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  Special Smashwords Edition

  Stories for Amanda

  A Compilation of stories in loving memory of

  Amanda Todd

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  STORIES FOR AMANDA

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you’re reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  Copyright © 2013 Karen Avivi, Kahlen Aymes, E. K. Blair, J. L. Brooks, Claire Contreras, Kelly Elliott, Kailin Gow, Karina Halle, Nina Lane, Raine Miller, E. L. Montes, Alexa Nazzaro, Jessica Prince, Madeline Sheehan, Michelle A. Valentine and Nikki Worrell. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Cover designed by Telemachus Press, LLC

  Cover photo by Amanda Todd. Used by permission of Carol Todd.

  Published by Telemachus Press, LLC at Smashwords

  http://www.smashwords.com

  http://www.telemachuspress.com

  ISBN: 978-1-939927-92-7 (eBook)

  ISBN: 978-1-939927-93-4 (Paperback)

  Version 2013.10.14

  Table of Contents

  Out of It ~ Karen Avivi

  When I Met You ~ Kahlen Aymes

  Hoping ~ E. K. Blair

  Unforgettable ~ J. L. Brooks

  Love is Blind ~ Claire Contreras

  Beautiful ~ Kelly Elliott

  Saving Snowflakes ~ Kailin Gow

  Defying the Dust ~ Karina Halle

  Pie Love You ~ Nina Lane

  Priceless ~ Raine Miller

  Jacob & Noelle ~ E. L. Montes

  The Squall ~ Alexa Nazzaro

  More Than Life Itself ~ Jessica Prince

  Just Breathe ~ Madeline Sheehan

  Rock the Beginning ~ Michelle Valentine

  The Marriage Clause ~ Nikki Worrell

  ~The stories in this book are cross genre~

  Some may have graphic language and light adult situations.

  Stories for Amanda

  Out of It

  By

  Karen Avivi

  © Copyright 2013 Karen Avivi ~ All rights reserved

  Anguish, effort, determination. It was all in the shot I’d taken last night at the pickup soccer game in the park. Out of the 157 images I’d snapped, I only needed one to turn out, and this was it. I hit the upload button extra hard to send the selected picture to my online album. I was a god of memories.

  Never mind that he didn’t score. Never mind that it got cold. According to the image I’d framed, it was perfect. Going through the pictures and choosing which shots to show and which to delete was one of my favorite parts of photography. Without a picture, it was as if it never happened.

  “Liam, we’re there.” My mom pulled the car up next to the school and turned to look at me. “Remember, today is the day you get involved.”

  Getting involved was her new crusade. Apparently she’d read some statistic that said kids who weren’t in extracurricular activities were more likely to use drugs. I preferred to stay behind the scenes, but joining something would be easier than facing constant is he on drugs? scrutiny.

  “I know. I will.” I opened the door to get out. “Thanks for the ride.”

  My mom blew me a kiss before I closed the car door and she pulled away.

  “Great picture, Liam!” My friend Andres waved his phone from where he was sitting next to the front steps of the school.

  I refreshed the picture again as I walked over. Twenty-five likes already.

  “I look like I should be on the cover of Sports magazine,” Andres said.

  “Good thing it doesn’t show that you actually missed the goal. One of my other shots had turned out well, but it was of Jagger making a goal. He was such a jerk I didn’t want him in my image collection.”

  “Every time he scores I’m happy for the team, but I wish someone else had made the goal. Oh, and for the record, I didn’t miss. My shot got blocked.”

  I put my phone away. “Hopefully that picture of you is good enough to get me a sports assignment on yearbook.”

  “Yearbook?” Andres laughed. “I thought you hated our junior high yearbook.”

  I did. It was crap. “My mom is forcing me to join something. How hard can it be? I’m at school anyway. I’ll pull out my camera once in a while and be done with it.”

  “You’re not going out for football?” Andres asked.

  “Yeah, right. With my build they’d put me starting defensive lineman for sure.” We sniggered as we made our way into the school to our lockers.

  I wasn’t built like a starting defensive lineman. I was more like a cross between a distance runner and a malnourished basketball player. I ate constantly but grew up, not out. My mom had dragged me to the doctor a bunch of times probably after reading too many ridiculous stories in her Things Parents Should Worry About magazines. Eating disorders aren’t just for females—your son may be starving. Each time a new issue arrived I braced myself for more odd questions. I was pretty sure the whole get involved and stay off drugs thing had come from a magazine article.

  Our friend Dillon was sitting on the floor in front of his locker, furiously writing something in a notebook.

  “Why are you so busy already?” I nudged him with my foot so I could open my locker. “School just started a week ago.”

  “I’ve got some orders lined up. Lots of customers with summer job money.”

  Dillon was one of those guys who could somehow get his hands on anything digital and stuck to his own code of honor about what should be accessible or not as opposed to what might be legal or not. I didn’t ask too many questions about how he managed to acquire games and movies for us. It was better to not know.

  ~~~~

  After promising Andres that I’d try to increase soccer coverage in the yearbook, I went to the classroom where the official yearbook sign-up meeting was being held. A bunch of juniors and seniors who were sitting in front looked at me, then went back to critiquing last year’s book.

  I sat in the back and tried to figure out who was a photographer.

  Another guy sat next to me and put down his camera with a bag that said Property of LPHS.

  “Is that the camera we get to use?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Nice. Can I see it?”

  He nodded and put the bag on my desk. “Are you new?”

  “Liam, freshman,” I answered. My parents had bought me a nice digital camera but it wasn’t SLR and it didn’t have the speed or the capability to change lenses like the school camera.

  “Were you on yearbook last year?” I asked.

  “Yeah. We had a great advisor who pretty much let us do what we wanted,
but I heard we’re getting someone else this year.” He looked around. “I think you’re the only freshman here. You’re going to get the crap assignments.”

  My art teacher, Mr. Waymond walked in and picked up last year’s yearbook from a desk. “This is an example of what we won’t be doing this year.” He chucked the yearbook to the side. Murmurs spread across the room.

  “Forget about pages and pages of postage-size happy snaps. You can put endless dull look at me and my best friend shots up on whatever it is you’re using to broadcast your personal lives online these days. Our yearbook will not be a collage of out-of-focus pictures that look like they were taken on a five-year-old cell phone. We have six high-quality cameras for you to use. How many photographers do I have here?”

  I raised my arm with close to half the people in the room.

  “I’ll decide who gets these based on who I think will turn in something of quality. Everyone write down your name, what role you want to play on yearbook and when you have study hall and lunch so I can meet with you. If you have any samples of your work leave them clearly marked with your name. I’ll talk to each of you individually before we meet again next week.”

  A senior girl in the front row raised her arm. “What about the theme?”

  “Theme?” Mr. Waymond repeated. “Precious memories, special moments… that ridiculous phrase that wastes an entire page at the front of the book? It’s a yearbook. The theme is class of whatever year.”

  The girl kept looking at him.

  “Are you familiar with the term sacred cow?” he asked.

  The girl nodded.

  “Slaughter it. Skip the theme and make every page count.”

  Was he for real? This was awesome.

  “We have to have a theme,” the girl said.

  Mr. Waymond shrugged. “It’s your book so if you want to theme it up, go ahead. Anyone who wants to brainstorm themes can stay. The rest of you can go.”

  No way was I staying for theme brainstorming. My theme was survival. Show up, do the minimum necessary to get by, and get out. I didn’t have any printed pictures with me so I left the address for my online album.

  ~~~~

  The next day Mr. Waymond sent me a note in homeroom asking me to meet during my morning study hall.

  When I went to his office, he had four of the school cameras on the end of his desk and a laptop with a picture from my portfolio showing on the screen, but he wasn’t looking at the soccer shot.

  “So Mr. Gavard, photography doesn’t appear to be a new hobby for you. There’s some promising work in here.”

  I sat down in the chair next to his so I could see the laptop screen better. “My parents gave me a new camera at the beginning of summer. It’s not great, but I did what I could with it.”

  He scrolled to a picture of my aunt Katie and her new baby at a 4th of July celebration. I had taken the shot because there was tons of activity happening around her, but she looked like she was in her own cocoon of mom and baby.

  “Getting the shots that others miss isn’t about a zoom lens or shutter speed,” Mr. Waymond said. “You’ve got an eye for capturing emotion.”

  “Emotion?” I repeated. I remembered noticing how out of place yet happy she looked. Maybe that’s what he meant.

  “What do you think the purpose of the yearbook is, Mr. Gavard?”

  “The purpose?” I asked. “Memories.”

  “Memories,” he repeated. “Are memories accurate? Should they be accurate? Are we photojournalists, capturing what really happened or are we artists, painting a representation of what we experienced?”

  I had no idea how to answer. “That’s a good question,” I said. It was a cheat answer. I felt my chances of having a camera handed to me slipping away.

  “Here’s what I’d like you to do,” he said. “You know all the clubs that get one row-by-row photo taken that looks like the pictures of all the other clubs?”

  “Yes. I know what you mean.” Great. The most boring photography job in the world. Lining people up. I didn’t need a nice zoom lens for that. My camera would be more than enough.

  “I want you to figure out what matters to them and capture them doing it.” He picked up one of the school cameras. “I’m giving you a chance, Mr. Gavard. Show me three examples of what you can do by the end of the week. Do you have a printer that can print a halfway-decent color photo?”

  “Yes.” I kept my eyes on that camera bag.

  “Good.” He handed the camera to me. “Give me three printed pictures by Friday. I’m not sifting through hundreds of images online. Chess club meets today. Start there.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Waymond. I’ll get you three shots by Friday.”

  “I want this yearbook to be about more than the people who are always front and center, posing for the camera. What goes unnoticed is often what’s most important. Surprise me with something that others ignore.”

  ~~~~

  Dillon was already at our usual lunch-table spot when I got there with my tray and LPHS camera bag.

  “You got the camera!” Dillon gave me a high five. “Are you the official soccer photographer?”

  “Not really. Do you know anyone in the chess club?”

  “I’m in the chess club,” Dillon said. “And so is Rodney. I told him he could eat with us.”

  “Why?” I knew Rodney from elementary school and junior high, but we weren’t friends.

  “He was at my robotics camp over the summer and some of the guys were giving him a hard time. He’s okay if you get to know him.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to get to know Rodney. He never laughed at jokes or told funny stories, but he didn’t bother anyone either so I guessed that it didn’t really matter.

  Rodney sat down across from me, nodded hello and then unlatched his black lunchbox.

  “Hey.” I unzipped the camera bag. “I need to shoot the chess club in action so I’ll go with you after school.”

  “No problem.” Dillon grinned. “I hope you have a fast-action lens to catch Rodney’s ninja moves.”

  Rodney was taking rabbit bites from his sandwich, nibbling his way down each side, making a smaller and smaller rectangle.

  “Yeah, I’ll try to capture the energy.”

  Dillon made a face and put down his fork. “This needs salt, pepper, something. Does anyone need anything?”

  Rodney and I both said no and Dillon left in search of flavor.

  I pulled the camera out of its bag. I had to get used to it fast if I was going to turn in three surprising photos by Friday. That only gave me the rest of today and tomorrow. I took a couple of shots of the green beans at the corner of Dillon’s tray when someone jostled me from behind. I clutched the camera that had been entrusted to me for only two hours. Luckily I had the neck strap on.

  “Hey RodMan, I thought you were eating with us today.”

  Jagger. Without looking up I recognized his voice. Please don’t let him sit here, too. It was best to stay under Jagger’s radar. I kept a tight hold on the camera and focused on Rodney, acting like I was busy.

  But I wasn’t the target.

  “Hey Rod the Bod, is that your dad over there, mopping up?” Jagger pointed to where the janitor was cleaning up a spill by the hot-food line.

  “My dad’s an otolaryngologist.”

  No Rodney, don’t answer him. I tried to send silent instructions without lowering the camera. Unless you could give Jagger crap back, answering made it worse. Reacting just gave him new material to riff on.

  Jagger laughed, and so did his two friends who stood behind him. “Is that an asshole doctor?” The taller of Jagger’s goons shoved Rodney. “Your dad looks up people’s asses?”

  “That’s a proctologist.” Rodney straightened himself up from the shove.

  Rodney couldn’t see that Jagger wasn’t interested in getting his facts right, he just wanted to entertain himself and his friends. It was like a small brush fire that could go either way. You needed to smother it fast, n
ot add fuel. This was about to escalate even worse.

  “Hey, Liam, Jagger, what’s up?” Andres sat down and opened his lunch bag.

  “These friends of yours?” Jagger asked.

  “Yeah. So?” Andres took a huge bite of sandwich and gave me a funny look.

  “Watch yourself.” Jagger pointed at Rodney.

  Rodney carefully re-latched his lunch pail and stood. “I’ll see you at chess club, Liam. Bye Andres.”

  Andres stopped eating and watched Rodney walk away before turning to me. “I’m twenty minutes late to lunch and you’ve joined the chess club and become Rodney’s best friend?”

  ~~~~

  After promising the chess-club advisor, Mr. Adamson, that I wouldn’t make a sound, I was allowed to stay and shoot the practice games. I watched for a while, planning to look for ways to make chess look as exciting as soccer. Surprisingly, the way Rodney played it almost was. He was kicking ass at chess. No one could beat him—not even Dillon, and Dillon was good. I’d never beat Dillon. Ever. The best I could hope for against him was to not lose in fewer than ten moves. Rodney made Dillon look like he’d just learned the game five minutes ago.

  “How’d you get to be so good at chess?” I asked.

  “Mr. Gavard!” Mr. Adamson held a finger to his lips, and Rodney glared at me. I put my hands up in surrender and stopped watching so I could take some pictures.

  As it turned out, chess boards made cool backdrops, especially when I got shadows to fall off the pieces. It probably wasn’t original, but it definitely couldn’t be what Mr. Waymond called a happy snap.