This 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 events, organizations, or persons, whether living or dead is entirely coincidental.
THIZZ, A LOVE STORY
ISBN: 978-0-9964946-0-1
Copyright © 2015 by Nicole Loufas
www.nicoleloufas.com
Cover art by Indie Solutions.
Formatting by Elaine York/Allusion Graphics, LLC/Publishing & Book Formatting
Except for the original material written by the author, all song titles and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
All rights reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in book reviews.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Nick
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Acknowledgements
About the Author
March 2006 - Eureka, California
I really don’t want to deal with life today. I don’t want to fake smile or do that thing where I sit up really straight and pretend I’m paying attention when I really just want to go back to bed and sleep away the rest of my senior year. There was a time when I could lie in bed until noon without raising concern about my mental well-being. Now sleeping in is a sign. Slouching and scowling are signs. Any time a rainbow isn’t shooting out of my ass—that’s a sign that I’m not ok.
I’ll never be ok.
Of course, I can’t let anyone know that, because then they’d have to care, and it’s easier for everyone, myself included, not to care.
I sit up and grab my mom’s faded gray CAL Berkeley sweatshirt from the end of the bed. She left it here at my aunt Lucy’s a few summers ago. I found it hanging in the hall closet and reclaimed it for myself. I get out of bed and pull it on as I tiptoe across the cold hardwood floor to a pile of clothes in the corner. Lucy converted her attic to a playroom for me when I was six. When I moved in last January, Johnson, Lucy’s boyfriend, swapped the dollhouse and plastic sofa for a bed and desk he bought at IKEA. It took him two days to put it all together. He left the pink fabric Lucy draped from the ceiling; it’s really girly, but it hides the spider webs. The attic looks like a bona fide bedroom now. It’s just not my room. This room will never be my room any more than this house will be my home. Lucy wanted me to move into the room across from hers, but that was my parent’s room whenever we came to visit. It didn’t feel right. Nothing about Eureka feels right.
I look at the calendar on the wall above the desk. Three weeks until acceptance letters are mailed. That letter is the only reason I get out of bed in the morning. Every day is another day closer to knowing my future. I have only one goal—getting into CAL Berkeley. I have the grades and, thanks to my mom, I have tons of extra-curricular activities. She listed me as honorary chairperson on dozens of projects she ran through her charities. I rarely did anything at the events other than show up and eat, but they looked really good on my college application. My parents went to CAL. It was their dream for me to continue the legacy. I plan on making that dream come true, even if they aren’t here to see it.
“Dani, are you up?” Lucy calls from the hall downstairs. That’s my cue to put on a fake smile— one that slides off my face just as quickly as it appears. Nothing I do these days will make it stick. I give myself a few more minutes of real as I pull a pair of cargo pants from the pile on the floor and put them on. I finish getting dressed and avoid the mirror hanging on the back of the door as I open it and head downstairs.
Lucy comes out of her room in green scrubs with a towel wrapped around her head. She’s a registered nurse at St. Joseph’s Hospital. “Morning, Lucy.” I stretch to make it look like I just woke up even though I’ve been awake since dawn. “I thought you had the day off?” I follow her to the bathroom and lean in the doorway as she plucks a couple of wayward hairs from her eyebrows.
“Two nurses called out today. Looks like another round of stomach flu,” she says and unravels her hair from the towel. “I get off at six, then I’m teaching my Friday night Pilates class, so I’ll be home late. There’s some leftover Chinese food in the fridge.” She plugs in the hair dryer and looks at me before switching it on. “Do you have any plans tonight, besides work?” She knows I have no plans, but she asks anyway, hoping one day I’ll have a different answer. She’s consummately optimistic. I guess you have to be in her line of work.
“The Real World is on tonight.” I pick at the chipped paint on the door frame. I hate the look of pity on Lucy’s face. She thinks I miss having a social life, but even back home I preferred being alone. I’ve never been good at making lasting relationships. I had friends, but none that mattered. There isn’t a single person from my old school I want to call or write, or friend on Myspace. Besides, I moved to Eureka to get off the grid. My old life doesn’t exist anymore. I don’t even exist.
I walk into my final class of the day—computer lab—and take my seat in back. I’ve made it through the entire day without speaking to anyone. It’s a game I play with myself. Once I went three days without uttering a single word at school. I don’t know if it’s something to celebrate or if it’s just really fucking pathetic. The bell rings and Mr. Davis closes the door. He walks to the board and writes free time in big chalk letters. He adds three exclamation marks at the end to really drive the message home. Like free time in this class is something special. Building a Myspace is part of the curriculum, which tells you a lot about the seriousness of our seventh period computer class. You have to respect his enthusiasm though.
I log on to my B-minus Myspace page and wait for it to load. I could have bumped my grade up if I added a photo to the background, but I was going for a minimalist approach. Solid black background with white Arial font lettering. Mr. Davis told me he was hoping to see something with more personality. I moved here from San Francisco three months ago. My parents are gone, Lucy is the only family I have left, I have no friends, and I haven’t kissed a boy since sophomore year.