An On-line Novel: Punishment

It's time for another excerpt. My, the time flies.

Cassandra swallowed back something pasty. The home room teacher left her mouth dry. She didn't know what to make of him. Friend or fiend. His beedy brown eyes had a wild look in them. And she couldn't tell if his crooked smile was just that or a permanent scowl.

"Well, Miss Berg?" Mr. Haggerman reached for the yellow pad laying on her desk top, and picked it up.

He brought it close to his face and a cocked a silvery brow.

She silently drummed her fingers against her desk. Hope he doewassn't get upset with my doodles. It's something she did when nervous or was under pressure. Making her, the newbie in the class, the monitor on the first day was beyond fair. It didn't help that her new classmates were demons from hell. Their actions were far from Christian. She lifted her chin and glanced at the kids to her right beyond Mr. Haggerman. They most definitely deserved whatever the Hangman was going to dish out.

"Well done, Miss Berg." The teacher made an about face with his pad and headed toward his podium. "Looks like everyone minus Miss Berg and Mr. Fisher, will have to write out Proverbs four, three times before they leave my class today. At the end of the week, you will be have to write the whole thing from memory."

Cassandra let out a silent sigh and flashed a look at Ronald.

He pressed his lips together.

"You two will pay later," Gruber whispered from behind her.

One of the girls sitting way in the back let out a snort. Gruber responded with a frog croak.

"Looks like we'll add half of Proverbs five to the two of you." He peered over his black-rimmed glasses at the boy behind her and then at the girl.

Cassandra knew these kids weren't opt to walking in compassion and forgiveness. It so sucks to be me and Ronnie. But her friend did have a battle plan. This day wasn't going to end well. That was for sure.

An On-Line Novel: The Immoral: Surprise

Cassandra couldn't figure what was taking Ronald so long. It felt like forever being stuck in a class full of mean kids. If I could've stayed back one more year. Or gone to the public high school dreamy Schmidt had went to. She sighed, glanced down at the note pad, and scribbled arrows across the top of the page. Never in all her fourteen years had she hated school until now. It sucks lemons. Totally.

Her classmates were completely out of control running around the room, throwing paper balls, talking just to talk, and giggling. This was worse than babysitting for her neighbor's monster children for the summer.

"Looks like Kermit is back, Miss Piggy," Gruber snickered before letting out a snort.

She lifted her eyes and peered at the doorway.

Ronald shot her a look, jerked his head back, and scurried toward his desk to the right of her.

A hint of tuna wafted in his wake. Whatever he had prepared wasn't going to be good. Especially if it was one of his tactical spit balls. She knew he would end up in the principal's office before the morning was over. Something in the pit of her stomach told her so.

"The Hangman is right outside the door," Ronald stage-whispered for her ears only and plopped in his seat.

"Good," she muttered back at him. "It's about time."

Gruber jog-walked toward the doorway of the classroom.

Cassandra shook her head. It took everything inside her to not bust out laughing. The kid was in for a big surprise.

The greasy-haired boy craned his neck around the door frame and let out a yelp.

Shelly Arkon 2015

An On-line Novel: The Immoral: Spoiled and Abnormal

 Mr. Haggerman grasped the right metal handle to the read double doors leading into the high school. His meeting with the Principal Ray lasted twenty minutes. It proved to be a sheer waste of time.  Being a school teacher was a lot more different than being a sergeant in the military. He had served twenty years in the United States Army. Wished I could back. At least the Army gave him the ability to correct what high schools, both public and private, along with parents had created in their sons and a handful of daughters that had enlisted. He felt useless at his attempts to fix any ninth grade class that had entered his room over the last five years of tenure. Spoiled brats!

Laughter filtered down the hall toward him as he swung the door open. Like he figured, his classroom was out of control. I should make them drop and give me a hundred. He stuck a stubby finger into his stiffly, starched shirt collar and ran his finger around it, tracing at the sweat that had accumulated on his neck. Too bad I don't have twenty tooth brushes and cans of cleanser. The floor could use a good scrub. But caution ruined his ideas. Miss Wadsworth's was in his class for the second time in a row, and her family would make a big stink. It hadn't been the first time. Money talked. He had been warned last year that he would be the one to walk if he used military style discipline on her. If only I could bend her over my knee. That's what she needed. A good, old-fashioned spanking. Someone had to give that girl direction.

Halfway toward his rowdy class, Mr. Fisher swung his small hips and strutted toward him.

Mr. Haggerman slid his dark-rimmed glasses midway down his nose, and peered over them at the teen. Twinkle toes. He knew his kind. Great! In the military, they kicked those kind out. They were a distraction.

The kid stopped in front of him. A guilty-look washed over the clear-skinned, teen's face. He also swallowed an obvious lump.

The teacher stuck pushed his glasses back, shoved both hands into his trouser pockets, and jingled his change. He noted a wrinkled brown bag the boy carried. "Did you step out for lunch, Mr. Fisher?"

Ronald lowered his eyes. "I didn't get to eat breakfast, sir." His voice sounded small and girlish.

"You need a hall pass to be out here." The ex-army man watched the kid skitter cowardly toward his classroom. He is definitely one of them. Military taught him how to spot one. He glanced up at the ceiling. Why me God? Why do I get to be so lucky again this year?

Shelly Arkon © 2015

An On-Line Novel: The Immoral- A Wad's Worth

Ronald dropped his lunch sack into the bathroom sink. He scanned the mirror's reflection of the five urinals behind him. The room was void of students and teachers. Good.

He opened his brown bag and dipped his hand into it. From there, he plucked out the baggie holding his tuna salad sandwich. Perfect. He unsealed it, peeled the plastic away from the white bread, and bit into it and chewed. Too bad I have to waste this on stupid people. It took every ounce of him to not swallow as he turned the faucet knobs. Under the running water, he held a sheet of his notebook paper and soaked it. Not enough to let it fall apart, but just enough for him to carefully hold it up by two corners. After, he laid onto the counter making sure to keep it in tact and then spit his chewed up sandwich onto it. At the Lutheran school he had made a name for himself when it came to tactical spit balls. He was an expert.

Bite by bite. Chew by chew. Spit by spit. He made a ball in the middle of the damp sheet. Carefully, he brought up the corners around the small mound and wrapped it as tightly as he could without it falling apart. The smell of this thing would linger for the day. Too bad he didn't have a few anchovies in oil to add. God help the one this lands on today.

A crooked grin creeped across his face. He contemplated who deserved it the most and it wasn't Gruber. Maybe Miss Wadsworth. Yeah. Pictures formed in his head on how he would make sure it would hit her face. He'd worry about the consequences later.

An On-Line Novel: The Immoral : Attacked

Ronald glared back at the girls taunting his BFF.

"What's wrong, Kermy the Froggy?" the girl with the moppy head of curls said, jutting out her lower lip for emphasis. "Piggy get her feelings hurt?"

He didn't respond. Instead he cast his gaze on Cassandra noting her internal conflict.

She was holding her breath, scribbling arrows every which way on the pad Mr. Haggerman left with her.

He reached toward her and yanked the paper away from her.

Cassandra shot him a what-are-you-doing-look at him.

Across the top half, he scrawled down names he knew. Wadsworth and Gruber. And described the others. The whole far right row. The kid with the Jimmy Swaggert hair. He wasn't afraid of these creeps. They could all go suck eggs for all he cared.

His BFF frowned.

"Hey! Look!" Grueber blurted out. "Miss Piggy's boyfriend is Hangman's henchman. He's writing down our names!"

Ronald studied Cassandra's reaction.

She actually breathed only to suck in a gob of air and held it again, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Are you going to write my name down?" some boy shouted from his right. "My name is Alton with an 'A'!" The kid sounded proud.

"How about my name?" A girl with Coke-bottle glasses pounded on her desk to his BFF's left.

The whole classroom broke out into hysterical laughter minus Cassandra. Wadded up balls of paper pummeled against Ronald and Cassandra. Not long after, tiny wet pellets splatted against their cheeks, necks, and heads.

Ronald swiped at the one clinging to his neck. A spit ball. How mature. He'd show these maniacs who not to mess with. These kids needed a visit to the principal's office. That was for sure. Wonder what kind of paddle they use here? At the Lutheran school, they used a ping-pong one. He got it once in the sixth grade for shoving a girl into a thorn bush on the playground. It only took once to fix his wagon.

Cassandra blew out the air she held, gave Ronald a half-smile, and reached for the notepad he had taken from her. After, she wrote: THE ENTIRE CLASS MIS-BEHAVED WHILE YOU WERE OUT!

He gave her a supportive nod. He would back up his BFF in this.

More spit balls flew through the air. This time three plastered themselves onto Ronald's right cheek.

War had now been declared by these hoodlums and he wasn't going to let Cassandra take the heat for it. He would be there to defend her through thick and thin.

He bent toward his right, stuck his hand in his book bag, and fumbled for one of his spiral notebooks. Pulling a blue one out, he plopped it onto his desk and flipped it open. He thumb through three blank pages and ripped them out. A plan for retaliation formed in his mind.

Cassandra mouthed, "What are you going to do?"

He gave her an evil grin, knowing that his plan might get him a visit with the principal and his paddle. But whatever he planned had to be stealth-like. Something menacing. Something these Baptist freaks would never forget.

His BFF raised her brows. She wanted an answer.

He knew the look and stood.

"Where are you going?" she whispered loud enough for only him to hear.

"To the bathroom." He strutted past her with the three sheets of paper and his bagged lunch.

***

Cassandra knew this wasn't going to end well. She couldn't figure why her BFF would risk his first impression for these idiots. They're not worth it. Her way would be to ignore them.

She glanced at his back while he hooked a left into the hallway.

"Where's Kermit going, Piggy?" Grueber tapped her right shoulder. "Is going to eat some flies?"

Cassandra sneered at him over her shoulder. Even that was too much to offer the greasy boy sitting behind her. Wonder if he knows if the giant zit on his nose is about to explode? It was the one thing that stood out on him besides his shiny hair follicles.

Miss Wadsworth let out a snort and pressed her finger against her nose. It made her nostrils flare making her look like a piggish-look. She followed with more grunts and then began to squeal like the farm animal.

The rest of the class followed suit.

The class monitor swung her head around and faced the blackboard. What was taking Mr. Haggerman so long? And why did Ronnie have to leave her alone in a room full of spoiled brats?

Shelly Arkon © 2015

An On-line Novel: The Immoral- The Hangman

I'm finally getting my mojo back for blogging and writing. Yay! Here's another chapter from my on-line novel.

THE HANGMAN

Someone cleared their throat off to Cassandra’s right. After, loose change clanked together.

Cassandra swung her head in the direction of the noise. A man stood in the doorway to the classroom, peering over his black rimmed glasses. They had slid halfway down his nose. She hadn’t met him before. The day her and her mom came for open house, the home room teacher was out sick. It had to be him. He looked more like a military man though. His pure white shirt and black trousers had absolutely no wrinkles.

The rowdy teens suddenly went silent and plopped in the desks around her and her BFF. All went sullen-faced.

“Good morning, class,” the man said, strutting to the podium in front of the desk. “I see we’re up to our same antics, Mr. Gruber.” He cast a gaze over his shoulder and grabbed onto each side of the lectern.

The greasy-haired boy at the chalkboard lowered his head and rushed around the teacher’s giant desk to the one directly behind Cassandra. He plopped loudly into the seat.

“Miss Wadsworth, please go to your desk before I decide to write you a warning.” He smoothed back his grey clipper cut. The short hairs on the top of his head stood straight up.

The girl standing in front of Ronald tugged at her skirt and hurried to the back of the room.

“I see we haven’t grown up much over the summer.” His dark, beady eyes went from left to right stopping at Cassandra. He tapped his chin and then glanced down. “You are new. Miss̶̶ .”

“Cassandra Berg. My friends call me Sassie.”

The girls behind her, snickered.

The teacher’s lips flat-lined, and he cocked his left bushy brow as he shot a look passed Cassandra. “One more time, ladies, and you can visit Mr. Ray today. I’m sure he would be pleased to see all of you.” He let go of the stand and straightened, shifting his glance back on Cassandra. “Miss Berg.” He nodded and shifted his eyes toward Ronald. “And you, sir?”

“Ronald Fisher, sir.”

“In my class, you will be known and called by your last name. I am not your friend. I am your instructor.” Saliva webbed around the corners of his mouth as he spoke.

The kid behind Cassandra tapped her shoulder and whispered, “That’s why we call him the hangman.”

“Mr. Gruber, do you have something to share with the class?” the teacher said.

“Um, no, sir.”

“Good. Then let’s get on with me introducing myself.” He made his way around the desk toward the blackboard and picked up a felt eraser. There, he stood with his back to the class as he studied the hangman before erasing it. “My name is Haggerman.” He plucked a piece of chalk from the board's silver tray and scribbled out M-r-.-H-a-g-g-e-r-m-a-n. After, he faced the class.

An intercom hanging on the wall above Ronald buzzed. “Mr. Haggerman?” a woman’s voice said.

“Yes.”

“You’re wanted in Mr. Ray’s office immediately.”

“Let me get my students squared away first.”

“Okay. I’ll let him know.”

Mr. Haggerman set his gaze on Cassandra. “Ms. Berg, I have job for you.”

Cassandra rolled her shoulders back. She couldn’t imagine what he wanted.

He marched toward her with a legal pad and pen in hand. “I’m making you the class monitor. I want you to write down the names of those who talk and get out of their seats.” He handed her the items.

She took them reluctantly. This wasn’t going to be good. Why couldn’t he have picked Ronnie? Or someone else? Why me?

“Can you handle this, Miss Berg?”

“Yes, sir.” She didn’t have the guts to tell him otherwise.

“Good. I know you won’t disappoint me. You have an honest face,” he said, lifting his chin. He slid his right hand into his pant pocket and jingled his loose change again. “And for the rest of you, I want you to take out your Bibles and hand copy Psalm twenty-three, three times over. That should keep you busy until I return.” After, he spun on his heels and hurried out of the classroom door hooking to the right down the hallway.

One of the girls in the back let out a loud cackle, “Hangman’s got a pet piggy!”

Shelly Arkon © 2015

An On-Line Novel: The Immoral- Mrs. Douche-bag

 

A petite, redheaded woman skittered toward Cassandra, Ronald, and the other teens. “Miss Ray? Do I need to report you to your father?”

All the boys straightened and Ronald stepped away from the picnic table. Everyone went silent and their smiles faded.

Something about her stance made Cassandra feel small.

Leanne yanked her plaid skirt and smoothed it out. “No ma’am.” She stepped from the table top to the bench. From there, she hopped to the sandy ground.

The woman tugged at her fiftyish- handmade-looking-dress, lifting her chin and a well arched brow at the girl. “See to it that you act appropriately.” Her eyes glanced at Leanne’s blouse, and she splayed her right hand across hers. “Make sure you button up that blouse. If I see it like that again one more time this week, I will be forced to right you a warning.”

“Of course, Mrs. Dort.” Leanne’s voice oozed Southern sugar.

“The same goes for the rest of you.” The woman cast a gaze at Cassandra and Ronald. “You two must be new.”

Cassandra nodded. This teacher has forgotten who I am already? Her and her mother spoke to the home economics teacher two weeks ago. She had been the only fat girl who showed up at the orientation. It wasn’t like this was a large school. Last year, the high school yearbook showed that ten people graduated. It couldn't be that hard to remember anyone? She did recall the woman writing down her name on a tablet as well.

“Yes, ma’am.” Ronald used his respectful voice.

Mrs. Dort turned her attention to Cassandra. “Didn’t I meet you and your mother last week?”

“Yes.” She felt a little relieved that the teacher hadn't forgotten her afterall.

The woman tapped her chin. “Miss Berg? Right?”

“Yes. But you can call me Sassie.”

A quick smile flashed across the lady’s face and disappeared in an instant. “Not in my class.” Then she turned toward Ronald. “And what is your name, young man?”

“Ronald Fisher, ma’am.”

The teacher skimmed him from head to toe. “Make sure you mind your peas and q’s, Mr. Fisher.” She used a much sterner voice than with the rest of them.

Ronald curled up the left side of his mouth. “Yes, ma’am.” He stayed respectful.

“I will see all of you inside.” Mrs. Dort fiddled with her top button right at the pit of her throat. It appeared that her well-starched collar might choke her.

The teens nodded, and Mrs. Dort marched toward the double red doors.

“See you in a little bit, Mrs. Douche-bag,” Leanne stage-whispered through a giggle.

 

 

Shelly Arkon © 2015

 

 

An On-Line Novel: The Immoral -One of the Guys

One of the Guys

 

The girl’s words pricked Ronald to his very soul. How could she tell? It had to be impossible. He looked like any other fourteen-year-old guy. Rolling back his shoulders, he strutted toward her.

“What are you doing?” Cassandra grabbed his elbow from behind. “You don’t want to get caught and be suspended on your first day.”

Leanne glanced down her nose at his BFF.

Ronald watched a grin slink across the principal’s daughter's face. It twisted her angelic appearance. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.” He yanked his arm away from Cassandra and made his way to the picnic table. There, he bent to the left and peered up the girl’s skirt. White panties. They were no big deal. The undies resembled some his mom wore.

Cassandra huffed from behind.

He knew she was disappointed in him. But what she didn’t know was that he needed to keep a secret that she didn’t even know. He had to prove that he was just one of the guys.

 

 

Shelly Arkon © 2015

 

 

An On-Line Novel: The Immoral- Cleavage

I know I was supposed to post this yesterday. Sorry for being late with this. Lots of stuff going on.

Cleavage

“We’re here,” her mom said, sounding cheery. “Nervous?”

Cassandra blew out a puff air that she had sucked in as her mom drove them into the school parking lot. “A little.” She didn’t want her mom to give her one of her pep-talks in her mimicked Mini-Mouse voice. They were so annoying, making her feel like she was five all over again.

“Well, I was too on my first day of high school.” She patted her daughter’s left thigh. “But you should be alright. I said a few prayers for you this morning.” She withdrew her hand from her daughter and placed it on the automatic shift between them, slowing the speed of the car. After, she braked few feet from where Ronald sat and put it into park.

“Thanks, mom.” Cassandra glanced out the windshield. Ronald sat all by himself on a bench while a group of boys and one girl sat around a picnic bench in front of a steel building with giant double red doors. Guess the kids aren’t all that friendly. Poor Ronnie. She curled her fingers around the lever on the passenger door, lifted, and pushed it open.

Ronald rose from the bench and waved.

“Hi, Ronnie,” her mom hollered from her window, and to Cassandra she said, “I’ll be here at three-thirty to pick you both up.”

Cassandra slid out of her seat and got to her feet hurriedly as though to avoid the anticipated motivational speech. Her book bag smacked at her side. “Ow!” The thing felt heavy and awkward. She and it had something in common. She hoped that her outfit didn’t make her look too big.

The kids at the bench glanced her way for thirty seconds, said something to each other, and then let out a round of laughs.

“Let me take that.” Ronnie raced toward her and slid the book bag from her shoulder.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. I’m glad you finally got here.”

Cassandra’s mom beeped her horn and backed out of the drive. She honked and waved one last time before she slowly drove the car to a stop sign.

Both teens, side by side, waved and waited for her mom's car to pull into traffic.

“So are the kids nice?” Cassandra wanted to know before she walked up to them. They certainly didn’t appear to be a gracious welcoming committee. None of them were rushing to introduce themselves. They had went back to whatever it was they doing before they looked at her and busted out laughing.

Ronald shrugged. “Don’t know. I was waiting for you to come.”

“We might as well get this over with.” She walked ahead of him dreading the initial introduction.

Her BFF followed in her wake.

When she reached the picnic table, she extended her hand toward the girl sitting on the edge of a wooden bench. “Hi, I’m Sassie… and this is Ronnie.”

Ronald nodded, giving her small smile. “Nice to meet you.”

Light blue eyes peered out of a mop of blonde curls. Her lips curled into a soft smile. She placed her hand gently into Cassandra’s and then pulled it back. “I’m, Leanne Ray, the principle’s daughter.” A strong Georgian drawl oozed all over her words. The girl flashed a gaze from the top of Cassandra’s head, then to her midriff all the way to her shoes. After, she snapped her head in Ronald's direction. "Likewise."

The boys at the table guffawed.

“You two look a little stiff.” Leanne reached for the top button of her blouse and un-did it, and loosened two more. It was enough to show what small amount of cleavage she had.

Cassandra gasped. Ronald said nothing.

The four young men at the table punched each other’s shoulders, and snickered.

“Look,” the girl said, standing while hiking her skirt above her knees. “How about a game to break in the newbies?” After, she stepped onto the bench and made her way to the middle of the picnic table. “What color are my panties?”

Cassandra and Ronald glanced around the premises, both hoping a teacher or some other adult would come.

Each of the four teens craned their heads upward. Their mouths fell open as they gawked up her skirt.

“You see,” Leanne said, turning her attention to Cassandra. “I may be the principal’s daughter. But I’m no prude. Are you?” And to Ronald, she said, “Well...aren't you going to look? What? Are you gay or something?"

 

 

 

Shelly Arkon©2015

 

 

 

 

The Indie Life: Being Polite

 

Today, is the day we help support and give some advice to fellow Indies. If you’re interested in this group that posts the second Wednesday of the month, click the link to the left of your screen.

My mother’s mother used to tell me, “One can attract bees with honey… and flies, for that matter.” As I got older, I understood it to be take care in how you deliver bits of information. Be polite. Always provide some sugar with the bad news. One can tell the truth while they handle the other person with care.

Not that this is going to be old news, but I’ve seen some really brash comments all over cyberspace again, lately. Authors slashing authors. Indies slashing Indies.

As adults, we should already know how to play nice in the sandbox. I got bullied in my high school days and I’m not into it now as I approach the big FIVE O. Especially in being part of the MEAN KID CROWD.

Since I’ve been out here, I’ve only given one bad review. But left it as a diamond that needed to be polished. Instead of being MEAN, we should be helping other writers with their craft.

Everyone that writes is an artist even if they’re self published, have formatting problems, missing words, a crappy cover, and have a comma issue going on.

Deliver some sugar to these folks. Bartering is one way.

I hope everyone has a chocolate filled day. Remember to play nice in the sandbox and share your cookies.

Hugs and chocolate,

Shelly

Unforgettable Blogfest

 

Click this to visit Siv

Today, Siv from Been There, Done That is holding this special blogfest in celebration. Click the above link to find out what she’s celebrating.

For the Unforgettable Blogfest we are supposed to write about a strange and unusual place or person that we’ve visited. One that left a lasting impression and we’ll never forget 

Oh that won’t be hard. Mine have to do with school. But there are several impressionable moments.

1. Miss Bailey was my kindergarten teacher. She realized that I had some learning issues. One of the things all kindergarteners had to master was writing their name. Mastering it was rather difficult for me so one day for the entire afternoon, Ms. Baily had me say my name, sound out each letter while I drew them out across the chalk board over and over.

2. I went to slow class in second grade. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how to read like the other kids. So they sent me to a class with the mentally challenged and one girl with cerebral palsy.

My first day had me wondering why. When I got home that day, I went straight to the bathroom to stare at myself in the mirror. I couldn’t figure out why I was in the class with those kids. I didn’t look or talk  like any of them.

Yes, I’m dyslexic. I confused letters with numbers and vise versa. Letters also danced around, ‘saw’ could be ‘was’. I also had an issue with hearing ‘b’ as ‘d’ and ‘e’ as ‘a’, so forth and so on.

I also had a strange talent for writing words and sentences backwards. To this day when I’m tired or stressed, I will do just that. Write backwards.

3. In the eighth grade, I had the scariest teacher ever but handsome. My class and I watched him slap  wooden tables in two on several occasions.

One day, he threw a whole apple across the room. It splatted across the quietest kid’s forehead. He also took the tallest and muscular eighth grader outside and made him fist fight him. Scary right?

4. I hated high school. I was one of the kids who was bullied. When I walked through the halls, I was saluted with the kids pushing back their noses, snorting at me. They’d chant Miss Piggy. They did other things to me,too, but we won’t go there. But I remember their names and faces.

5. When I was in college, I had the best algebra professor. Professor Papi. He was from India and absolutely hilarious.

When the class talked over him, he would clap his hands and jump around in front of the chalk board and say, “Listen to the board. Let it talk to you. In my class, there is no talking or singing. Only the board is allowed to talk.” I can still hear his thick accent in my head.

Also, toward the end of my final exam, which by the way was like 5 hours long, he came by to take it. I had ten problems left and I was already in tears for fear of failing.

Professor Papi said, “You’re the only one who stuck it out and almost finished. No one else did. You did a good job. Don’t worry.”

I made an ‘A’ in that class and I’ll forever remember Professor Papi.

6. Last but not least, I had the biggest crush on my law professor. Professor Blau. He was sixty back then but he had a beautiful way with words. Everything that came out of his mouth made me melt.

I remember one day going up the escalator, somewhere behind me, he said, “In a another life, Miss So&So. In another life it will be you and me.” The guy gave me goose bumps but I made sure I was never alone with him.

This wraps up my unforgettable places and people.

Secondhand Shoes is still being proofread.

Hugs and chocolate,

Shelly