(This is an excerpt from the fiction novel I am writing.)

About the author:

This is more of an "about the author's intent" paragraph, rather than "about the author" himself.

My name is Troy Dearbourne; I am an early twenties YA contemporary fiction author. I'm aware that SteemIt is particularly used for blog posts, but I am testing the waters to see if full-length novels would not only be accepted here on this site, but if they would be read and enjoyed as well.

So how would you liked to get PAID to read?

Those of you who aren't fond of reading fiction books can leave this post, as it is not likely to interest you. But for those of you who love to read a good book, imagine this: instead of paying 'X' amount for an ebook on Kindle, you instead come to SteemIt, where you vote for books/chapters you enjoyed reading, while also having the opportunity to comment and resteem to earn Steem yourself. There would be no upfront cost to the reader, but the opportunity exists where they could earn money/Steem by reading works written by novelists and upvoting their book posts.

Every day between the hours of 12:00 p.m. and 1:00 p.m. EST, I will be posting a new chapter of this book until all chapters are posted and the book is complete. From there, I will leave it on this site for readers to enjoy and upvote, comment, resteem as they please.

Granted, this is just a field test, but I would love to hear from you in the comment section below. If you too are a novelist, whether fiction or non-fiction, give me a shout!

To enjoy the story to its fullest potential, please seek out the first chapter and read from the beginning. All posted chapters can be located on my blog wall.

And without further delay, please enjoy my novel, Paraplegic, below.

Chapter 4

First period moved slower than a snail. Second period wasn't much better. Aurora and I share all the same classes, except for our majoring subjects. I'm majoring in photography, whereas she's majoring in audiology. I guess she wants to help the hearing impaired or something. It's a nice thought, I suppose. For as long as I can remember Aurora has been selfless and encouraging to those around her. She'd be good at it, I have no doubt.

Third period rolls in and I feel all giddy inside. World History is next; my least favorite subject, but Xander being in this class makes up for it. I take a seat second row from the front. Xander casually strolls in a few seconds later carrying a single textbook and notepad tucked between his arm and ribcage, plopping down in the seat by the window. Aurora takes a seat in the chair behind me.

Mr. Petrelli opens up with a greeting and then a long-winded farewell, wishing us all the best on our college lives – well, those of us who will be going on to college. He starts getting all emotional, saying how he's been a teacher for nearly fifteen years, the faces he's seen, the minds he's edified, and how he will miss teaching this class of students. I want to speak up and tell him that after today I will forget his name, his face, and that Ben Stein voice of his, but I swallow my words.

We open our textbooks to Petrelli's appointed page; the room suddenly filling up with the sound of papers ruffling, and begin reading about the War of 1812. I try reading the opening paragraphs several times, but my attention drifts each time, envisioning what tonight will be like and how everything will unfold. The Hawks are playing against the Westbrook Knights; a formidable team with a skillful lineup, but not nearly enough skill to overpower my Hawks. Each team had battled other schools from all across the state and were now ready to face one another for the championship. I mentally rehearse how I will throw myself into Xander's awaiting arms as he and the rest of the Shadow Hawks take turns thrusting the trophy above their heads.

I'm yanked out of my fantasy with a tap on my shoulder. Aurora is guiding my thoughts to what Petrelli had just said. I look up; his firm glare is directed at me. How long had I been daydreaming? "Um. Can you repeat the question?" I recruit the most innocent voice possible.

He removes his square lens glasses and rubs his eyes. There's a red mark on his nose from where the bridge of the glasses had been resting. He sighs, letting the oxygen drain from his lungs for a good three or four seconds. "One thing I will not be missing is your lack of studious effort, Miss Barlow." A ripple of soft laughter wades through the classroom.

I feel my cheeks grow warm. "Excuse me?" My voice comes out a little stronger than expected, but it gets the rest of the room to shut up quickly. "I've faithfully sat here for four years listening to you drone on about pointless things. Therefore, I am very studious thank you very much!"

"If you are indeed as studious as you profess, then you shouldn't have a problem giving me the answer to my question." My palms moisten, and I rack my brain for an answer or at the very least a legitimate excuse. After a few seconds of silence, he shakes his head. "I'm disappointed in you, Miss Barlow." He scans the faces of the other students, raising his voice, "Let this be a lesson to the rest of you; if you go through life letting your mind wander, not harnessing it and focusing on what is important in life, you'll never make it." His beady eyes settle on me again. "You will simply waste away your life on fantasies and wake up to reality one day realizing you've grown too old and too set in your ways to ever change."

"Says the guy who can't even find his own butt in the dark with a flashlight." The entire class chuckles, then immediately stops as Petrelli shoots a glare around the room. He then stands from his chair, his fat roll protruding over his belt-line. "That is quite enough!"

"I've always wondered, is your entire family a victim as well or was it only you who got beat with the ugly stick?" The room breaks out in a range of indistinct tones and murmurs. All eyes are now glued to me, each one gaping at my bold retorts, waiting on the edge of their seat to see what will fly off my tongue next. I'm a bit curious myself. From the corner of the room, Xander shakes his head in amusement.

Petrelli marches over to me. I expect him to scold me some more and slap me with detention, but I honestly don't care. The biggest game of the year is tonight and there's no way Coach will allow the game to start without the Blue Jays' head cheerleader. It might take a little bit of eye-batting, but I'll wriggle out of it. I'm not the least bit worried.

Petrelli looms over me, nostrils flaring in and out. The vein in the almost center of his forehead is sure to burst at any moment; it's all blue and purple-y, which is a huge contrast to his tomato colored cheeks.

A hush settles across the room. The only sound is the whoosh of air sailing through Petrelli's still flared nostrils. He leans in close; the smell of bacon grease is evident on his breath. He is about to say something when the bell interrupts him. I expected everyone to leap to their feet and scramble for the door, as is the routine after every bell, but they don't. They remain glued to their chairs, eyes magnetized to me and Petrelli.

With a smirk, I say to him, "Maybe we can continue this conversation tomorrow?"

"There won't be a tomorrow."

I shrug with one shoulder. "Whoops," the smirk still plastered on my face.

The classroom then springs to life as everyone gathers up their textbooks and stuffs them inside their backpacks. I look back to where Xander was sitting, but his chair is empty; he must have left without me noticing.

I take my sweet time gathering my stuff; all the while I can practically feel Petrelli's stare burn into the back of my head. What better way to end high school than to leave your teacher with the realization they lost an argument to one of their students. I should treat myself to a latte. And a new pair of shoes. Louis Vuitton, perhaps?

As I make my way back to my locker, I don't see Xander anywhere in the crowded hall. It's lunchtime, so maybe he's already fueling those muscles of his with raw protein?

My phone jingles from inside my back pocket, halting my stride; mother just sent a text.

Mother: Hey, sweetie! Hope UR day is going gr8. I just wanted to let U know a letter from Stanford arrived just a few minutes ago.

Me: OMW!!!!!!!! That is totes amazeballs! What did it say?!!

Mother: I thought it would B nice if we opened it together.

Me: No!! Don't tease me! What did it say?! Did I get accepted???

Mother: LOL. C U when you get home from school. Love U

It's rather funny to realize mother can text. I mean, to actually, really text. Like, the same way a cool person would text. I remember when Smartphones first hit the market; I navigated it straight out of the box like I had been born with one in my hand. Mother and father weren't as quick to adapt. Father asked me one time if he actually had to laugh out loud whenever he would type the word LOL. Pretty sure I rolled my eyes at that question.

I shove my phone back inside my skinny jeans.

Aurora comes rushing up, shoes squeaking across the floor as she struggles to stop herself, and slams shoulder first into her locker. The door jolts from within its hinges, but she doesn't display any sign of pain. "Are you crazy? Wait! Don't answer that. I already know you're crazy." She clears her throat. "Are you insane?"

I fluff my hair in the reflection of the door mirror, then apply a fresh coat of lip-gloss. "What?"

"Oh! Don't you what me. What were you thinking? You could have been given detention, or worse, expelled!" She gasps theatrically. "And then you wouldn't get your diploma, which means you wouldn't get a good paying job, and then ten years from now I would stumble upon you living under a bridge!"

I slam my locker door. "Relax drama queen. I didn't get expelled. And gross! The only way I'd be caught living under a bridge is if I was murdered and my body dumped there."

Aurora opens her own locker and exchanges some of her textbooks. The inside is decorated with stickers of video game characters and album covers. "You never know. I read in the newspaper this week that this economic recession is getting worse. We could be living in cardboard boxes and eating earthworms by the end of the year if we're not careful."

I slap a ruby red fingernail over her lips. "I hear you talking, but all I can comprehend is blah, blah, blah. Now. Tell me. Did you see which way Xander went?"

"Yeah. I think I saw him walking toward the cafeteria a few minutes ago."

"Perfect!"

0-0-0

As expected, Xander is already in the cafeteria. He and the Shadow Hawks are eating at their usual table; it's this big circular table positioned in the center of the cafeteria. When sitting there, they've always reminded me of King Arthur and his loyal Knights; Xander being Arthur, of course. After all, he is my knight in shining armor. Would that make me Guinevere? I fit the part of a queen quite nicely if I do say so myself. And a castle – oh, how I'd love to live in a castle!

A few of the Hawks are horsing around with wads of napkins, tossing them in the garbage can from twenty feet away. They cheer obnoxiously loud with each successful shot. Xander watches while he eats his lunch. He takes a bite of his burger, his manly hands enveloping it with ease. It's this big thing, three meat patties with a bunch of vegetables sandwiched between two golden sesame buns. It looks tasty. For a moment, I almost regret being on this health kick. As he raises it toward his open mouth, barbecue sauce drips from the other side and onto his tan khakis. He grumbles in disdain. A couple of the Hawks laugh at him, then throw him one of the napkins. Xander dunks the end of it into his water glass, then dabs at the stain.

"You gonna get in the food line or you wanna stare at Mr. Wonderful some more?" Aurora nudges me in the rib.

I yield to her jesting comment and we get in line, grabbing a tray and a set of plastic utensils. Every couple of steps, I turn back to watch Xander, hoping he will notice me. His attention is still fixed on the Hawks clowning around with the napkins.

Aurora looks at me, then over at Xander, then back at me. "Why don't you just ask him if you can come to the party? I'm sure he'll say yes."

"No. That's not romantic. I want this to be perfect. It must be perfect!"

"Want me to ask him for you?" she smiles mischievously.

"No! Don't you dare. Don't you even think about it! Don't even think about thinking about it. Don't even–" she walks off in Xander's direction.

"Hey, Xander! My bestest, best friend in the whole wide, big, fat petroleum polluted world wants to know if she can come to your party!"

I yank her back in line. "Shhh!" Fortunately, the cafeteria is too loud; Xander, amazingly so, doesn't hear her outburst. "You're impossible, you know that?" I'm completely embarrassed, but I can't help laughing just a little.

Today's lunch special is fried cod with cole slaw, which is always drowning in cabbage water, or chow mein with an egg roll. I order off the alternative menu: a Caesar salad with low-fat dressing and an apple as my side item, then swipe my school card through the machine to pay for it.

A table, two down from where Xander is sitting, is open, so I snatch it. Aurora plops down in the seat across from me with a plate piled high of chow mein and a side order of French fries. She sees me eyeing the massive amount of carbohydrates in front of her.

"What?" her voice filled with innocence. "I really like noodles."

"That's a ton of food, Rora. Will you even be able to cheer tonight?"

She waves a dismissive hand at me. "I know you'll be there to revive me if I end up in a noodle coma." She imitates the electric zap of a defibrillator. "Clear!"

"That's not funny. I need my co-captain at my side tonight."

"Stop worrying. I'll be there."

I turn my thoughts back towards Xander. He's still dabbing at the barbecue stain. His lips are moving just slightly, almost like he's muttering over the fact that his pants are now stained. I have a Tide-to-Go pen in my purse. Should I give it to him? He might think I'm degrading his manliness. After all, he is a guy, a very, cute and perfect guy, but still a guy; they don't exactly mind having stained clothes. But then again, he might be grateful. Yeah. And it would be a good conversation starter, and would also give him the chance to ask me to the party. Flash-forward to the day when we're revisiting this crumbled heap for our ten year reunion, we could tell everyone that our relationship started all because of a detergent pen! Talk about romantic.

"You're going to die alone, you know that?" I focus my attention back on Aurora. She's now shaking the ketchup bottle vivaciously. I lean away from her, suddenly afraid the cap will fly off and spray me.

"What are you talking about?"

"You! You're staring. And sighing. It's pathetic. And creepy." She flips the cap open and shoots a stream onto her plate – it makes that horrendous gurgling sound as it comes out.

"I'm not staring!" She arches a judgmental eyebrow. "Okay. I am staring. But it's not the creepy kind of staring."

"Since when is staring never not creepy?"

I stab a cucumber with my fork. Aurora has been single for as long as I've known her. I don't know why. She's not ugly. In fact, she's has a lot of cute attributes about her. She's just never seemed interested in relationships. "You should find someone. Then we could go on double dates and take group photographs in one of the kiosk thingies and stuff."

She dips a French fry in the blob of ketchup. "Sorry. Fries before guys. And besides, I've already found my soul mate: carbs."

0-0-0

It doesn't take long for me to finish my salad, so I whip out my phone and take a series of selfies. It's been almost a whole week and I haven't changed my social media picture once. I peek around the edge of my phone; Aurora looks like she's struggling to finish her food. And there's still a mountain of noodles on her plate. "You've hit the wall, haven't you?"

She leans forward and moans. "Mmm, get the dolly from the janitor's closet; I'm gonna need to be wheeled out of here."

"Yeah. And the only dance move you'll be able to do is the ball formation. "I twirl my fingers in a circle. "We can roll you across the court like Violet Beauregarde."

Sixth period usually lets out around two o' clock. The Blue Jays' photoshoot is scheduled at three. I give thought to what formation of poses we'll do. The pyramid is always a good go-to choice. Besides, I get to showcase myself at the top when we do it.

One of the geeks from the nerd herd is eyeing me from a few tables over. "They are a waste to society."

Aurora looks over her shoulder to see who I'm referring to.

"I mean, look at them, they don't even know how to tie their own shoes." Most of them don't know how to tie their own shoes. Either they settle for this pathetic formation of intertwined laces they call a "bow-tie knot" or they wear loafers. I remember in freshmen year one of them got a tardy slip because some guys from the wrestling team tied his shoes together out in the hall. It took the nerd almost ten minutes to untie them and then retie them correctly, and even then it looked like a four-year-old did it. He stumbled into the classroom, practically tripping over his loose laces, head hung low as he reached for the detention slip in the teacher's outstretched hand.

"They're not a waste." Aurora lifts her phone in display. "It's people like them who make beautiful devices like this possible."

I then look down at my own phone; she has a point. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I suppose they do have a place. But they should be locked in a laboratory or something, where they aren't allowed to intermingle with us popular people or something."

A small frown spreads across Aurora's face. "You can't be serious? They're regular people just like us."

"I'm kidding . . . mostly."

In that moment, one of them stands up and starts walking my way. He presses his oversized glasses back up the bridge of his nose and straightens his cardigan. I'm not sure if he's just walking in this general direction or if his mission is to walk over to me specifically. His gaze suddenly levels with mine, eyebrows lock in a determined expression. It isn't in question anymore; he is definitely walking over to me. "M-m-Mc-McKenzie," his voice is high and squeaky. "I-uh, I, well . . . I–"

"Spit it out brain drain!" I feel my irritation rising, like steam being squeezed out of a tea kettle.

He straightens his glasses once more and wipes his moist palms on his food stained collared shirt, which is buttoned clear up to his skinny throat. "I was wondering if you would . . . if you would like to, uh, go to Hollywood Ending with, well, um . . . me?"

I'm stunned at what I've just heard. A nerd is asking me, me, the most popular girl in all of Stardust High, to go to Hollywood Ending with him! It takes a struggling amount of effort to force back the laugh that is ready to leap from my throat. "I would rather kiss a pig."

He takes a step back at the sound of my refusal. Does he seriously think he has a chance with me? As if! Who does he think he is anyway? The nerve of some people! He's just a little dweeb, who only thinks about going home to play video games or what new superhero movie will be released next. He's not a man. He's hardly a boy. I need someone with a strong sense of leadership and a solid foundation of reliability, not some brainiac whose arms rival the size of a twelve-year-old.

"Well, uh, if you, um, change your mind, then–"

"I must not have made it clear enough for you to understand. Guess that brain of yours isn't as useful as I first thought." I lean forward, resting both arms on the table. "I wouldn't go to the dance even if you and I were the last humans on earth." He swallows loudly. Maybe now he'll wise up to the obvious fact that people like him don't belong in the same universe, let alone the same room, as me.

After he had gone, Aurora tilts her head at my behavior. "That wasn't very nice."

"Wasn't very nice?" I scoff at her remark, folding my arms over my chest. "Please, I could've said something a whole lot worse. I hate it, hate it when stupid people ask stupid questions. He knew he was going to get rejected long before he walked over here; at least he should have. In any case, I'm with Xander and he's with me. I'm taken."

"You mean you're together in that fantasy of yours?"

"Okaaaaay. Fine! I'm practically taken. Happy now?"

She shrugs. "I just think you could've been a bit nicer, that's all."

I clap my hands together. "Boring conversation. Let's talk about a subject more interesting, such as me. Mother texted a little bit ago and said an envelope arrived in the mail with Stanford's address on the front jacket."

"That's awesome! What did it say? Did you get in? Were you accepted?"

"I don't know. She said she wanted to wait for me to open it."

"You nervous?"

"Nervous? Ha! Not even a little. They would be complete idiots not to accept me. I'm a good student; I get straight A's in all my subjects and I earn after school credit for being on the squad. I'm practically the poster child of a perfect high school student."

Aurora raises the small carton of chocolate milk to her lips. "Well, I hope you get accepted. You deserve it." She takes a sip. A smudge of chocolate milk sticks to her upper lip.

I throw a napkin at her. "Yo! Chocolate-stache at twelve o' clock. Wipe it before it drips on your shirt." She leaves the napkin on the table and decides to use the back of her hand. Typical Aurora. "So, what about you? You hear back from CUNY yet?"

She sighs heavily, so much so I feel the air escape her mouth from across the table. "No. And I'm starting to get worried. Maybe I won't get accepted."

"Nonsense. They're probably just backed up with a lot of submissions or something."

"No, Kenz, you don't understand. I need to get accepted. If I don't, then I won't get a college degree as an audiologist, and if I don't get a degree then how will I ever pay back the money my parents have spent for me to attend school all these years? It's really taken a toll on our finances. I'm not sure how long we can keep going."

"Whoa. Slow down. You'll get accepted. Trust me. You've got the whole summer before school starts back up. I'm sure they'll send you an acceptance letter before then."

She slumps in her seat; fear and disappointment clouds her face. "I hope you're right. I really need this to work out. I don't want to have to get a job working at McDonalds or somewhere. Not that I'm not willing, I am, but if I do, then that'll take up most of my time and it'll be even harder to study for exams, and I'll have to enroll in night school, which will cost even more money, and then I'll have to buy a car 'cause there won't be a school bus to take me to school anymore, which will cost more money even yet, and–"

"Rora!" The rims of her eyes start to fill with tears. "Worrying about it won't do you any good. Just be patient. Good things come to those who wait. And worse comes to worse, I'll loan you the money."

She firmly shakes her head. "No. I don't want you to do that. I already feel indebted to my parents; I don't want another name added to that list."

---

I thank you greatly for reading. Please 'follow' me and hit that 'vote' button, as that really does help. Comments are also welcomed.

~Cheers

(c) Copyright by Troy Dearbourne 2017. All rights reserved. Anyone who copies this document in any capacity without the written consent from the author will be in subjection to extreme legal action.