WIP Wednesday: Incoming Credits

Today's WIP Wednesday is a snippet from my YA manuscript, Incoming Credits. I absolutely adore Zeke and his teenage attitude. *g*

Incoming Credits

“Move it, Mr. Cameron,” Mr. Rhodes said. He was already slipping his own navy blazer over his button down. It coordinated nicely with his navy and gold Winthrop Prep tie. He usually coached in the same warm-ups that the players wore, and I wondered if he'd be going all out and coaching in his fancy clothes tonight because it was state.

“It's a five-point demerit if you're not in the gymnasium by the time the pep rally starts, and if you make me late it'll be ten,” he snapped.

While sitting on uncomfortable bleachers and watching whatever over-sexualized dry humping routine the cheerleaders had devised for the occasion wasn't exactly my cup of tea, earning ten demerits for my cohort would definitely be more painful in the long run.

I packed up my stuff without comment and trudged off to the gymnasium. I could hear the dull roar from inside as soon as I turned the corner. I'd cut it close. The hall monitor gave me a dirty look as I passed her, but at least she'd waited until I arrived before letting the door swing shut. It smacked against my backpack, sending me stumbling the last step into the chaos that was an all-school athletic pep rally. I knew the dramatic snick of the lock was in my imagination, but I couldn't help it, knowing that the door had locked behind me. We could get out, but no one could get in. Being in the hallway right now was a one-way ticket to the headmaster's office.

Go Prep.

I picked my way across the gym floor, sticking as close to the bleachers as I dared. It was a fine line. Stray too far onto the floor and get catcalled. Cut too close to the occupied bottom bleacher and get tripped. Good times.

Winthrop was big on decorum—what else would you expect from a place whose motto was Training Leaders for The Present and The Future!—but all that went out the window on pep rally days. Pep rally days were the only time we were excused from our usual blazers, chinos, and loafers, and everyone took advantage.

The bleachers were full of kids wearing the latest trendy clothes, all in navy and gold, our school colors. Even when we weren't in our blazers the bulk of the school still managed to have a uniform—expensive, trendy, and cookie cutter.

I scanned over them, a smirk curving my lips when I found what I was looking for. Kurt's ratty black AC/DC T-shirt and the cherry red leather jacket Chelsea had found at a garage sale when she'd visited me last summer stood out like welcome beacons—or sore thumbs, depending on who you asked—in the sea of designer labels. Leighton was perched on the bleacher seat next to her, looking just as perfect as the rest of the crowd if you ignored the scowl on her face.

WIP Wednesday: Incoming Credits intro

Thanks for stopping by for another edition of #WIP Wednesday! *g* I'm finally caught up on my chapters for Some Assembly Required, so I had a chance blow the proverbial dust off a manuscript that's been on the back burner for months--Incoming Credits. It's my very first YA novel, so the learning curve is rather large and daunting. It's also my inaugural attempt at writing first person, which is turning out to be harder than I'd imagined. Getting Zeke's voice down has been a labor of love, but one that's well worth it.

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Incoming Credits

Most of the classes at Winthrop Prep were really engaging. I mean, I wouldn't go to a boarding school full of stuck-up rich kids if it wasn't worth it. Of course, there were always exceptions. Unfortunately the class I was in right now was one of them. 

Not that economics itself was boring—the math part of it was cool. But God, the teacher. He was only a few years older than us and he had no control over the class. He was a Winthrop graduate, and a lot of the kids actually knew him because his younger brother was in my class. 

Most of the teachers at Winthrop had masters degrees or even PhDs, but not Mr. Rhodes. From what I'd heard, he'd barely graduated with his bachelors, and I hadn't seen anything from him in class that made me believe otherwise. We all knew the board of trustees only hired him because he'd taken the rugby team to state three of his four years on the team. Apparently he was some sort of sports savant, because he sure as hell was dumber than a box of rocks in every other area. He'd assigned me North Korea when we'd done our IMF world outlook projects because he thought I could bring “a lot of good insight.” 

Which was great and all, if you ignored the fact that I was Filipino, and only half at that. I was born in Connecticut. If he'd wanted me to expound on the economics of growing up in Bridgeport I'd have been his guy. Not that it mattered to him. I was just a conveniently brown scholarship kid who he knew wouldn't complain to daddy about having a crappy country assigned to me.