Tales From the Field: Olivia's Redemption by Katie L. Carroll

(See part 1 of this story “Olivia’s Camp Fail” here.)

To free yourself from guilt you must forgive yourself.

The game is about to start. The strategizing, the pep talks, the warm-ups are done. My stomach is a pit of tingling nerves, the good kind, the ones that keep my reflexes sharp. I let out a long exhale, my breath smoking in the cool evening air. Our undefeated season is on the line tonight.

My ten teammates line up in front of me, their white home uniforms bright under the lights. I clap my goalie gloves together and stare down our gold-clad rivals, the Valley High women’s soccer team.

Time to get in the zone.

For some inexplicable reason, I glance into the stands, the side where the Valley fans sit. It takes me right out of the game. Marco. He’s here. I knew he would be, but seeing him is worse than I imagined. The tingling, game-ready nerves turn to anxious, stomach-twisting ones.

Marco, of course surrounded by his entourage of teammates from the Valley High boys’ team, stands down by the fence separating the field from the stands. He faces the crowd, his back to me, thank God. I don’t think I could handle seeing his chipped-tooth smile right now. He’s wearing the blues of the Italian National Team, not the Valley High black and gold. Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe our kiss at camp this summer actually meant something to him.

Then I remember him cheering on his schoolmate as she sprinted to the ball, my hesitation, the ball bouncing off her foot and over the goal line. The shame of losing the camp championship for my team, all because of some stupid boy, creeps up my face in a blush.

Megan, the team captain, hisses, “Olivia, you ready?” The referee is waving her hand, trying to get my attention.

Can’t think about Marco right now. The game is about to start!

I wave to let the referee know I’m ready. She signals to the other goalie, who quickly shakes a gloved hand. Everyone is anxious to start the game. I better get my head on straight.

My team came ready to play and quickly takes possession of the ball. Watching them pass and dribble around the other team and listening to the roar of the crowd as Brooke puts a shot on goal that the goalie has to stretch all the way out to save grounds me in the game.

I’m back in the zone.

We take control of the tempo of the game, but the score is 0-0 as the minutes tick closer to the end of the first half. I have yet to be tested when the ball arcs over our defensive line. A Valley forward, the Valley forward who scored the winning goal at camp, darts to the ball. I charge to the top of the 18-yard box and beat her to it.

I boot the ball over the half-line and the referee lets out two short blasts on the whistle to signal the end of the first half.

Like a magnet to metal my gaze zooms toward Marco. He’s staring right at me. The field lights are behind him, so his face is slightly shadowed and unreadable. Though he does lift his hand above the chain-link fence and offers a little wave.

To me? I glance around to see all my teammates are already on the sidelines. I’m the only one still dumbly standing on the field. So, yeah, the tiny wave must be for me.

I shake my head and sprint to the bench before Megan can yell at me again. I yell at myself instead. Head in the game, Olivia!

My teammates greet me with pats on the shoulder and it pops my bubble of distraction.

Sadie, a big grin on her face, shakes my shoulders. “Great grab.” Then so only I can hear, she whispers, “Did you see him?”

I bite the inside of my lower lip and shake my head. I can’t talk about it, not even with her. I’m already struggling to keep the lump in my throat from choking me, and I would totally die of embarrassment if I cried on the soccer field.

Sadie senses my struggle and elbows me in the side. “There’s no crying in soccer, right?”

I nod and suck down some water, listening to Megan’s half-time ramblings. It’s part pep talk, part critique of all the thing we did wrong in the first half, and full-on passionate. No one matches her level of intensity, but we all huddle in and there’s a gleam in each one of my teammate’s eyes.

“No ties today,” Megan says. “We win this one.”

We put our hands in and on three we yell, “Win!”

I jog out to my place in goal, thankful that the switch of sides means Marco and his friends are down the other end where I can’t make out their features.

Valley High comes out strong. They pass the ball past the midfield and get a shot off, but it sails high over the crossbar. “Field goal!” I hear from our side of the crowd, probably someone from our guys’ team mocking the bad shot. It brings a smile of confidence to my face.

Megan shouts at Denise, one of our defenders, for letting her player take the shot. I catch Denise’s gaze and shake my hands to let her know it was no big deal. Even if it had been on goal, no way would I have let a shot from that far go in.

After that we get back into the rhythm of our game. Valley sends a few more shots my way, but nothing I can’t handle. On a goal kick, I send the ball up to Brooke on offense. She passes it back to Haley at midfield, who kicks the ball past Valley’s defense. Tight pressure from Brooke forces the defender to kick the ball out, giving us a corner kick.

Haley curves a beauty of a kick in toward the goal. Mac, the tallest player on our team, charges in and heads the ball. Goal!

“Ten minutes left!” Megan yells to all of us.

Valley’s in panic mode now, frantically kicking the ball around, which allows us to regain possession. We pass it around, the minutes ticking off the clock. Mac dribbles the ball into our offensive corner and plays around with it there, burning more time.

The shrill of three sharp blasts on the whistle ends the game without Valley ever getting the ball back.

Megan jumps up and down, shouting, “We won! We won! We won!”

The team surrounds her, everyone hugging and congratulating Mac for scoring the game winner. Haley gets her share of the accolades for the assist. We won, and I didn’t screw up, but I can’t seem to enjoy the moment. I stand to the side, a haze settling over me. I force a smile and half-heartedly celebrate with the team, doing my best not to show my indifference.

What is wrong with me? Will I ever be free of the guilt from losing my team the camp championship?

As the fans disperse, my teammates and I take off our cleats and shin guards and throw on warmer clothes. A cold, autumn drizzle begins to fall. It fits my sullen mood. Sadie stands over me as I pack up my things.

“You need a ride?” she asks. “My dad’s waiting in the car.”

“Nah.” I shrug. “My mom let me take the van.” It’s a hideous old minivan, but I don’t care so long as it’s something I can drive by myself. I need the alone time right now.

Sadie doesn’t leave. “You okay?”

I look up and try to smile but my lip quivers. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Marco’s an idiot,” she says, which makes me laugh. “No one cares who wins the summer camp championship. And we won this time when it really counts.” She hesitates, like she has something important to tell me, but only says, “See you tomorrow at practice.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” I say quietly, but she’s already disappeared into the darkness beyond the lights. The rain has forced everyone to make a quick exit. The stands are empty and I’m the only one left on the field.

I spot my lucky water bottle where I left it by the goal. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I jog over to retrieve it. I’m staring out over the field, unsuccessfully trying to be excited about beating our rivals and keeping our unbeaten streak alive, when a husky voice from behind startles me.

“Good game.” I don’t have to turn around to know it’s Marco. The scent of his cologne reaches me before he does. His shoes squeak on the turf as she walks around the goal to stand in front of me. His hair is especially slick-looking. I squint, the light bouncing off the tiny mist droplets shrouding the field. I can barely breathe with him this close.

Undeterred by my silence, he goes on. “You’re team played well. That was a nice goal on the corner kick.”

I turn to leave, utter, “I have to go.”

He grabs my hand, says, “Wait. Please.” It’s the please that catches me, holds me in place, just like last time. Cocky Marco using manners always catches me by surprise.

“What?” I demand, all attitude. Burn me once, shame on you. Burn me twice, shame on me.

“I never got a chance to explain,” he says, which is true. He tried to talk to me that last day of camp, but my teammates protected me, wouldn’t let him get close. “I got caught up in the moment.”

“It’s fine.” My brief moment of bravery is gone, the lump in my throat back. Our kiss was more than getting caught up in a moment for me, but clearly it’s time for me to move on, for real this time. “We shouldn’t have kissed. It was silly.”

“No.” He smiles, never self-conscious of his chipped tooth…or anything really. “I didn’t mean our kiss. The cheering. I got caught up cheering for the team. I didn’t mean to make you miss the save.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what else to say. Not until I hear him say it, do I realize that all these months since camp, I’ve been hoping it was somehow a misunderstanding. That our night together was special and meaningful.

He nervously rubs the back of his head, and I think maybe I was wrong to think he couldn’t be self-conscious. “Do you want to go out sometime?”

My heart is in my throat, competing with the lump for space. “Like on a date?”

“Yeah. Maybe to a movie…or something.” His normally oversized ego is a deflated balloon as he waits for me to answer.

I take in the scene around me. The field and stands are empty now, but I’m picturing them full and loud as we win the state championship. I need the freedom, the space, to be focused on this one goal. I can’t afford any distractions right now.

“Sure,” I say. “But not until the season is over.”

The balloon is back at full capacity; even a sort-of yes can’t touch his ego. “Great. Can I have your number?”

“No.” His smile falters. “But you can give me yours.” I program his number into my phone.

Before he leaves, he takes my hand. “I’m expecting a call as soon as you win that championship.”

I just shake my head and laugh as he runs off, presumably to brag to his buddies about our future date. As I start up the old minivan engine, I feel more focused than I’ve felt all season. Camp is in the past, and I’m looking forward to play-offs and a run at the championship. And after that, who knows…I think I will call Marco and go on a date. What do I have to lose?

***

Don't miss all of Central High women's Tales From the Field here! 

Katie L. Carroll is a mother, writer, editor, and soccer player. She began writing at a very sad time in her life after her 16-year-old sister, Kylene, unexpectedly passed away. Since then writing has taken her to many wonderful places, real and imagined. She wrote her YA fantasy ELIXIR BOUND so Kylene could live on in the pages of a book. Katie is also the author of the picture app THE BEDTIME KNIGHT and a contributor to THE GREAT CT CAPER, a serialized mystery for young readers. She lives not too far from the beach in a small Connecticut city with her husband and sons. For more about Katie, visit her website at www.katielcarroll.com.

Spotlight on Katie L. Carroll

Today we are spending a little extra time getting to know Lightning Quick Reads author, Katie L. Carroll.

Thanks for hanging out with us today, Katie. Can you tell our readers a little about you, please? 

Katie: I’m a mom first, author second, and then a million other things after that (including but not limited to reader, editor, soccer player, blogger, and tea lover). Most of my days are spent in sweatpants or pajamas, hanging out with my two boys (ages 1 and almost 4) and sneaking in some work when I can. Some things I’ve done that are more exciting than that are vacationed in Tahiti twice (once during a tsunami!), run a marathon in Alaska, and walked the streets of London perusing bookshops. I live not far from the beach in the same small Connecticut city I grew up in.

If you had to pick only one moment that spurred you to write professionally, what moment is the most defining or inciting?

Katie: That’s an easy but tough question. Easy because I know exactly what spurred me into writing professionally; tough because it’s an emotional story to tell. (How much time do you have?) In short, my little sister Kylene very unexpectedly passed away at the age of 16. I was 19 and in college studying to be a physical therapist. The loss forced me to reevaluate what I wanted to do with my life and the answer was write books. Later I realized I wanted to write books for young people. The dedication page of my first published book ELIXIR BOUND reads, “To Kylene. In life you were a sister, friend, and confidant. In death you are a sister, friend, confidant, and muse.”

Wow, Katie. That is very emotional. Thank you for sharing such a personal story with us. Does the majority of your work focus around or within a single theme? If so, what is it?

Katie: Not really. I like to think of myself as more of a renaissance writer than someone who focuses on one area. I work on the story that is burning to get out of me, the one I can’t stop thinking about, no matter what themes or topics or genres it fits into.

What are you currently working on?

Katie: I’m currently working on a very dark YA thriller tentatively called BLACK BUTTERFLY. I just finished a first draft and have a few more scenes to write and some stuff to fix before I send it out to beta readers for feedback. Thematically it deals with whether or not people can really change when given a second chance. I won’t say more than that for now…

What is one of your favorite authorial moments from your career so far?

Katie: My nephew and sister threw me a surprise party the day my first book released. It was small and at my parents’ house, but there was a cake and flowers and a framed book cover. It took a very long time from when I first started writing after my sister died to when I had a book published, so it was really nice to be recognized by the people I love for my accomplishment.

That’s so sweet! Share with us a five year and ten year goal for your writing career.

Katie: I’m constantly working on being a more efficient writer, so my goal is to write quicker, and always to get better at writing. I’d like to find an agent to help me place my work and hopefully be published by a larger house than the ones I’ve already published with. I guess that’s a five-year goal. So much has changed in publishing since I started pursuing publication a little over ten years ago, it’s hard to think that far ahead. I guess I just hope I’m still writing and publishing books (in whatever formats exist) in ten years.

Do you write what you read? Watch? What are your favorite television shows and movies?

Katie: I absolutely write what I read. Aside from writing the type of books I love to read, I think it’s important to know what’s already out there, not to compare your books necessarily, but to see what different directions you can go as a writer and also to push yourself to a new level by being inspired by other works. As for favorite television shows, right now I’m into Big Brother, Suits, Madam Secretary, and Pretty Little Liars (though I kind of have a love/hate relationship with that last one). Favorite movies are lots of Disney ones, The Shawshank Redemption, The Dark Knight, and Bring It On.

If you had one week away from any and all responsibility what would you want to spend your time doing?

Katie: I would totally sit on a tropical beach with a fun, fruity drink reading a book.

Anything else you’d like to add?

Katie: I can kiss my elbow, which I once read makes me a princess!

Lol! A princess, huh? It’s impressive either way. Where can readers find you online?

Katie: You can find me online at my website http://www.katielcarroll.com/, twitter https://twitter.com/KatieLCarroll (@KatieLCarroll), tumblr https://twitter.com/KatieLCarroll, Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6467018.Katie_L_Carroll, and my Amazon Author Page http://www.amazon.com/Katie-L.-Carroll/e/B0094IXK0Q.

Thanks for joining us, Katie and we appreciate your contributions to Lightning Quick Reads!

Free At Last

The face in the sun, which looks like the man in the moon, grins at me through the window. I burrow deeper under my covers so I won’t see him.

“It’s up time, Joanie,” Mama hollers from the staircase. I put the pillow over my head, hoping to disappear.

Hands lift the covers off me and rub my arms. “C’mon, Joanie. Get up. You need to get dressed for school.”

           

“No, mama, please don’t make me go.”

           

“But you have to. You’ll have fun. Let’s get you dressed in something special. Let’s see…” She pulls out the crimson, taffeta dress, the one the other kids laugh at, the one she made for me. “You haven’t worn this in a while.”

She slips it over my head. It crinkles every time I move. I can’t tell her I don’t want to wear it. I used to like this dress. When Mama was making it, I begged and begged to try it on. The first time I wore it, I practically danced to school.

But then Herman pulled on my hem and said, “Sounds like a Christmas present.” The other boys started tugging at me. After a bit, I got so upset, I peed in my panties. I have not done that since I was a real little kid.

Mama buckles my shoes over my socks. “We’ll braid your hair later. Get on downstairs and eat breakfast with your sisters.”

I trudge down the stairs, looking for a place to escape.

Grandma is at the table with my sisters. She gets up when I enter the kitchen.

I plop down next to Lottie who was eating a disgusting bowl of Graham crackers and milk. The smell makes my stomach turn.

“I don’t want that,” I say, pointing to the mush Lottie is putting in her mouth. Lottie grins at me with brown flakes in her teeth. Ellen, at the other end of the table with her elbows firmly in place shoves cereal in her mouth. She barely looks up when I sit down.

Grandma puts a bowl in front of me. “How about some Rice Krispies?”

I eat as slowly as possible, counting to ten before taking a bite. Maybe I’ll miss school.

           

Mama comes in and braids my hair as I eat. She pulls it too hard and makes me whimper. “Sorry, sweetheart,” she says.

Ellen walks me to school even though I know the way. I memorized the path the first time so I could come home. I did that until Mama got real mad at me and told Ellen to make sure to hand me over to the teacher.

Ellen doesn’t take my hand but she pushes me as we make our way to the school. I want to run away, but she keeps giving me a nudge. Finally we are at the door to my classroom. She shoves me toward the teacher and says, “Get lost.” Then she disappears in the crowd of kids.

The one thing that keeps me coming back to school is Rosie. She’s my favorite doll. They keep her in a big chest with other toys. The second day of school I found her tossed in the box with big trucks and other heavy tractors on top of her. I pulled her out, rescuing her from that awful place.

As soon as I get in the classroom, I go to the chest and dig for Rosie. Someone shoved her way down in the dark. I twist her out. Her legs are bent. I can’t straighten them. Some of her hair is missing. I tip her back and one of the eyes closes, but the other stays open and stares at me.

The teacher calls us to our seats. I take Rosie. When it’s time to go home, I keep Rosie tucked under my arm. I don’t want to put her back in the box where it’s dark and where she’ll get hurt.

On the way out, the teacher says to me, “You need to return the doll to the toy chest.  You can’t take her home. She belongs here.”

           

A tear rolls down my cheek, but the teacher grabs Rosie from my grasp. “The toys are for all the children. Not just for you.”

The rest of the school year drags like waiting for Daddy to come home or for Christmas to come. I ask the teacher to let me stay inside during play period. I don’t want to go out in the cold with the other kids. The boys hit me with a ball, and I don’t want to play with them. She makes me go until I pee on my dress.

           

“Why didn’t you say you needed to use the bathroom,” the teacher says. Her face is red with anger. I didn’t know I needed to use the bathroom until I got scared. I try to tell her, but she just thrusts me in the bathroom and closes the door. I cry for long enough to miss play period.

Finally when the last day of school comes, I tuck Rosie under my sweater. I can’t leave her here in this awful place, alone, cold, and with no one to love her. I hide her, and walk slowly so no one will see.

We are nearly home when Ellen tugs on my arm and Rosie nearly falls out on the pavement, but I catch her. “What’s that?” she asks.

“The teacher said I could have her,” I lie. I don’t usually lie but this was a special situation. I had to save Rosie. Free her.

Ellen doesn’t care. She slams the backdoor entering the house. Grandma says, “What have you got there?”

Getting better at lying now, I tell her, “It was a prize. I won it for being good.”

“How nice. Let’s get her cleaned up.” My grandmother takes her and cleans her face and brushes her hair. Now I can see Rosie’s cheeks and her lips.

That night I take Rosie to bed. Just before Mama turns off the light, I look at Rosie. She’s lying next to me with one eye open and the other closed. It’s as if she’s winking at me. She knows my secret.

I freed her, and she’ll never tell.

Freedom Has A New Name by Meg Gray

Shelby’s new found freedom couldn’t have come at a better time…

Shelby ducked her head out from behind the park play structure again. It was all she had to do to keep Erika’s butt stuck to that bench like glue. Her sister/babysitter looked at her as she kept talking away on her stupid cellphone.

Mom and Dad bought it for her when they told her she was in charge of babysitting all summer. In case of an emergency—that’s what it was meant for. Erika seemed to have a lot of emergency because she was always on the phone.

But it was turning out okay. It meant Shelby got to do whatever she wanted—most of the time. Like when she got to make her own lunch and lick the knife every time she dipped it in the peanut butter jar. She also got to put as much jam on her bread as she wanted. She really liked the strawberry jam, and nobody ever put enough on for her. It made a sloppy, ploppy mess all over the counter. Shelby was too small to reach the plates and it wasn’t safe for her climb up and get one so she did her best to keep her drips over the counter. Only a few hit the floor. She forgot to put the jam away, but Erika got in more trouble for it than she did. And Erika had to clean up the whole kitchen mess—punishment for not keeping a better eye on her charge is what Dad said.

Erika gave Shelby strict orders to never again enter the kitchen alone. And then there had been the bathroom incident where Erika got in trouble for Shelby’s tea shop dishwashing project that got a little out of control. After a fabulous afternoon tea with Nina-Belle and Baby Blue—Shelby’s two favorite dolls—she’d washed up the white plates she used, just like in a real restaurant.

It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t reach the soap and had to use her sparkly blue toothpaste instead. If it was good enough for her teeth, then it had to be good enough for her dishes. But it was messy, considering the toilet paper squares she used for scrubbing didn’t hold up as well as Mom’s dish rags. They kept falling apart and left wet piles in the sink and on the floor. But she only used one roll—not the whole package of rolls. Shelby got in a little bit of trouble for that, but not as much as Erika did.

Her big sister had to clean up that mess too. Erika missed a spot of blue sparkle behind the toilet. Shelby saw it every time she sat in the bathtub. She didn’t mention it, though.

This had been the best summer in Shelby’s whole life. She was getting to do whatever she wanted.

Right now she wanted to play with the cute little fur-ball puppy she’d just met. If Mom was here she would tell Shelby not to touch it. But Erika was all the way over there on that bench, talking on her phone and couldn’t see it.

Shelby and the brown puppy were digging in the dirt. Last night’s rain filled Shelby’s favorite digging hole so she started a new one with the puppy’s help.

Shelby popped her head up, so Erika could see her. Her sister was still on the phone, but she looked over. Shelby ducked down again to return to her hole-digging project.

“Looks like your puppy is going to need a bath,” a mom said, sitting down on a bench near the hole with her baby. Her pink painted lips smiled at Shelby.

What a great idea! Shelby smiled back because she wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers, but she could smile at them.

Shelby wiped her muddy hands on her shorts and picked up the baby doll blankets and toys she’d brought with her and stashed them in her backpack. Mom never let her bring toys to the park, but Erika didn’t care.

Shelby scooped up the puppy and put it in her backpack too. She ran the zipper closed, leaving an opening so the puppy could breathe, and slipped her arms through the straps.

Shelby marched around the slide with Nina-Belle and Baby Blue in her arms because there wasn’t any room for them in her backpack now.

“I’m ready to go,” she said to Erika.

Her sister’s eyes popped—big! “Gotta go,” Erika said and got off the phone. “You’re a mess. What were you doing over there?”

“Playing,” Shelby said, taking a step backward. The puppy moved in her backpack and almost knocked her off balance.

“Let’s go,” Erika said, leading the way.

Back in the apartment, Erika pulled out her cellphone again. “Go change your clothes and wash your face,” her sister said as she punched a button.

But her six-year-old, almost seven-year old brain had a better idea. “May I use the bathroom to take a shower?” Shelby asked, using her best manner-filled voice. She was big enough to do her own shower now and wash her own hair, something Mom was very proud of her for!

“Yeah, just don’t leave it a mess, okay?” Erika flopped on the couch and stuck the phone to her ear.

“Okay,” Shelby said. She passed Mitchell’s room and the sounds of his new alien video game on the way to the bathroom.

Shelby closed the door and gently took off her backpack. She set it on the floor and peeled the zipper back. The cute little puppy was curled up in a ball on top of the doll blankets.

Awww, she’s so cute. Shelby stroked her fingers down the puppy’s mud-caked back. “I’m going to call you Butterscotch.”
***

 
Meg writes clean contemporary romance novels, featuring strong female characters. As a mom to two young girls, Meg is passionate about creating stories centered around female empowerment. She grew up in the Pacific Northwest where she still lives today with her husband, daughters, and crazy pets. She splits her time between homeschooling her girls and writing in the hours after she has put her husband and children to bed. See what's new and free from Meg at www.meggraybooks.com

 

The Spirit of the Holiday by Meradeth Houston

The Spirit of Independence Day lives on.

***

Source

The last of the smoke cleared from the fireworks that had lit the bay. The booming thunderclaps had scared the last dogs and the crowds gathered their blankets and chairs. The trickle of people headed home were a little quieter, their voices still filled with happiness, but now muted by the night.

“Ready?” He leaned over and bumped my shoulder with his own, a small grin lighting up his features as I looked at him.

I sighed. The end always came too quickly. The light from the show over too soon. I didn’t want to go back. If only there were a way to pause, let the night linger for just a few more hours.

“I guess.” He stood and held out a hand, pulling me to my feet with a little added force that made me run into him.

His arms caught around me, tugging me close as he rocked us around in a slow circle on the lawn. The lawn around us had nearly emptied and the calm of the night, the rush and hiss of the surf past the low wall, marked a perfect moment.

“Another year,” I whispered. His neck felt cool against my forehead as I leaned against him.

“One of many more.”

I didn’t respond. So many ‘ifs’ clung to that word that I didn’t dare think too much about it. We could only hope for many more. Our lives depended on it.

We gathered up our things, folding them away into a bag he slung over his shoulder. He took my hand as we walked up the path toward the city lights. A few other stragglers trickled out onto the busier street, the clog of traffic still creating a long line at the freeway entrance.

We kept walking, no real destination in mind.

These last few hours were the sweetest. The ones I cherished the most, even if the always heralded the end.

“What did you like best about today?” he asked. His hand twined with mine squeezed a little tighter.

I cocked my head to the side, pretending to think it over. While the fireworks were always my favorite, today had more things to celebrate. “The laughter.” There had seemed to be more today. More faces smiling. This city we visited so infrequently had felt happier. It rang out in smiles and the laughter of the faces we watched.

The answer seemed to please him and our arms swung as we walked along the lit sidewalks, passing parties and sparklers and music that spilled out to greet us.

“The peace,” he said, with a shrug, knowing I’d want to know his response.

“You always say that.” I laughed at how obvious an answer it was, coming from him.

“Doesn’t make it less true.” His dark eyes met mine and the night with all its wonders seemed to expand before us, ignoring the end that approached all too fast.

Almost seeming to respond to our good mood, a siren, then two, cut through the air. They slid under my skin and I shivered, drawing closer to him.

The source of need came clear as we walked. Two blocks away and we smelled it. Flames. Our pace picked up. The heat came next, burning away at the ocean mist that swallowed the city.

An officer, face grimy and eyes too wide, kept the crowd from getting too close. We joined the throng, but even the hushed whispers of horror couldn’t drown the screams.

A Church. One of the oldest in the city. And faces and hands beat at the windows in the second story, the roar of orange flickering flames licking at the same glass. The leaded windows were too hard to break.

On the lawn, it was almost worse. The gathered people, wrapped in the silvery blankets handed out by the EMT’s, sobbed and pleaded for something to be done.

The words, scrawled in giant white letters, seemed to glow in glare from the police searchlights. Hate grew from them, impossible to ignore. Those around me stiffened as they read, no one wanting to believe someone could have done this on purpose. Not on this night. Not in this country.

Arms went around me and I tried to let that comfort me, but this scene seemed to eat away at every bit of happiness from the day, consume each of the laughing faces I’d seen and joined with.

“Remember, it’s just one event,” his voice spoke in my ear. A quiet reminder to hold on to the good.

“Why does it have to be this way?”

“If we understood that…” he shook his head. His eyes completed the sentence: if we understood the why of why people stove so hard to take away the liberty, the freedom, the very lives of so many, then we might have a chance to fight back.

But we didn’t understand. It went against everything we could see and understand.

We watched, my hands pressed against my mouth like I could hold in the scream of dread that settled in my throat—hot and prickly. The flames couldn’t be stopped. The police forced us back.

The Church collapsed.

Parents wailed.

The crowd cried.

I had to look away and pressed my face against his chest, soaking his shirt with tears.

His lips pressed against my cheek before his breath rushed warm in my ear. “Look.”

I followed his finger toward the opposite side of street. There, the house that stood there had thrown open its doors, and a couple with their two children pulled people into the warmth of their lights, pressed water bottles into hands, offered blankets to the shell-shocked people who watched.

“Is it enough?” I breathed the question.

“For now.”

The tug that caught at my lower back signaled the time. We needed to go. Without looking at one another, he took my hand and led me down the street. Around the corner and into the shadows.

“Next year?” he asked, already a whisper as we faded.

“Will we be able?” I hated asking the question, spoiling the last moments together. But I wondered. The power that gave us this one day, the ability to feel and touch and celebrate the feelings that gave us shape. The beliefs of so many that literally breathed life into us for this single day. Could it last another year after what we’d seen tonight?

“Don’t doubt it. Same time, same place. Next year. These people aren’t free of us yet.” His smile was warm, confident, and I knew it was mostly for me. For comfort.

My fingers were numb and the feeling reached up my arms, wrapping around me so I couldn’t feel his embrace any longer.

And then, with a rush of wind, we were gone until the next Independence Day.

***

Meradeth's never been a big fan of talking about herself, but if you really want to know, here are some random tidbits about her:

>She's a Northern California girl and now braves the cold winters in Montana.

>When she's not writing, she's sequencing dead people's DNA.

>She’s also an anthropology professor and loves getting people interested in studying humans.

>If she could have a super-power, it would totally be flying. Which is a little strange, because she's terrified of heights.


Find Meradeth Houston online at:www.MeradethHouston.com, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, Amazon, Goodreads, and of course her blog!

Will Work for Freedom by Kai Strand

Can you find freedom in a scoop of ice cream?

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Merrilee thought having a job would lead to freedom. Because of the money, mostly. Freedom to go to the movies whenever she wanted. Hang out at the new retro arcade downtown on Friday nights. Even be able to afford the gas to drive out to everyone’s favorite float spot in the mountain pass.

However, you have to have friends to use your hard earned cash on those things. She’d had one and she’d moved halfway through the school year. A friendless summer was an endless summer, but not in a good way. At least she could stop for an iced coffee whenever the spirit moved her. Just her, a trusty book, and her people watching skills. Maybe she’d do that this evening.

So basically freedom sucks. It just highlights the big, empty areas of your life.

The bells on the door to the ice cream shop jingled, pulling Merrilee out of her stupor. A large group of tweens entered, giggling and jostling against each other. Merrilee sighed and trudged over to stand behind the coolers to take their orders. As she scooped up each request, the door jingled again. She glanced over to see a father and young boy enter, the boy walking on his toes with a huge grin of expectation on his face. Merrilee wasn’t even halfway finished with the tweens, and hoped the young kid was the patient sort.

One of the tweens kept changing his mind when Merrilee began to scoop his request. She assumed he was doing it spitefully. Mean spirited kids exerted power however and whenever the opportunity arose. She patiently abandoned one flavor, rinsed the scooper, and began his newest request. She was scheduled to scoop ice cream for a set amount of time whether the customer knew what he wanted or not.

By the time she finished dishing out the large group’s orders and collecting their money—mostly lots and lots of change—a small line had formed, snaking back to the door. Merrilee turned to the father and son, and pleasantly asked what they’d decided on. Her eyes flicked to the wall clock and did a headcount. This line of customers should take her up to the end of her shift.

Ten minutes later she pushed the register drawer closed and was relieved to see only two other people stood in front of the coolers. However, Jenna hadn’t shown up yet. She was always late. Merrilee sighed inwardly at the extra time she’d put in until Jenna showed. She walked over to the two people and opened her mouth to ask if they’d made a choice, but the words lodged in her throat.

Mark Stemsky.

Holy crap.

He was hunched forward reading the names of the flavors and pointing to the corresponding cartons inside the cooler. He held hands with a young girl, maybe seven years old, with the same red hair and freckles as him. The girl wore her hair in long wavy pigtails. Her thick-rimmed glasses slid down her nose.

“Does it have nuts? I can’t have nuts.” The girl’s voice was nasally, tinged with worry, but held an unmistakable cadence of innocence that touched Merrilee’s heart.

“No nuts, Ellie.” Mark’s patient tone seemed to calm his sister. “I know you can’t have them.”

Merrilee thought Mark was the most handsome boy at school, but at that moment with his expression soft and full of love for the little girl, Merrilee thought he was the most handsome boy in the universe.

This is when having a job directly conflicted with her debilitating shyness. She had to help him. She had to talk to him. Her hands shook as she grabbed a fresh scoop—because of the peanut allergy reference—and finally choked out, “What can I get for you?”

Mark straightened from his hunched posture. “Hi, Merrilee. I didn’t know you worked here.”

She smiled and nodded, her mind a riot of thoughts. Oh my god, he knows my name. He knows who I am. His eyes are so brown. Oh god, I love his hair.

“Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily. Life is but a dream,” sang the little girl.

Merrilee turned her smile onto Ellie. Usually the song irritated her. It was such a clichéd response to learning her name, but hearing the lilting notes come from such innocent intent made her appreciate it anew. “You have a pretty singing voice.”

“I’m allergic to nuts.”

“I heard.” Merrilee held up the fresh scooper. “I’ve got a nice clean scoop just for you. Do you know what you want?”

“Mallow yellow, please.” Ellie pushed the glasses up her nose and stood straight giving Merrilee the impression she’d just declared an important decision.

Merrilee glanced at Mark to verify the flavor was acceptable. His eyebrow arched and a curious look crossed his face as he studied Ellie. He swung his gaze to Merrilee as if assessing her impact on his little sister. Shivers of pleasure raced down Merrilee’s arms having inadvertently done something to please him. She verified, “A single scoop?”

He nodded. “In a cup, please. And I’ll have a sugar cone with a double scoop of rocky road. Obviously do hers first, since mine has nuts.”

Jenna rushed in from the backroom, tying her apron around her waist. As glad as Merrilee was to see her, it was a visual reminder of how totally dorky their uniforms were and suddenly Merrilee felt very self conscious in the multi-hued, polka-dotted shirt and the pink hat shaped like a fat, round scoop of ice cream. Actually, she pretty much wanted to die.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Jenna blustered. She nodded at the scooper in Merrilee’s hand. “You want me to take over there?”

“No.” Merrilee blushed at how desperate the response sounded. She attempted a more casual tone and nodded at the young couple approaching the store. “I’ll finish this up. You can help them.”

Grabbing a cup, she leaned into the cooler and dug the scoop into the carton of mallow yellow. One of the boys from the group of tweens she served earlier walked up behind Ellie and said, “Move cripple. I need some napkins.”

Mark reached in front of Ellie and plucked several from the holder on the counter, handing them to the boy. “Here you go, ugly.” The kid’s mouth twisted into a snarl and Mark shrugged. “You know, since we’re stating the obvious and all.”

Merrilee grinned as she sunk a tiny spoon into the scoop of ice cream and handed the cup to Ellie. “Here you go. One mallow yellow. Lemon’s my favorite too.”

Mark let go of Ellie’s hand so she could reach up to take the cup. Merrilee grabbed a sugar cone, rinsed the scooper, and shifted down the cooler to the carton of rocky road. She hadn’t noticed the braces that encased Ellie’s legs until the boy called her a cripple. Mark helped Ellie to a table, sat her down and she dug into her ice cream right away. He returned to the counter and Merrilee handed him his ice cream. Their fingers brushed and Merrilee stifled her surprise over the flipping sensation in her stomach.

He followed her to the register and gave her money to cover the total. Merrilee’s mind was busy replaying every kind word and action of Mark’s she’d witnessed over the years. She’d always been attracted to his gentle ways and now she understood him better. Like an idiot, she had to blink away a rush of emotional tears as she handed him his change.

“Enjoy the ice cream,” she said, though she hated for this interaction to end and she wished she could think of some question to ask that would give her even thirty more seconds with him.

Mark nodded toward Jenna. “It sounds like you’re off the clock now. How about I buy you a scoop of mallow yellow and you join us?”

Merrilee’s heart simultaneously expanded and accelerated. She thought she might choke on it. She swallowed loudly and said, “I don’t really like ice cream much, but I’d love to join you. Let me clock out.”

Mark nodded, a shy smile curving his lips that made Merrilee’s pulse rise until she wondered if the heat it generated could melt all the ice cream in the store.

As he turned to join his sister, Merrilee raced into the backroom to clock out and get rid of the hideous hat.

How many times had she tried to quietly insert herself into his path at school? How many times had she wished she could start a witty conversation? Maybe having a job would lead to freedom after all. Just not the kind she’d suspected. But she’d be totally happy with the outcome if it led to her making new friends.

She punched out from her shift, tore the pink blob off her head and rifled her bangs. With a deep, fortifying breath, she tossed her apron into a bin, stored her shyness behind her newfound sense of freedom, and entered the store to sit and visit with Mark and Ellie. 

Freedom rocks.

***

This story, and its exploration of social anxiety and facing ones fears, is most like Kai’s novella duet, Worth the Effort. 

Kai Strand was painfully shy into her twenties and still hates to enter an establishment alone. Social anxiety is a real thing and not to be ignored or laughed at. Because people are often suffering silently, always show kindness first, but feel free to respond to meanness appropriately—like Mark did. Kai writes for kids and teens. Check out her work and discover her social media haunts, where she is decidedly not shy, by visiting her website: www.kaistrand.com.

July Theme: Freedom

The United States is coming off a landmark week with the U.S. Supreme Court making rulings in cases on same-sex marriage and universal healthcare. And with the U.S.’s Independence Day just a few days away, it’s a great time to be celebrating FREEDOM, our Lightning Quick Reads theme for July.

Of course, freedom isn’t just for Americans. And it isn’t only about big sweeping social movements. Freedom can be more personal than that. It can mean giving yourself the permission to be who you truly are. Or pushing yourself to pursue a dream long left on the shelf or to check off one thing on your bucket list. Perhaps your personal freedom lies in allowing yourself to succeed by ignoring those nagging doubts from others or from inside your own head. Even saying no to something that you don't want to do or to something that isn't working can be a powerful personal freedom.

This month, all the authors invite you to think about what freedom means to you and follow along with our characters as they search for freedoms of their own. So while my fellow Americans will be setting off fireworks and barbecuing, the sparks will be flying for everyone here on the blog with another set of amazing short stories, this month on FREEDOM!