Korê in New York
What happens when a kid refuses to leave the past behind? What happens when the past won't go away? Read on and don't worry about the emotional damage.
All right if you must know, this Tumblr is serialized fiction. It started out as part of this site, and then outlived its original home.
I have a friend with stories of her own at An Accidental King. Please check them out.
This is the story of Korê, a freshwoman at Brooklyn Tech. She is constantly rummaging through her emotional baggage. The problem is some of what she worries about is actually true. Sometimes the past is more than the past. And never let a teenager near a style sheet. Muwhaaah!
This is my hall of fame for the really cool Tumbeblogs that I follow. Is your Tumbleblog good enough?
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Other Ghosts in my Dreams
Yes you can guess who those are, except they weren’t there. I had stopped dreaming or even thinking about the Fast Crowd in the week before American in Paris opened. Call it a full plate. I did Twitter on the subway and listened to their talk. I told Margolin and Davida Sidlow, who were in New York again, that I did not have time to see them. My dad would have said my life was elsewhere now and that I had moved on. I would have said my plate was just too fucking full.
I did send Davida and Margolin and their parents tickets to see An American in Paris. I did not think they would travel to Brooklyn to see a high school musical, even an excellent one of the caliber for which Brooklyn Tech was famous. That was it.
On Friday night, An American in Paris opened. All our safety checks paid off and the show went uneventfully back stage. Lighting worked. Props worked. Stage crew worked. I hugged Chin when it was over. I would have hugged Javovitch, Micah, and the rest of the lighting crew, but lighting crew boys “don’t get all emotional over things.”
Out in the lobby, Larisa and Eugenia, hugged Chin and me and congratulated us over and over again. Chin’s uncle was waiting for her and I wished I could have ridden home with either Larisa or Eugenia but I had to go back to Manhattan alone. That left me feeling heavy and sad. I hated going home alone after so much hard work.
I got out the relish tray for my own supper. Even Nervy was asleep. RoAnn came out of the study/office to have dinner with me. She said she and Nervy were going to see American and Paris Saturday night. We only had two performances. “I hope the second one goes as well as the first,” I told my stepmother.
“Why shouldn’t it?” she asked. She sounded far away.
“It just doesn’t work that way, RoAnn. It’s why we have safety checks.”
“Haven’t you had millions of those?”
“Yes, but something could still happen. Did you talk to Ivanna?”
“Yes,” RoAnn sighed.
“How is she?”
“She went out to eat. She’s doing a lot of babysitting.”
“She’s not the baby any more down there in North Carolina.”
“No, a lot of kids run away to Anthony’s. Sometimes the parents are too tired to get them back. I’m used to keeping late hours and I’m a tough one to wear out.”
I did not answer. Then I asked: “When do you go to court?”
“April 26th in Ithaca. We’ll probably end up with Anthony’s side asking for a delay. I think ECBAS is going to use the cream of their legal department against me.”
“Doesn’t Young Achievers have a legal department too?”
“They do, and it’s good. Lawyers live in their own world.”
I did not answer. Instead, I thought of my parents divorce back in Scranton. Divorce is a fine sport for lawyers. That there are real kids involved doesn’t really matter to them. We might as well be plastic pieces on the chess board.
I got out my math book. Math B never sleeps and neither do I. I’d need to email Ivanna and tell her that Friday night’s performance went well. Of course there was no way Ivanna could know that I was not lying. Maybe my stepsister just didn’t care.
