So High School

(Yes, this post is named after a Taylor Swift song.)

Afternoon everyone! On Monday, I became a freshman at an actual high school. Gasp!!! I know, right?? It’s pretty crazy to think that I’m a proper high schooler now. And it’s going pretty well, I must say. I like all my classes this semester (choir, English 1 honors, PE, Biology honors) and I’m slowly but surely being… social? What??

If you don’t already know, I’m a huge introvert. And yet… I have four friendly acquaintances already? That could turn into friends?? 😦 It’s absolutely bonkers.

Aside from school, yesterday I did a writing sprint with my best friend and wrote a hilarious scene. Perhaps, if I’m feeling generous, I’ll let you read it next week. (It’s from the fourth chapter—so the one right after what I shared last week.)

A while after finishing my writing session yesterday, my family and I went to Hobby Lobby. (I LOVE Hobby Lobby!!) I found this cool light switch cover made of wood—it’s squiggly on the edges and it had soooo much potential. So I got it, of course! I may have taken a little too long browsing the wooden craft section, however, given the fact that we had frozen pizza in our car, waiting impatiently for us to drive home and put it away. Well, I hurried to the registers and was dismayed to find that the line, though it was rather short, was moving unbelievably slow. Maya told me I should leave it for next time, but just as I was resigning to the fact that, yes, I probably should, another register opened up. The lady who had been in front of us kindly let me go ahead—“I’m in no rush,” said she—and I thanked her and went to check out.

Only one, teensy problem… the register didn’t take digital cards—and I didn’t have any physical means on me. (This was so ironic because I only recently abandoned cash since nobody seemed to accept it anymore. 😭) It was all the more frustrating since the total was only $2.67, but I asked the cashier if I could leave it. How utterly embarrassing…

But something entirely unexpected happened just then. The woman behind us said, “Don’t worry, honey, I’ve got it.” I watched in shocked gratitude as she stepped forward to pay for me. She told me, “The same thing happened to me the other day. I had no idea they didn’t take digital pay!”

I thanked her profusely and wished her a wonderful day before leaving, outlet cover in hand and heart full. Isn’t that just the most heartwarming story? That only goes to show us all that one simple act of kindness can have such a large impact on somebody. I shall be keeping my eyes, ears, and heart open so that I can pay her kindness forward somehow.

Oh, and here’s a picture of the outlet cover! I decorated it yesterday evening.

So autumny!!

And now, the scene I told you so much about:

(For context, somebody just tried to “the end” Storm and Citrine, and they are in the woods.)

I sheathe my sword and stare, shaken, at the man who’d come so close to ending my life. I hesitated—why had I hesitated?—and Storm took the blade for me.

Storm.

I turn to find him with his right hand clutching his chest, his shirt soaked with blood. I’m at his side at once. “Are you alright?”

“I’m doing a good deal better than him,” he says plainly, gesturing to the dead man not ten paces away from us.

“Does it hurt?”

“I’ll live.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

Storm pulls his gaze from his wound—which he’s so stubbornly hidden from my view—and looks down at me. “I’m fine, Princess.”

“I think the blood loss is messing with your senses. An open wound in the forest is a dangerous thing, Storm. It could become infected, or bleed too much, or attract animals of some sort, or—”

“Princess—”

“—or lockjaw, have you heard of it? It’s when the muscles in your body tense and restrict your movement. Is that what you’d like? All the best finding work as a knight when you’re paralyzed.”

“I largely doubt that this is going to paralyze me.” He peels back his hand, wincing slightly, so I can catch sight of—good goddess.

“Take off your shirt,” I say, reaching within my bag for my needles.

“Pardon?”

“Take off your shirt,” I repeat. “I need access to the wound.”

“Ah. No.”

I look up from my bag and raise my chin in an attempt to appear royal. “As your princess, I command you to.”

“And as your bodyguard, I refuse.”

“Self-appointed,” I remind him. “And what great help you’ll be when you’re writhing on the ground in agony because a parasite found your wound the perfect breeding ground for its thousand slimy-bodied and sharp-toothed offspring.”

“That was unnecessarily graphic.” Storm holds my gaze, and I raise my brow expectantly. “Alright, alright,” he says, “you may stitch me up. But cut parts of my shirt if you must—I won’t expose myself in the middle of the woods.”

I clear the leaves from a small area on the ground, revealing the soft green moss beneath. Storm sits with his back resting against a tree trunk, and I kneel beside him after cleaning my hands. I cut off the bloodied area of his shirt and place it beneath a stone in the river so that the water can clean it some. I pour water over his wound to rid it of the unnatural debris—lint from his shirt, mostly—before I dampen the washcloth Lightningbolt gave me and wipe away any remaining blood from around it. It’s when I press the cloth against him that my fingers brush over his heart, and I feel his racing pulse.

“What’s the matter?” I ask. “Your heart is racing. Are you afraid of needles?”

He turns his gaze from me and to the sky. “There’s a far more practical explanation for that.”

“Hold this a moment,” I say, and slowly release the cloth. I find my needle and attach a silk thread to its eye before removing the cloth altogether so I may get to work.

To his credit, Storm doesn’t flinch. His jaw tightens, though, and his breathing becomes more deliberate as the needle and thread move between his skin. I work as quickly as I dare, never tearing my gaze from my stitching. I’m finished in a matter of minutes.

“How do you feel?” I ask hesitantly, wiping the blood from my hands.

“Like I’m your latest embroidery project.” Storm surveys his patching with interest. “Not bad.”

“Your shirt is next,” I promise, retrieving the square from the river. It’s considerably cleaner now. “I think you will need to take it off for this, however…”

“Let’s do that later, yeah?” He brings himself to his feet and takes the soaking fabric from me, laying it over the bare part of his chest. “We should find the others. They may need your attention more desperately than my shirt does.”

Okay, so I KNOW that Citrine needs to sterilize that needle before using it, but I’ll write that in later on. I was just feeling lazy. And also… aren’t they so CUTE???? Their witty banter is just… 🥹 It’s amazing. Nothing and nobody can change my mind.

That’s all for this week. Stay inspired!!

—Leah Larkspur