Chapter 1: The Dirty Spill

‘Lock and Key’ is a young adult drama that explores themes of class division, and the magnetic pull of young love. (updating weekly) This story is also posted to RoyalRoad.com

Stacy Willams   

Chapter 1: The dirty spill 

“Stacy….” I hear a voice call out. 

The voice was insistent, after a few moments I felt a light tapping on my shoulder. Reluctantly, I opened one eye. 

 “Ana, I'm getting my beauty sleep.” I whine, further burrowing myself into soft, silk sheets. 

“But I don't need it as much as you,” I add with a half-hearted giggle. 

Still, Ana continues, tapping me with more and more force. 

“Miss Willams, it's your father, he told me to wake you. He has surprise waiting for you downstairs”

“…A surprise?” a smile spreads through my face. “Alright, Ana.”

I practically jump out of my king-sized bed, silk sheets smoothly sliding off me. I can feel the excitement and anticipation rush through my blood. Daddy is always so busy, he rarely calls for me. I feel a flurry of butterflies in my stomach. 

Hurriedly putting on my slippers I look up and see Ana’s face in my vanity, there’s something in her expression that I don’t like. She’s looking at me with something akin to pity

A small bit of anger flares up within my gut. Who is she to look at me like that, who is she to pity me. I whip my head backwards to face her. 

“Ana,” I call out.

“Yes, Stacy?” she answers

 “You are the maid, nothing else.” 

 “I understand,” she replies, lowering her head. Sickly sweet satisfaction swells within me. 

Having resolved that pesky little issue I rush downstairs to see Dad waiting for me in the entrance hall. 

“Daddy what’s the surprise?” 

“Hey sweetie, I got you your own SUV to drive. Here's the keys.” he says, throwing the keys to me. 

“It's about time!” I exclaim. “I’ve been begging you for a car since I’ve gotten my license”

“Sure, sweetie” Dad replies absentmindedly, kissing my cheek before putting a phone to his ear and walking away.

Rolling my eyes, I push away the thought of my dad and his unhealthy affection for his phone. I couldn’t wait to show off the car to my friends. 

I let out a laugh. My friends and I have a saying ‘You're either a broke wannabe or the IT thing.’

And the statement still rings true after 4 years at Weddleton Prep. Kids are pretty superficial, it’s all about what designers you were, what cars you drive and who your parents are. 

Anyway I’m off topic… I couldn't wait to test out my new ride. I reach for the door before Ana’s voice stops me.

“Stacy, you should at least get dressed before you going outside”

I can’t help but roll my eyes at her, “Stop mothering me Ana” I snap. “Plus, these pyjamas cost more than your entire outfit”

Hopping into the SUV, I turn on the gas. Voom voom it went. 

“ Yess!” I screamed. 

I drove around my neighborhood and laughed at the joggers, decked out in their lululemon yoga pants. Why anyone would get from one place to another using their legs astounded me. Why walk when you can be driven. Walking is nothing but trouble.

I returned home still high with adrenaline. I went upstairs changing into an outfit so expensive only a poor kid could dream of. 

As I inspected myself in the mirror. I looked good, better than usual. There was a glow in my face and my hair was curled just right. I wonder what Dave would say… a soft knock interrupts my train of thought. 

“Come in” I call out, knowing it is Ana behind the door. 

“Your father has made a reservation for dinner tonight”

“What time?”

“At 6:30” 

‘This day couldn’t get any better.’ I think to myself, while applying small dabs of blush to my cheeks. Satisfied with my appearance, I got up to meet Dave. 

I arrive at Dave's house, he doesn’t comment on the new car. We hangout in his living room just talking. Conversation flows easily between us, he’s always been a comforting presence. 

The more I think about it, the more perfect he seems. We’ve been friends for years, he’s pretty cute and Daddy would definitely approve of him. I’m about to invite him to dinner with Dad at the restaurant when he asks the dumbest question I’ve ever heard. 

“Hey Stacy, would you date a poor person from our school?”

I gasp. “No… sweetie, they're poor.” I answer, slightly amused by such a question. 

 His expression saddens. “There’s this girl I like, her family isn't doing so great-”

“Dave, how could you ever think of such a thing?” I interrupt. A sinking feeling erupts in me, this pseudo date really isn’t going according to plan. 

“She’s the best person I’ve ever met and she’s mine.” 

Despite the look of disgust I’m giving him, he continues. 

“And you might consider her poor but she’s worth more to me than anything else.”

Then he smiles, declaring that “she's perfect.” I almost throw up in my mouth.

We fight. Why couldn’t he just understand that I just wanted what’s best for us, for him. I could live with him dating some other girl but not this mystery gutter girl. 

He said I was just ‘a brat in rich girl shoes.’ And made it clear he didn’t want to see me anymore before slamming the front door in my face.  

To make matters worse Daddy never showed up for dinner. I got a text from him saying he couldn’t make it. A text, not even a call for his only daughter. 

I snap at the waiters, I berate the food. Do anything to feel in control again, how did a day that started out with so much promise turn to be such a tragedy. 

I leave the restaurant, still angry. Seeing the new car only reminds me of Dad, and thinking about it only brings on feelings of emptiness. 

I reach into my jacket pocket to get my key only to find it empty. I check the other pocket, I look around me. The keys are nowhere to be found. I must have forgotten it. 

Cursing myself inwardly I return to the restaurant. The staff flinch when they see me, and I feel a slight ping of remorse for my behaviour earlier tonight. 

“I left my keys here” I say to a waiter. 

“It must be in the kitchen in the back” he says, promising to find it before scurrying away.

Sitting at an empty table while I wait I bring my hands to my face, feeling tears well up in my eyes despite myself. I allow myself to be vulnerable for the first time today. At least it can’t get any worse. 

Except it can. It did. Out of nowhere, some idiot loses his footing, dumping a caesar salad on me. 

Like I said, walking is nothing but trouble. 

I snap, flying into a rage. Honestly, I don’t even remember what I said, curses probably. The young waiter does nothing but apologize. 

I cause a huge scene, but I’m beyond caring, I’m far beyond mere embarrassment. 

The manager comes out, apologizing to me and scolding ‘James’ the waiter. They quickly shoo the idiot away but nothing can appease me. 

“When I come back, it’ll be with a lawsuit” I threaten as I march out of the restaurant. 

My foul mood from the day before carried over to school. Predictably, my friends and classmates 'oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ upon seeing my new car, but their praises rang hollow. 

The car also perhaps predictably brought unwanted attention. I smelled Ben’s cologne before I saw him. He slid an arm around my shoulder, bringing me away from my friends. 

“New whip?” he asked. 

I nodded, not looking at him while trying to wiggle my way from his grasp. 

“We should take that car out for a spin” he suggested, his tone thickly accented with d****e. 

Successfully separating myself from him I quickly make my way to class, looking back to make sure he’s not following me. 

Classes are uneventful until the last period. Choosing a spot in the back with my friends I pull out my phone, planning to zone out this class just as I had the whole day. 

“Move it freak” a slimy voice yells out, at the front of the room. 

Now normally, things that like wouldn’t raise any eyebrows except I recognized that voice. Groaning inwardly I realized it was Ben. 

Raising my head from my bedazzled phone, my eyes open in recognition. It’s the idiot from the restaurant. 

I stare for a few seconds, blink and then look away.  

The bell rings.

Reviews

[JayG]

• “Stacy….” I hear a voice call out.

Unfortunately, here’s where you go off the track, so far as writing fiction. And making it worse, because the story works perfectly when you read it, the cause is invisible to you till pointed out. It's such a common problem that I call it, The Great Misunderstanding.

1. From the viewpoint of the one living the events, she is not hearing “a voice.” It’s Ana, someone she knows well. So with this line, you establish that the viewpoint is that of the narrator, who is talking TO the reader, not that of the one living the events. How serious a problem is that? An agent would stop reading here.
2. You’re beginning with someone waking, another rejection-worthy problem. Why? Because no one cares what the person WAS doing. In fact, you could replace all five paragraphs with:

“Miss Willams,” Ana called from the stairs. “Your father has surprise waiting for you down here,” and nothing changes other than not forcing the reader to plow through words that don't move the plot; don't develop character significantly; and, don't set the scene where the action takes place.

You’re thinking cinematically in a medium that reproduces no pictures. You’re also not taking into account the greatest weakness of our medium: it’s serial. On the screen, we see the bedroom, the kind of bed, and everything else, all in an instant, and all in parallel. But , she’s ignoring everything but the words she hears, because it’s seen all the time and so, there but ignored. Why does the reader care about things she’s ignoring that take time to read but contribute nothing significant to the scene?

Do we care how large her bed is? No. And while telling the reader that her top sheet is silk, which costs about ten times what normal sheets do might be useful in informing the reader that she’s rich, there are better ways—like her being gifted with a new car.

Here’s the deal, so take a deep breath, because it will sting:

We cannot transcribe ourselves TELLING the story. It simply doesn’t work, because what you give the reader is your storyteller’s script. And the only way that can work is if the reader performs it exactly as-you-would. But you gave no performance directions, so what the reader gets is what you’ll get when you have the computer read it to you with the emotion of the reader app turned to zero.

You can also give the story to a friend with little acting talent, to read to you, but, who wants their friends to see them weeping? 😁

The thing we all forget is that they’ve been refining the skills of writing fiction for centuries—finding ways to avoid the traps. We call that body of knowledge—the skills the pros take for granted—the Commercial Fiction Writing profession. And if we don’t dig into those skills? We fall into the traps they’ve long ago figured out how to avoid. And, never notice when we do.

So it’s not about talent. It’s that like you, your readers have been choosing fiction that was created with those skills. They’ve not been able to see the tools used, but they do expect the result of the author having used them.

The short version: To write fiction we need the tools of fiction writing. Nothing else works.

They’re not hard to learn, though convincing your present nonfiction report-writing skills to let go of the controls is a b***h. Still, once you do, the act of writing becomes a LOT more fun, for both you AND the reader. And the learning is interesting. In fact, the practice is writing stories that get better and better.

So...grab a copy of Debra Dixon’s, GMC: Goal Motivation & Context and dig in. You’ll be glad you did.

And for an overview of the traps, gotchas and misunderstandings that catch us all, you might try a few of my articles and YouTube videos.

But whatever you do, hang in there and keep on writing. It never gets easier, but with work, we can become confused on a higher level, and perhaps push the crap to gold ratio toward gold by just a bit.

Jay Greenstein
Articles: https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/
Videos: https://www.youtube.com/@jaygreenstein3334

[JayG]

• “Stacy….” I hear a voice call out.

Unfortunately, here’s where you go off the track, so far as writing fiction. And making it worse, because the story works perfectly when you read it, the cause is invisible to you till pointed out. It's such a common problem that I call it, The Great Misunderstanding.

1. From the viewpoint of the one living the events, she is not hearing “a voice.” It’s Ana, someone she knows well. So with this line, you establish that the viewpoint is that of the narrator, who is talking TO the reader, not that of the one living the events. How serious a problem is that? An agent would stop reading here.
2. You’re beginning with someone waking, another rejection-worthy problem. Why? Because no one cares what the person WAS doing. In fact, you could replace all five paragraphs with:

“Miss Willams,” Ana called from the stairs. “Your father has surprise waiting for you down here,” and nothing changes other than not forcing the reader to plow through words that don't move the plot; don't develop character significantly; and, don't set the scene where the action takes place.

You’re thinking cinematically in a medium that reproduces no pictures. You’re also not taking into account the greatest weakness of our medium: it’s serial. On the screen, we see the bedroom, the kind of bed, and everything else, all in an instant, and all in parallel. But , she’s ignoring everything but the words she hears, because it’s seen all the time and so, there but ignored. Why does the reader care about things she’s ignoring that take time to read but contribute nothing significant to the scene?

Do we care how large her bed is? No. And while telling the reader that her top sheet is silk, which costs about ten times what normal sheets do might be useful in informing the reader that she’s rich, there are better ways—like her being gifted with a new car.

Here’s the deal, so take a deep breath, because it will sting:

We cannot transcribe ourselves TELLING the story. It simply doesn’t work, because what you give the reader is your storyteller’s script. And the only way that can work is if the reader performs it exactly as-you-would. But you gave no performance directions, so what the reader gets is what you’ll get when you have the computer read it to you with the emotion of the reader app turned to zero.

You can also give the story to a friend with little acting talent, to read to you, but, who wants their friends to see them weeping? 😁

The thing we all forget is that they’ve been refining the skills of writing fiction for centuries—finding ways to avoid the traps. We call that body of knowledge—the skills the pros take for granted—the Commercial Fiction Writing profession. And if we don’t dig into those skills? We fall into the traps they’ve long ago figured out how to avoid. And, never notice when we do.

So it’s not about talent. It’s that like you, your readers have been choosing fiction that was created with those skills. They’ve not been able to see the tools used, but they do expect the result of the author having used them.

The short version: To write fiction we need the tools of fiction writing. Nothing else works.

They’re not hard to learn, though convincing your present nonfiction report-writing skills to let go of the controls is a b***h. Still, once you do, the act of writing becomes a LOT more fun, for both you AND the reader. And the learning is interesting. In fact, the practice is writing stories that get better and better.

So...grab a copy of Debra Dixon’s, GMC: Goal Motivation & Context and dig in. You’ll be glad you did.
https://dokumen.pub/qdownload/gmc-goal-motivation-and-conflict-9781611943184.html

And for an overview of the traps, gotchas and misunderstandings that catch us all, you might try a few of my articles and YouTube videos.

But whatever you do, hang in there and keep on writing. It never gets easier, but with work, we can become confused on a higher level, and perhaps push the crap to gold ratio toward gold by just a bit.

Jay Greenstein
Articles: https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/
Videos: https://www.youtube.com/@jaygreenstein3334