple money awards, but frankly, I’m not that interested in earning prizes at drawing contests. Most of the awards I’d earned were because my mom made me enter. I’d only entered eight contests, most of them pretty minor. I kept all my awards in one box.
I dug out the first drawing award I’d ever won — a gold-colored certificate. Congratulations! It read, Winner of the third-grade drawing contest: Summer. I had printed my name myself, so it was pretty hard to read. In third grade, I’d had pretty illegible handwriting. I looked at the drawing: a guy with dark brown hair and brown eyes. I remembered seeing him: the random passenger sitting next to us on a bus. Back then, I’d thought he was good-looking so just decided to draw him. I wasn’t very good. I’d gotten much better over the years, but still, this drawing is pretty memorable to me. I still keep the box of awards at my house.
I put away my first award and the box. What on earth am I going to do today? I thought. There was no way I’d be able to find that kid. Maybe I’ll just read for a while. I picked up a book and flipped to the bookmarked page. I began reading. This was a book in my favorite series.
After about two hours (I was already two-thirds done with the book) I finished it and picked up from the newly-checked-out-library-books pile the next book in the series, setting the finished one on my return-to-library book pile. I can’t remember a single book I haven’t borrowed from a friend or checked out from a library.
I read a third of the next book before I heard Mom walking in the hallway. I looked at my clock, and found that it was already 9:00 am, when I’d gotten out of bed at around 5:06 because I couldn’t go to sleep.
I looked up as Mom opened my door and entered the room. She looked at the freshly added to return-to-library pile.
“Don’t you want to do anything besides read or draw?” she asked, looking at me. I shook my head. But before I could stick my nose back in my book, she said, “Well, starting today, that’s going to change. You’re now doomed to spend at least three hours outside on each day of the weekend.” Then, when seeing my planning-something-sneaky face, she added, “And sitting somewhere outside out of my sight reading or drawing doesn’t count.”
I groaned.
“Oh, come on,” Mom said, and I could tell she wanted to laugh. “It isn’t that difficult. You can go outside and run around, play with a skipping-rope, or ride your bike. When you get some friends at school, you can go outside with them.”
I put my face in my pillow and let it muffle my grumble. Then I got up, put my bookmark in my book, and went outside.
I rode my bike for about 45 minutes. I didn’t really know any place, so I just circled our block over and over again. Then I decided to ride by school. I pedaled my bike as fast as I could – merely because I felt like going fast – and arrived at the school shortly. I stopped to look at the abandoned playground.
Suddenly, I sensed that someone was near. I looked around me and saw Austin sitting on the sidewalk, watching cars drive past. He saw me and all of his movement stopped. Then he turned his gaze to the cement.
I sighed and walked my bike across the street. I propped it up on the sidewalk and went to sit next to Austin. I didn’t say anything. I waited.
After a few minutes of waiting patiently, Austin said, very quietly, “It’s no use. Nothing’s worth it anymore. You can’t do anything for me. There’s no hope anymore.” He paused between sentences.
I almost cried. How could he think that there wasn’t any hope?
“If there was a way,” I said slowly, “would you use it? If there was hope, would you be hopeful? If there was something I could do, wouldn’t you let me do it? Austin, if you could find a way to save yourself, wouldn’t you look for it?”
Austin looked me in the eye. The haunted look was stronger than ever, and I had to fight not to look away from him.
“Austin!” yelled a voice suddenly. Austin leaped to his bare feet and whirled around, alarmed. “Mom…!” he whispered.
“Get over here now, Austin! What is wrong with you, running away all the time? How dare you! Come back and let me teach you a lesson, brat!” the voice screamed. A lady was standing a while away on the sidewalk, in front of a brown house with chipping and faded paint.
Austin didn’t reply or go back to who apparently was his mother. He turned tail and ran down the sidewalk with his bare feet. I stared after him, stunned, as the lady yelled in anguish at the sky.
“You!” she yelled at me. “You’re his friend?! Now he’s got friends! Of course the little brat would attract others to him!” I fought to refrain from following suit of Austin and running away. When Austin’s mother had gone back into her house, I crossed the street again and, when I turned back to look at the house, I almost bumped into a man standing on the sidewalk.
“Hello,” he said, and smiled.
“Hi…?” I said, confused.
The dude held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you. My name is Jay. What’s yours?”
“Summer….” I gathered up my wits and eyed him suspiciously. “Do I know you?”
He laughed. “Not that I know, you don’t. And I don’t know you. Does that mean that I can’t introduce myself? Making friends isn’t pointless, you know, and from what I’ve seen, you’re trying to help Austin.” he looked at Austin’s house and then looked at me in a sort of corner-gaze, without turning his head. He smiled charmingly. My first thought was, He’s weird, but in a matter of seconds I grew to like him. He was the I kind of person that always seems to be a close friend, even if you’ve just met him.
“You know Austin?” I asked.
“Well, I couldn’t say I know him, but I’ve heard talk of him, and have observed him as I walk by this way.”
“Do you know what’s wrong with him?” I prompted.
Jay gave me the corner-gaze again. “Child abuse, from what I’ve seen and heard. His mother doesn’t treat him well. She’s a single parent.”
“Oh,” I said sadly.
“Child abuse can be a deep injury. I think that many people take it too lightly. It can go beyond the average Joe’s imagination.” A shadow seemed to cross over his face.
“Are you the average Joe?” I asked, wondering how he knew all that.
“I, Summer, am not the average Joe. As a child, I experienced abuse.” Jay looked beyond my eyes thoughtfully. His dark brown hair and blue eyes had a dashing appearance. He wore tan cargo pants and a plain blue shirt that wasn’t tucked in, causing it to hang down a few inches past his waist. It seemed strange for an adult to wear such casual clothes.
Jay looked at me again. “What are you doing currently? Where are you headed?”
He took me by surprise. “I don’t know – my mom said I had to spend a few hours outside today. I don’t really know what to do.”
“Well,” Jay grinned at me. His white teeth shined cheerfully. “Since I’m out doing nothing, too, why don’t you walk with me?”
“Sure…?” I replied. Who was this guy?

FOUR:
We began to walk in some random direction.
“Do you know your way around here?” I asked.
“Yes; I’ve lived here for twenty years.” Jay answered. “My family moved here when I was eight. I’d better know my way around Napa, thank you very much.”
“So you’re twenty-eight?” I asked.
Jay laughed. “If it’s any of your business how old I am, yes, I’m twenty-eight.”
We walked along in silence. Finally, I said, “I just moved here. I lived in Texas before we came here.”
“That must have been hard for you,” Jay commented. I was surprised. I had expected him to start praising Napa, saying how beautiful it was or something.
I sighed. “Yeah,” I admitted. “But it is really pretty out here.”
“Yes, it’s very lovely in Napa. Despite that, though, it’s very hard to move away from friends, isn’t it? Did you like living in Texas a lot?” Jay inquired.
“Yes; I loved living there.” I said wistfully. “I had a lot of really good friends. I never wanted to move. I kept telling Mom and Dad that I really didn’t want to move. But they didn’t listen. It’s not the beginning or the end of a school year. I thought it would be really hard for me to come here; to make new friends and all, and catch up in school work. But Mom and Dad said it was bad for me to stay in one place my whole life.” I was surprised at myself. Here I was, telling the whole story to a stranger I hadn’t know for 20 minutes. But Jay was the kind of person that brought everything out of me without a warning. Like an automatic response to something. Jay just watched me speak, without saying a word. Just nodding. “I guess I’m kind of glad we moved here, though.” I said. I wondered if Jay was even listening at all. It was just nice to tell someone. But he seemed to be listening; listening wordlessly. Not trying to give me a solution. Just listening to what I wanted to admit. “I mean, I’ve met Austin and want to help him. And I think that might be good for me, to put effort into helping someone. I like to be cheerful and happy and stuff, but I also want everyone else to be happy. I don’t like being the only one that’s happy about life, you know? It hurts to see other people not being happy. I’ve also met April, a girl at my school, and she’s my friend. She seems really nice. So maybe Mom and Dad were right.”
Jay nodded. “Yes, it’s good to move sometimes, I think. You do new things, see new places, meet new people. Like meeting me,” he added, with a glint in his eye.
There was a moment of awkward silence. Just then, Jay and I came around a corner to a street lined with shops. I spotted an ice cream shop and suddenly realized that I was kind of hungry.
Jay studied me in a careless kind of way. He hardly seemed like a stranger anymore, even though I’d just met him. And I’d also admitted a lot to him. “You want some ice cream?” he asked.
I hadn’t expected that. “I don’t have any money,” I said, disappointed.
“I’ll buy you something. Anything you want,” he said, propelling me toward the ice cream shop. “Who cares about ruining your appetite anyway? You don’t have to tell your mom that you got ice cream.” Why was it that he always said what I wanted to hear?
Jay pushed me into the ice cream shop, me still recovering from surprise, and approached the counter. “What do you want?” he asked me.
“Um…” I surveyed the various assortment of ice creams, ranging from chocolate flavored to toffee. “Coffee?” I said.
Jay grinned. “I like that kind, too. Two small coffee ice cream cones, please,” he said to the lady behind the counter. Jay dug out his money as the lady scooped out ice cream from the tub labeled Coffee.
“That’ll be $4.25, please,” she said. Jay handed her the money and took the two cones. He gave one to me and began to lick the other. “To go?” he asked me, “Or do you want to eat it here?”
“To go,” I replied. “I’d better be getting home.”
“In that case,” said Jay, giving me the charming corner-gaze again, “I’ll walk you home.”

FIVE:
“I don’t know how to get back home,” I said. “But I know my way back from the school.”
“Then let’s go back to the school, and then we can go to your house.” Jay said indifferently, and licked his ice cream as he led me back to the school.
We walked along in silence as we headed to my school. I wondered what Mom would say when I got home with some strange guy with me. Would she just out and ban him from me or what? Maybe he would charm her, too, like he had charmed me into liking him. But if she didn’t let me see him anymore, that wouldn’t be good at all. He already seemed like a close friend to me – like I’d known him years. And I’d already told him everything like a blubbering idiot. But then again… was that a bad choice? To tell him everything? He seemed so kind… an air of kindness seemed to linger about him. It was like he understood everything I said, and knew what I wanted him to tell me. But he was sincere about it, not like he was just pitying me or something like that. He meant what he said. Even if he seemed silly
“So where do we go to get to your house?” Jay asked me. He didn’t seem at all disturbed by the silence a moment before. He hadn’t been uncomfortable. Had he just understood that I wanted to think for a bit?
I brought myself out of my thoughts and saw that we had arrived at the school, and I needed to lead us to my house. I glanced at my ice cream. I had licked away the top sticking above the cone, and felt guilty that I hadn’t been enjoying it, and just eating it absentmindedly. But it was very good ice cream. I’ve always loved coffee ice cream.
“This way,” I said, and lead Jay down sidewalks, soon immersed in my thoughts again.
It’s hard to describe what kind of person Jay was like. You might not have met anyone like him. If you’ve met someone that you naturally tell everything to, and want to go crying to them and tell them all your problems; if you’ve met someone that listens to your burdens without a word and without suggesting answers, but truly listens; if you’ve met someone that tells you whatever you want to hear but doesn’t pity you, who understands you no matter what, and whose willingness, kindness, and wisdom seem everlasting, you have met someone like Jay. Even if he didn’t have scholarly wisdom, he just knew things and understood my problems.
After about five or ten minutes we arrived at my house. Jay didn’t hesitate to approach the front door, and he didn’t waver before knocking. I heard the Mom’s soft footsteps. I could always know if it was her walking, because she always wore soft, silky slippers inside the house that made a sort of muffled stepping noise.
She opened the door and said to me, “Back so soon?” then she seemed to notice for the first time that Jay was standing beside me. “And who is this?” she asked me.
“This is Jay, Mom,” I said, and Jay stepped forward eagerly, holding out his hand. “Hello! Pleased to meet you.”
“Who are you?” Mom asked him skeptically. Her eyebrows were creased into a frown and she looked worried that Jay was some kind of perverted weirdo.
Jay smiled lightly, brushing aside Mom’s expression. “I think Summer just introduced me, did she not? What is the use of asking a second time?”
Mom was still dubious. “How old are you, sir?” she asked rudely. I wanted to tell her that it was stupid to think that Jay was a kidnapping pervert.
“Twenty-eight,” replied Jay, still smiling and not seeming the slightest bit annoyed by Mom’s rudeness or doubtfulness. “I met Summer while I was on my afternoon walk.” he looked at me, then gave Mom the corner-gaze. She looked from him to me, then back at him. “Well…” she began, pausing for a few moments. She seemed to be judging his appearance and the look in his eyes, trying to figure out if he was a good dude or a bad kidnapper dude. Jay kept a smile on his face the whole time, never letting it waver. It was a real smile, too. Finally, Mom seemed to decide that he wasn’t so bad. “Would you like to eat lunch with us… Jay?”
“I would be honored to,” answered Jay, still smiling his princely smile.
Mom wordlessly opened the door completely and let Jay and I inside. Mom had lunch almost ready.
“Make yourself… at home,” Mom said hesitantly, as though she wasn’t sure it was such a good idea for Jay to make himself at home in our house. I plunked down on the couch and Jay sat down next to me. He began inspecting his hands. He’d doodled something on his palm – a little smiley face with fangs and devil horns. It had stick hands and legs, and was holding a pitchfork, with a whip in the other hand. It looked so silly and innocently evil that I laughed out loud.
“What?” Jay inquired, glancing at me.
“You drew a devil smiley face on your hand,” I explained.
“Yes,” said Jay, looking at it again. “I’ve named it Bob.” I laughed again.
“Sir,” began Mom, looking at us sitting on the couch. “Are you married?” I thought that was just about the rudest thing that Mom could ever say to a guest, especially someone like Jay.
“No,” replied Jay, sounding carefree. “I don’t intend to either, Mrs…?”
“Oh!” Mom laughed. It seemed like Jay’s magic was beginning to work on her, too. “I forgot to introduce myself. Forgive me. My name is Jess,”
“Jess,” repeated Jay.
“What do you do for a living, Jay?” Mom asked.
“Well, I work five days a week. I work from 8:00 AM to 2:45 PM as a cashier.”
“I see,” said Mom.
“May I set the table while you finish getting the meal ready?” offered Jay happily.
“Yes, that would be kind of you.” Mom’s voice didn’t sound at all skeptical anymore. Jay had charmed her into liking him. He went over to Mom and asked, “Where do you keep your silverware?” Mom pointed to the top drawer of a counter with three. “Over there,” she confirmed. Jay approached it and took out enough silverware for four people. “Am I right in guessing that there are three people in your family?” he asked me.
“Yes.” I replied.
“Where is your father?” he asked.
Mom answered for me. “He’s just in his office. Summer, would you go get him? Tell him lunch is ready.”
I reluctantly arose from the comfy couch and made my way to Dad’s office. He sat in front of his desk, a pencil tucked behind his ear, tapping his papers and thinking really hard. “Dad?” I asked cautiously.
“Hmm?” he replied quietly and thoughtfully.
“Lunch is ready. We have a visitor.” I explained.
“Do we now?” Dad glanced at me curiously, then rose from his chair and walked toward the door. “Dad,” I warned. “Your pencil is still behind your ear.”
He laughed. “Oh! So it is.” he reached up to remove it, then set it on his pencil holder. I glanced quickly around his office. Everything was neat and tidy – papers were arranged in shelves with slots in alphabetical order, any papers on the desk were stacked in neat heaps, and he had two holders for his utensils: one for pens, one for pencils. Erasers and other paraphernalia were placed in a neat stack in front of the holders. The floor was spotless except for a small, mysterious coffee stain and the walls were white and bare with a few framed pictures in a neat row.
Dad emerged from his office and followed me into the living room. Jay was still seated on the couch, looking comfortable, wearing his tan cargo pants and plain shirt. He leaped off the couch to greet Dad. Dad obviously had no idea who the heck Jay was.
“Allen, this is Summer’s friend, Jay…?” she trailed off, looking questioningly at Jay. She still didn’t know his last name.
“Jay Davidson,” Jay replied, shaking Dad’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” he added, smiling warmly. Dad seemed to be immediately charmed by Jay’s dashing air.

SIX:
That night, I could hardly sleep. For some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about Jay. It wasn’t the kind of thinking as if you have a crush on someone… it was that Jay was the kind of person I’d never met before. I thought for sure that he would help me with Austin. I couldn’t get his corner-gaze out of my head. It was a knowledgeable look in his eyes when he looked at me – like he knew something about me that I didn’t know myself.
The next day, school wasn’t anything special. I saw April again, but didn’t bring up Austin to her. She seemed convinced that nothing could work, but I had a feeling that something would. Something was going to work. I just had to reach Austin. I had to tell him that if he didn’t wake himself up from his nightmare or let someone else wake him up, he would never wake up. It would go on until he died.
After school, I found Jay waiting for me. He was dressed in a gray shirt with a drink logo on it, and he was wearing cargo pants again. Some people passed curious glances at me when I greeted him.
We walked back to my house in silence. The only time the silence was broken was when I asked him, “Do you know anyone from my school?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I know you.”
“Besides me.”
“Then no, I don’t know anyone from your school.”
When I stopped at my house, he kept walking. “Good-bye,” he called over his shoulder. I smiled, and went into my house. I finished my homework, then skipped drawing and went to bed. I fell asleep right away, surprisingly.

Over the next few days, I fell deeper into thought. I drew everything I could think of. I read countless books. My requested library books queue got bigger every day.
I hardly saw Austin, but I saw Jay. Jay was always waiting for me when I needed it most. After school, he waited for me and walked me home, often in complete silence. I just needed someone to walk home with.
Sometimes, though, we would start to talk about Austin. He told me that I was right in thinking that somewhere inside of Austin was an entrance. Eventually, Austin would give in. Eventually, he would listen. He would hear. But he needed time to think. He needed time to realize how much he needed help.
I wasn’t very cheerful. My mom asked me one time, “What’s wrong, Summer? You don’t seem half so happy lately as you normally are.” I shrugged and said nothing was wrong, trying to smile and sound cheerful, but she didn’t look convinced.
One night, I had to get outside. I couldn’t sleep on my life – thoughts of Austin were haunting me and I needed some fresh, cold air. It was Friday, so tomorrow it would be Saturday and it didn’t matter if I was tired on a weekend.
When I went outside and sat on the porch in my pajamas, I noticed a silhouette of Austin sitting on the sidewalk edge across the street. He must have run somewhere random, because I didn’t think he knew where I lived. I stood up and looked at my house – nothing. No lights were on; the windows were dark inside. It looked like an altogether sleeping house. I walked silently over to Austin. He looked at me and stood up on shaky legs. He looked terrified – he looked like he’d been suffering, and was running away from something.
“Austin,” I said. He stared at me with wide eyes. “Are you going to let me help you? Why don’t you want me to? There’s always hope. Are you going to ignore it? Are you going to convince yourself that you can’t escape the prison that your life has become?” Then I saw it in his eyes. He was reaching out to me, trying to touch me, trying to grasp my hand and let me lead him. He looked like he was fighting an emotional battle inside of him. He wanted to come to me, but something in his head, something that he was imagining, was preventing him. He looked about to let me help him. I could hardly see his face in the dark. Everything around us was black. Nothing could be seen – only the faint, dim moon was hung in the sky like a dying sun. But something at the last moment stopped him. He looked at the ground, then turned around and ran. He disappeared in the dark, leaving me standing in the street. I clenched my fists. “It’s a lie,” I told myself quietly. “It’s a lie. He’s falling for a lie. He’s preventing help. I can reach him. I can.”
Then I whirled around and saw Jay standing behind me. His head was tilted a little. I slumped down on the edge of the sidewalk and put my head in my hands. Everything seemed to be falling down around me. I forced back tears that were threatening to fall.
Jay sat down beside me, and said softly, so softly it was almost painful to hear, “You don’t always have to be so strong, you know.”
I broke down. I began to cry. I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop sobbing. Jay put his arm around my shoulder. I put my head on his shoulder, every tear making me more and more tired. I think it was around right then that I fell asleep, sitting there on the sidewalk in the middle of the night, crying.

-This was Birdygurl, signing off