Hello everyone and welcome to my blog! For the ENTIRE month of December, we'll be seeing content like this from both myself, and from the Featured Authors (going all the way back to the beginning!). Along with each of us sharing first chapters from our novels (all on, or soon to be on, Wattpad!), we'll also be getting an inside look into everyone's writing process, book reviews, and even better - getting to know the contestants trying for Featured Author of The Year 2019! Stick around for the fun!
But what do we have here today, you ask? As most of you know, I've been working on a new southern Teen Fiction - but, because I would love everyone's reaction - I'm sharing the first two chapters on my blog along with the Featured Author's Get Together!
I hope you all enjoy chapter 2!
Also posted today: Drowning by Tyra, and Living With My Boss by Sophi!
© Shay Spencer. All rights reserved.
The Truth About Chance Dabney
Chapter 2
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My eyebrows were still knitted together from my morning gone wrong as I pulled the single strap of my bag up over my head until it rested comfortably on my shoulder. The name Chance Dabney had continued to rattle around in my head throughout the remainder of my day, and finding out that we shared more than one class together had me shaken to the core. I could still see the surprise on his face when I had turned to look at him, the ghost of a smile he had given me upon recognition, and even the casual manner in which he had greeted me with his signature nickname for me from back in the day.
It was as if the last three years had never happened.
The rumor mill had gone wild as his first week without attending school had passed the spring of my freshman year. It seemed that not even his closest friends knew what happened to Beaufort High’s own golden boy. Ideas of the Dabney’s finally reaching their breaking point over Chance’s latest all night party at their family estate came to be one of the more popular theories. Another had been that Chance had run away to join the circus, or that he’d been shipped off to military school at a moment’s notice, the family running with him at what kind of disgrace their son had turned out to be. Though with the end of the semester came the end of the rumors, and by the Fourth of July Parade the town of Beaufort had effectively forgotten the Dabney name. Ignoring the fact that his reason for leaving never came to light, Chance Dabney left an unspoken mark on the town.
I let out a huff in annoyance, meaning for it to be more therapeutic than it turned out to be. I had run into him, more literally than figuratively, upwards of five times throughout our first day back. It was starting to look like fate wanted nothing more than to flood my mind with memories of what our lives had been like three years prior; how Chance and Kyle used to toss the football around out in the yard while I shamelessly watched, knowing good and well that my athletic abilities had skipped a generation. Kyle’s mother would stroll out and hand us each a lemonade, making a point to invite the Dabney’s over for dinner as casually as possible. Though Chance would turn her down with a southern accent and a smile, she never failed to whip up a few finger sandwiches in compensation. It was how we had always spent our days, and it seemed like those days would never end.
I had admit that things had changed quite drastically since Chance had left town.
Strolling aimlessly down the main drag, I clipped in my earbuds and scrolled through my endless library of music that made my southern grandmother put her hand over her heart in awe. Having not grown up in Beaufort had its perks, and though the southern lifestyle had its way of eking into my life whenever possible, I did try to keep what was left of the northerner in me at the surface. I felt like I owed it to my Oregon roots.
The latest techno beat soon drowned out the hoots and hollers of the students both practicing and watching football on the field to my right. Watching as I strode forward, I caught sight of the coach who had fawned over Kyle back in his day directing the hell out of some poor freshman filling in on the JV practice. Even I knew he was being sent to the slaughter. With the homecoming game less than two weeks away, all eyes in Beaufort would be on those players. The poor freshman didn’t stand a chance.
I shook my head, turning my attention away from the first degree murder taking place on the JV practice field; it quickly became apparent that my focus hadn’t been on where I was going, as once again, I was struck head on by the Chance Dabney himself.
The sweaty man in question didn’t miss a beat, dropping his bag to the ground below and strapping a hand on either side of my waist to hold me in place. Though I stumbled a bit at the sudden contact, Chance insured that I kept my feet planted firmly on the ground. “Sawyer,” his voice was hoarse, “watch where you’re going.” Letting one hand fall from my waist, he wiped the small bead of sweat that trailed down his forehead to his cheek. The action was meaningless but left me caught up in his green eyes once more. Even to this day I swore they were the closest to emeralds I had ever seen.
I offered him a small smile as I plucked an earbud from my right ear, “sorry.” He rolled his eyes and took a step back before picking up his things. Chance had always seen me as his clumsy little sister, and common to our daily theme, that still stayed true during his time away. Not that I had made any improvements in either my athletic abilities or my balance, for that matter. I didn’t blame him for looking me up and down for bruises as he usually did when he casually slung his old football bag over his shoulder.
I frowned, noting his less than happy attitude and quickly made note that I had nothing to do with it. After all, it takes two to collide. “I didn’t think gym was that bad.”
A smile tugged at his lips for the second time today. Chance quickly brushed his mane of brown hair that had been sticking with sweat to his forehead back, revealing his all too lovely face that he had only grown into over his time away. His hard jawline and stunning cheekbones had never been some of his bad attributes, and even covered in a thick layer of sweat and what looked to be grass clippings, he was still stunning.
“I didn’t make the football team if that’s what you’re askin’.” Chance made a point of nodding his head in the general direction of the football field. “Coach pranced me around like a freaking ballerina before finally cutting bait.”
Coach Evansworth was a hard-ass if nothing else, so it didn’t come as much of a surprise that the man in question was still slapping us kids upside the head using only his words. Even on the first day of classes he had we clean out the lockers for him just so he didn’t have to break a sweat himself. “You’re great at football,” I pondered. “Scratch that, the best. Why would he-”
“Not worth the war, Attie,” he shook his head, narrowing his eyes at he met my gaze. “Chumps round here are going to think what they want.”
Without warning he started off towards the student parking lot, not looking to finish our small talk. I would never get used to having him around again, that I could wrap my head around. But to hear that the coach of Beaufort High turned down Chance, who was once their star player, over a few rumors left me spinning in my place.
Chance stopped and glanced over his shoulder at me, “you need a ride?” I shook my head, knowing it best to not announce to Kyle that his old football buddy was back in town by having Chance drop me off at the docks. Come to think of it, Chance didn’t even know we took over our grandparents boat house. He wouldn’t even know how to start navigating in that direction. Kyle would be shocked enough without having me saunter into the house well after eight at night.
“Easier if I walk,” I called back. “I’ll tell Kyle you said hi?”
That same ghost of a smile from first period struck Chance’s face like an arrow, “that son of a bitch is back already?”
With that, I popped my earbud back in and stalked off in the direction of the boat house.
# # #
“Would it kill you to use a few of those manners you’re always going on about, Sawyer.” Kyle ragged on. He tossed a dish towel over his shoulder, the ratty old thing landing with a splashing sound on the faded green kitchen tile. The grout was practically black despite our best cleaning efforts but it seemed the same charm that came with the house was a little dusty to boot. Grandma Attaway couldn’t be bothered to clean in her old age.
“What do you want me to do?” I whined, kicking my feet up on the coffee table just to spite him. The soggy fish smell was still raging through the boat house when he reached above the sink and propped open the window with one of his old textbooks.
Kyle shook his head, “I don’t know. Dress the table or something? I’m going to all this trouble to cook-”
“-Boxed mac and cheese,” I finished for him with a wide grin. He merely rolled his eyes at me like Chance had earlier. I quickly swallowed the lump in my throat at the thought. “I met Katherine today.”
“Tryin’ to change the subject,” he drawled, his face over the hot stove. “What’d you think?”
I sighed at the memory, taking my time running through every inch of the conversation with a fine-tooth-comb. “She’s not bad. A little too beauty school dropout for my liking, but she does the trick.”
Kyle’s chuckle caught me by surprise, “have to agree with you, Sawyer.”
The whooshing of the water below us with the low tide was all that could be heard throughout the small boathouse as we fell into our own version of a comfortable silence. Kyle continued his strenuous efforts in boiling water while I sat back and trained my focus in on one of dad’s old model cars. Our grandmother had kept anything and everything that had to do with our dad’s childhood, and that included boasting about his model car collection. His favorite being the white bug he would one day use as an excuse to be his first major purchase was the one sitting just below the TV that had been haphazardly hung on the pale blue wall. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was just in the other room, and that went for my grandparents too; like they were out skipping rocks over the water like old pros, going on and on about Kyle’s next ball game. They’d fight over which military base would be his favorite or who he’d end up having kids with while my grandmother sat back and sipped on Melissa's lemonade. Kyle and I would be inside watching some old movie grandma would go on and on about with Kyle’s mother’s cooking playing in the background.
I guess living here instead of back at our father and Melissa's place was our way of keeping everyone’s memory alive.
“You hungry, Sawyer?” Kyle made his presence at the fold-out card table behind me known with the rattle of the pot that soon clanked against either dish he had ended up bringing to the table on his own. I stood up, taking a moment to stretch before taking the few steps necessary around the purple cushion couch and taking a seat at the table instead. Kyle made a point of saying a quick grace, more to himself than to me, before shoveling a vast amount of macaroni into his mouth.
“Did you talk with Harold about that job today?” I asked, my feeble attempt at making small talk earning me a muffled yes through his mouthful of mac and cheese. “What did he say?”
Kyle held up his finger as he finished chewing, and though it was a simple action, he ended up straining his hand because of how long it took him to finish his mouthful. “He said there was no one better than Charles Attaway’s son to help out around the major tourist attractions. He didn’t say it in so many words but I basically got the gig.” The toothy grin that followed elicited a laugh from me. “I should still be able to drop you off at school and all that for the next few months until you up and leave this place. It sure seems like the perfect job for a has-been like me.”
“You’re twenty, you idiot,” I chided. “If anyone’s a has-been it’s-” Cutting myself short, I instead turned to taking a few more bites of my macaroni that had been left untouched during our short time at the table. Kyle eyed me, and though he didn’t come out and say it, he knew I had something else to spill. I let my fork rest against the edge of my bowl before finally saying the words, “Chance Dabney is back at school.”
The sheer surprise that crossed over Kyle’s face was what I had been expecting, but come to find out, my brother looked nearly indifferent to hearing his old pal had come back after taking three years to lick his wounds. My brother stayed silent despite my best efforts, and though I had all too many questions about why exactly he had left in the first place, I did my best to let it slide. Even I knew Kyle was just as much in the dark as I was. Chance had left without a word and Kyle was there to pick up the pieces. No sooner did he graduate and have to come back to look after me before Chance even thought about ambling his way back to town.
Like I said, nothing much had changed.
“Did you two get to talking at all?” He asked, a single eyebrow raised in suspicion.
“I’ve got a few classes with him, but by the end of the day it was clear even coach didn’t want anything to do with him. Evansworth made him go through the motions but sent him packing before I got past the fields.”
Kyle merely nodded before making it clear to me he meant business. His eyes met mine with a ferocity that I hadn’t seen since some kid kicked me down in middle school, and the way he leaned forward only made me want to lean back in anticipation of whatever was coming next.
“Try and steer clear of him,” was all Kyle felt he had to say, “trouble follows that kid like some kind of disease.” He let his gaze fall to his nearly empty bowl of mac and cheese and continued shoving what was left into his mouth without another word.
There we have it! Tomorrow we'll get to see a review of one of our featured authors books - but I'm so happy you all decided to check out this excerpt from Sawyer and Chance's story!
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