Conflict

So here are my final pieces before I post my synopsis and the beginning of chapter one. The first one is a conflict between Stacy and her mom when she is around fifteen years old, the second is between Stacy and her brother Hunter when she is a senior and he's a sophomore in high school. The only thing I can say is that I have a hard time with dialogue so both may seen a little choppy so just bear with me!

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(Stacy and her Mom)

“Finally, Friday oh how I’ve waited for you anxiously.” Stacy murmured while stripping her book bag and charcoal pea coat off along with the purple gloves and scarf. “I thought you had left me…no Dear John letter or nothing.”

“Stace, you are way weird sis.” Hunter’s wet boots thunked down by the door. His hair was wet from refusing to carry an umbrella earlier that morning.

Stacy rolled her eyes and scrunched up her face. “Whateva bro . Like you’re one to talk…coloring and scribbling away like its this new fad, people have been doing it for ages Hunt—” The house was hushed. Mom normally had Josh Groban or something or the kind playing softly in the background, it wasn’t on now.

Hunter stepped in front of Stacy. Did he notice the change in the house? “Mom, got any snackage? Kind of starved here being a growing boy and all.” He joked.

“Kitchen counter, there’s some peanut butter and crackers.” Stacy and Hunter’s mom’s voice called down from upstairs. “Stacy,” her voice is strained, “can you come up here for a bit?

Stacy starts up the stairs. Does she know? I only just told Rosalyn. Do you know? Stacy muses to a picture of her mom from her early years. Stacy moves past the picture, the carpet latches onto her checkered socks as she turns to the left towards her room. The door is open but Stacy closes it when she gets inside. If she knows Hunter doesn’t need to know. Stacy’s hand stays on the handle for a moment deciding if she really should close the outside off to her.

No. Not anymore. These things happen and I’m not doing it again. Nothing to worry about.

Stacy turns from the door to see her mom standing by the window; she was gray like the stormy sky outside, it’s the oldest I’ve seen her. Mom straightened up. Stacy noted as she shuffled towards her bed, throwing the comforter aside to sit on the sheets, they were cool to her hand. It was shaking. How long had she been here then? Her heart lurched forward. Were there any other secrets hiding under the piles of dirty socks and t-shirts that Stacy didn’t know about?

“Rosalyn called me today.” Stacy’s mom started. Her voice was tight, pulling on the rubber band of dread that wrapped around Stacy. “Mentioned that I should talk to you, there are some things that I should know now about the party you sneaked off to two weeks ago.” She knows!

“How’d you find out?” Stacy’s voice is small. I wish I was small; we wouldn’t be having this talk then. Rosalyn wouldn’t have ratted me out. Her brows drew down, changing her soft face into a hard plain. The poor sheets didn’t deserve such rage.

The silence was growing heavy, almost gaining a voice of its own. Just spit it out. Somebody. Anybody.

I can feel her eyes on me. Stacy looks up, she’s not mad…maybe? They just stare. I wish she would say something, anything. This quiet and watching is killing me. Stacy pulls at the threads harder. One gives.

Crash. “SORRY!” Hunter called out from downstairs. It sounded like he had dropped a glass and something else. At least it broke the silence.

“Stacy, please! Just tell me.”

“Tell you what?” Stacy’s voice clips. That was harsher then I meant it to be. Mom doesn’t deserve this. It’s not her fault that I’m hiding. Stacy looks up at her mother, Stacy’s words had hurt her, her sharp features are taunt. Stacy can see her mom worrying the inside of her cheek, Stacy does the same.

“Stacy,” Mom tries again. “Rosalyn said that something was wrong. That you aren’t ok. Pleas Stacy,” Stacy looks up, her bottom lip loosens and her eyes tear a little. She’s always so caring. “I want to know what I can do to help, you need to tell me.”

Stacy looks down again, picking away more at the comforter. I can’t look at her. “Please just drop it.” Stacy’s voice stops. Maybe I should tell her. It was sort of an accident, she’ll understand.

“Stacy,” Mom says. Another approach, soft and gentle. She doesn’t want to scare me off. I’m already scared. What if there are consequences? What if something happens, I’m not ready for any of this? Mom comes and sits by Stacy, taking away one of the hands tearing away at the blanket. “You’re making me worry dear. Honey, just tell me what’s wrong.”

She’s too caring. A tear slips, Stacy lets it roll down. Her hands itch, Stacy stops messing the comforter. Now…tell her now! “I told you, nothing’s wrong.” I’m a coward, Stacy thinks. I’m a liar.

“This is foolish Stacy.” Mom’s voice rises as she squeezes Stacy’s hand tighter. “I can tell something is the matter—”

“Nothing is the matter!” Stacy breaks through, shouting at her mother. There’s no need for this, Stacy thinks but she can’t help it. Its fight or flight and Stacy feels like she has been backed into a corner. Fight. Fight!

“Of course something is the matter. You wouldn’t be acting this way if everything was okay!” Mom yelled, feeding off of Stacy’s need to fight.

She has a point, Stacy thought. Tell her. Tell her. Tell her! TELL HER!

Stacy’s heart stuttered, it wasn’t suppose to be this hard she thought why isn’t my voice working? All the words Stacy wanted to share were stuck in her throat, it felt blocked, like it was filled with scratchy cotton.

“Stacy, honey, why won’t you just talk to me?” Mom asked. Her voice catches, it’s from the yelling. We never yell at each other. Mom slumps down against the headboard letting go of Stacy’s hand. Yelling won’t accomplish anything.

“I…I…mom. Just stop,” Stacy’s voice agonized. Couldn’t she see that I can’t tell her? Stacy keeps her eyes on her rumpled bedspread, picking at the edges again. I need to fix this. A few strands unravel from the worn comforter. All of it. Her hand stops.

“Mom,” it comes out quiet, small. I feel small, Stacy thinks; I wish I was small again. “It’s about…” Breathe in, breathe out. “That night Hunt and I sneaked out…we, uh, we,” more tears. Stop crying.

“Stacy its okay honey.” Mom wraps her arms around Stacy. I don’t deserve this. She always is here to understand, how far will it go until it breaks?

“There was this guy,” Stacy’s voice cracks. The words are hard to get past her throat. They want to stick to the walls and cling to the secret. No more secrets.

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(Stacy and Hunter)

The first round is over but Stacy feels the need to continue. This was about Hunter and his future. This was something that shouldn’t be thrown aside so easily like junk mail. Stacy felt the strong need to help Hunter see that he should move on with his idea of a life—his own hopes for his future.

Their dad had stormed outside a moment ago. Mom had followed after him. It was just her and Hunter in the living room now, the echoes of yelling still hanging in the air like dust.

Stacy snaps; something like this doesn’t make sense to her. “Grow a pair Hunt!” She starts in. “It’s about what you want not what he wants!”

Hunter sits on the edge of the sofa; his feet are turned in slightly towards one another. His hands clench, changing his powdery bronze knuckles into a papery white color.

“You’re too good to give up on this!” Stacy’s up, pacing across the cream carpet, leaving heavy size eight and a half footprints criss-crossing one another over the fibers. The flat screen wobbles on the entertainment stand a bit, swaying with the stomps. “You have so much talent…do you know how much I would give to do the things you do? Or even what Georgie could do?” Stacy’s eyes plead with Hunter. His head is down obscuring his dark cocoa eyes behind a heavy layer of charcoal lashes and curly ebony hair. “I’d give my right arm and left pinky toe!” Stacy says, half joking to try and lighten the mood a bit from the arguing that had been happening since they got home from school, that had been two hours ago.

Hunter glances up. His hands loosen a small fraction at the mention of Georgie’s name and Stacy’s half assed attempt at a joke.

“It’s just so unfair—dad—he has no right in making you give this up and—”

“Stace…” Hunter starts. His hands considerably looser now as they turn back to their bronzed complexion. He bounces one knee and worries his lower lip, some small bits of facial hair dusting the skin around his mouth. “I know but this is my choice…really.”

“You don’t know Hunt!” Stacy turns on him, tripping over the too long him of the forest green sweatpants she’s wearing.

"What don't I know Stace?" Hunter's voice throws out, his body language changing again into a harsh stance, his eyes flashing darker. "What right do you have in trying to tell me how to live my life? You--the person who takes what they want and leave everything behind?"

"Hunt!" Stacy starts.

"No, Stace you need to hear this. You can't keep playing around with people to get what you want." Hunter's voice is softer now a little nicer even with the sting that his words cause Stacy. "Just because I like sculpting doesn't mean it’s practical. Dad's right—"

"Wrong," Stacy starts. This is about Hunter now and not her issues, even with her feelings hurt. “Dad’s wrong. You can go places with this.” Her tone changes a bit. Doesn’t he see? Stacy sits on the faux suede tan couch, curling her right leg under her to sit closer to Hunter’s side. “Your art is fantastic.” Stacy pokes Hunter in his side. “You’re good kid.” Stacy gives Hunter a smile, hiding her teeth behind her lips.

Hunter breathes out a laugh and a small smile peaks out from the corners of his mouth pushing a dimple into his left check. “You and Georgie think so.” He leans back, abandoning his rigid posture all the fight out of him for now.

There’s a crash outside. Dad’s in the shed. Him and mom are probably fighting about Hunter’s art again.

“I wish it was easier, ya know?” Hunter stares out the window that looks out over the backyard, the shed can’t be seen from here. “Not just for me but for everyone. Kids who want to do their own thing and not their parents’ dreams.”

“Yeah,” Stacy mumbles absentmindedly, leaning backwards as well. She brushes his shoulder with hers, the sleeves of their cotton t-shirts catch a little.

“Hey,” Hunter says to Stacy, catching her attention with the tone of voice he decided to use.

His eyes are softer again but his brows are drawn downward, casting worry across his face. Stacy gnaws on her bottom lip, the chap stick coming off as her teeth pull along it. “Yeah?” Stacy’s voice is small, hushed after the fight and what is about to come.

“I didn’t mean what I said before,” Hunter places his hand, palm up, on Stacy’s leg next to him. “I know it’s not easy on you now with David and everyth—”

“Don’t,” Stacy starts. “But thanks anyways…” Stacy places her hand in Hunter’s, the colors varying shades of coffee, his with a dash of creamer, a caramel tone, and hers as blonde as you can get it, more cream then coffee. She snuggles into the couch more, placing her head on Hunter’s shoulder. Another crash is heard outside.