Dana Davidson

Post #3 of Courtney and Jasmine's Story

Mon, 12 Dec 2011 17:24:19 -0500

Then he felt her shoving him away and though the strength of her push couldn’t move him at all, if he didn’t want it to, the anger and hurt on her face most definitely could.

“What is the matter with you all,” she asked? Her voice was so full of rage and pain that he recoiled inside himself at the idea that he’d caused it. He truly hadn’t meant to.

Then she was hefting her book bag further up her shoulder and shoving pass him to head down the hallway and away from him.

Jasmine

I left Cross High in a brain fog. I was feeling so many things at once that I hardly knew what to focus on.

Vile! I wished … oh God. I wished that I was strong enough to kick their asses myself! That’s what they deserved. But I wasn’t, and they’d been able to hem me up in the hallway, calling me all kinds of names and saying disgusting things that they wanted to do to me.

I shivered a little at the memory. I was furious, but they’d frightened me, too. Their hot breath and broad bodies, blocking my view, limiting my ability to move, to go, to get out of there. It all came back to me as though I were still trapped in that hallway. The boys had tried to act as though they were playing, but they weren’t. And I could tell right away that they weren’t. They were dangerous and I could feel it.

And then Greg Hoover showed up. He seemed to come out of nowhere. By the time he showed up I couldn’t see beyond the boys. But suddenly he was there. Large, angry, and definitely threatening. He was like the incarnation of the vengeance that I’d wanted to wreck upon those butt-holes. He had been nothing less than … perfect. Until he kissed me. Then he was ….

He … was … something … else. My brain paused between each word, wondering where to go next.

Was I upset, really? Or did I actually feel something else? I wasn’t entirely sure. I thought about it as I hit the cold March air and made my way to my car parked in the student parking lot across the street from the school.

Actually, I liked the kiss. A lot.

What I didn’t like was the assumption. He barely knew me. We’d never had a conversation. And somehow he just assumed that he could kiss me like that. And I knew why, too. Because everyone thought that they knew me, thought they knew what I was about.

I felt repulsed and angry and frustrated, all at the same time. I was trying to reinvent myself. But nobody seemed to notice, not even a boy who cared enough to rescue me from a small pack of jackasses.

I paused long enough in all my angry and frustrated feelings to recall what his lips had felt like. They were very tender. He was not attacking me, I admitted thoughtfully, unlocking and opening my car door. As I sank into the driver’s seat and started the engine, I saw his eyes again when our lips had parted and what I remembered was that they were gentle and searching. My heart skipped a beat, hung on the seductive pull of the memory of his eyes, then started back again.

Then I had what seemed like the weirdest thought. It came to me as clearly as a newspaper headline: He Could Love Me. How strange, I thought. He could love me. I had never had that thought before.

I hope he loves me.

I want him to love me.

Why doesn’t he love me?

All of these thoughts had kept me company over the last few years of my life whenever I liked a boy or thought that he liked me. But never, he could love me. Why did I think it this now?

Then I shook my head decisively, suddenly more confident and sure. No, he couldn’t, wouldn’t love me. All I had to do was remember the pictures, the rumors, the truths, the stories that circulated about me and then I knew that Greg Hoover couldn’t, perhaps no boy, could really love me.

From all reports, I had become unloveable.

Jasmine & Greg Post 2 Thurs., 12.01.11

Thu, 01 Dec 2011 09:37:00 -0500

Greg

“Chuck Norris has already been to Mars, that’s why there are no signs of life,” Marcus Shippard rattled off. Tall and lanky, with a mild case of constant acne, Marcus was doing one of his favorite things, telling Chuck Norris jokes he’s heard or read somewhere else. “There used to be a street named after Chuck Norris, but it was changed, because nobody, and I mean nobody, crosses Chuck Norris and lives.”

Nearly the entire basketball team was laughing at the jokes, and the small shooting guard was loving it. Greg was lacing up his shoes and halfway listening to the next round of jokes and halfway thinking about all the work he had to do when he got home. He had too much homework and he was behind on his assignments, again. Greg didn’t like school much at all. And junior year was turning out to be his most stressful school year yet. Practice and this time with his team was the best part of his day. But, soon it would be back to work and he was already dreading it.

“Chuck Norris once peed in a semi truck’s gas tank as a joke … that truck is now known as Optimus Prime. Chuck Norris doesn’t pay attention —- attention pays him,” Marcus shouted over the laughter and goofing around that was going on.

“Okay, man,” Jason Vincent, the captain of the team and Greg’s best friend, said lightly, “that’s enough.” Because, Greg thought, while Marcus could be hilarious, he didn’t always know when to stop. It was just about time to stop.

“Okay, okay,” Marcus agreed. “Just one more.”

“Go ‘head,” Jason said. The locker room went relatively quiet to hear what Marcus was going to finish up his act with. Greg had finished lacing his shoes and he sat up to give Marcus his undivided attention.

“Chuck Norris counted to infinity,” Marcus said, causally stating another impossibility that the cult icon had achieved. He was looking around the room as he paused dramatically, knowing everyone else knew that he wasn’t done yet. “ —- twice!”

The guys chuckled and slapped Marcus plays and Greg gave Marcus a play, too, before he slung his gym bag and school bag over his shoulder.

“You gone, man?” Jason asked.

“Yeah,” Greg said. “I gotta crap load of homework to do.”

“Yeah, me too,” Jason said.

But Greg knew that when Jason got done with his homework tonight he would probably be just that, done. While he, Greg, would still have so much that wasn’t complete. He sighed and headed out of the locker room.

It was late, six o’clock, and the hallway that ran through the athletic wing of Cross High was nearly deserted except for a few guys crowded together down the hall in the direction he was headed. They weren’t on the track, football or basketball teams, Greg thought. He knew everybody on all of those teams. There was something about the way that they were bunched together and moved that drew his full attention.

Then he saw that they had a girl hemmed in against the wall. Without thinking he quickened his pace, his heartbeat quickening likewise. As he drew near he saw that it was Jasmine Beck and he felt himself go hot all over with a rush of adrenaline and alertness. As his footsteps drew him closer he could make out her face and he saw that she was frightened and angry and he could hear the guys calling her names and saying disgusting things to her in oddly low voices.

“When you gonna give me some, trick,” the smallest one was saying. He bumped his chest against Jasmine’s and she tried to shove back at him but then one of the other guys, the lightest skinned one, pushed her backward by her shoulder.

“Leave me alone,” she said sharply. “Move,” she said, and Greg could hear that she was panting slightly, as though she were running a losing race.

“Get away from her,” he called, almost upon them now.

The boys, three of them, a couple of them well built and tall and a third, no more than five foot nine inches and slightly built, stopped abruptly.

“What’s up, man?” the tallest of them said. It was the light skinned one. He was good looking, his coat and boots expensive and in the latest style. He was a senior and a known bully, but he’d never made the mistake of messing with Greg.

“Nothing,” Greg said, his voice deceptively casually, but firm. “I said get away from her,” Greg repeated, close enough to grab the boy now.

“It’s none of your business, man,” he advised. His voice was cocky and a bit threatening, though he was at least five inches shorter and twenty-five pounds lighter than Greg. “Why don’t you go some where and mind your own business.” His eyes were serious and heated and Greg thought that he might actually be a little bit high, too. He acted like he was willing to fight Greg and Greg, who hadn’t been afraid to fight in years, took one more step closer, glanced over at Jasmine and read the fear in her eyes and felt like punching the boy.

“It’s my business now,” Greg said, towering over them all, his pulled his hands out of his varsity jacket pockets and let them hang at his sides, fists at the ready. “And I’m telling your punk ass, get away from her before I whip all your asses.” He scanned the three faces slowly and watched as each mentally processed the idea of fighting him. The guy who hadn’t spoken yet took several steps back first, but he was closely followed by the smallest guy. The light skin leader stared at Greg, not moving an inch.

Greg reached his hand between the guys and extended it to Jasmine and she took it, never taking her eyes from his. He felt his heart tighten as he stared into her eyes and he felt her palm, smaller and slightly moist, grasp onto his. He pulled her beside and a little bit behind him and drew his eyes back to the leader. Greg stared at the guy for a moment longer and then fast, faster than any one of them could take in, he reached his hand that wasn’t holding Jasmine’s across to take the big mouth guy’s neck in the vise-like grip of his oversized hand. Greg felt the guy try to swallow against the palm of his hand. He watched the anxiety build up in the guy’s eyes as he realized how difficult this once simple task now was. The boy began to struggle to move the rest of his body in order to defend himself. Greg slipped his other hand out of Jasmine’s, was momentarily unhappily aware of the loss, then shoved the guy in the chest.

“I said, it is my business, and I will kick your ugly face in right now if you don’t back the hell up after I let go. And, if she tells me that you so much as make eye contact with her ever again, I will find you on that day and beat you like somebody paid me!” Then Greg shoved the boy by his neck so that his head bumped against the white tile brick wall with a solid thud, then released him.

All five of them went silent and still as the boy, his face red with humiliation and pain, tried to gather himself with a little dignity before leading his two jackal friends out of the hallway. Greg watched them leave, aware all the time, of how near Jasmine was to him.

He turned around to see that she was trembling and close to tears. He watched as she took a small step away from him so that she could lean her back against the same wall he’d just knocked the boy against.

He stood facing her, his eyes traveling over her face, watching the shimmer of a single tear moving down her cheek. He felt all of his emotions of rage at the three guys change, but never slacken in intensity, to a different kind of passion as he watched emotions flash across her face.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, stepping near her.

And then, much to his alarm, she dissolved into tears and leaned against him, her forehead resting against his chest. Without thinking at all, he gently enfolded her in his arms, aware of how delicate she felt beneath her black pea coat. Then she looked up at him and he felt undone by the nearness and vulnerability of this girl he’d been watching and wondering about from afar.

He dipped his head down to taste her lips before the thought of the kiss had even entered his brain. He pulled her closer to him, still gently, he hoped, and flicked his tongue against her soft, soft lips, but she didn’t open them, and he didn’t care. Just kissing her lips was intoxicating him.

Courtney and Jasmine Post 1 (Chapter 1)

Tue, 29 Nov 2011 16:45:00 -0500

Jasmine and Greg

Gregory Hoover watched, without wanting to, as the prettiest girl in his Chemistry class moved a lock of her hair behind her ear with her first and second fingers. Her hands, he noticed, were pretty, too. Her hair, light brown and softly curled, hung between her shoulder blades. She turned and her light brown skin glowed on her profile of dark eyes, soft, round cheeks, full, and tender lips. She smiled at something the girl beside her said and a dimple appeared.

Jasmine Beck glanced back at him for two seconds, momentarily stopping whatever she was saying, then looked back at the girl and finished what she had to say. Greg heard her voice, melodious and soft right now, and looked back down at his textbook. He had work to do. If he got another “D” on a quiz his grade in the class might not recover. He had a “B-” and he needed to keep it. Jasmine Beck was bad news, certainly not worth dropping to a “C” in his hardest class.

Hoe.

That’s what people, guys he knew, called her behind her back.

Later for that, he thought to himself, and tried to focus on the question in front of him. But, despite himself, he looked up at her again and found her looking directly at him, turned halfway around in her seat, passing a worksheet to the person behind her. He felt startled by her direct gaze. She was far prettier face forward than in profile, and her profile was pretty hard to beat. He swallowed, speechless.

Then she smiled at him and he felt a wave of pleasure so sure and definite that he was certain that others could see evidence of it on his face and radiating from his body like heat. And so he smiled back.

That was the thing, he thought as she turned around, she confused him without even trying. So many people he knew called her a hoe, but when he looked at her he saw somebody else. Someone special. Someone beautiful. And it wasn’t just the way that she looked. It was more than that. It was the way that she carried herself, her smile, the look in her eyes, the way that she spoke. All of that, he thought in wonder.

How could she have all of that going for her and still act like a hoe? For a moment an image from the pictures he’d seen months ago flashed in his mind’s eye and he had to shake his head to dislodge it. He didn’t want to think of her that way.

He pulled his attention back to the equation of compound elements waiting for him in his book, he didn’t want to think of her at all.

It happened again, I thought as I gathered my things and prepared to leave Chemistry class. He’d been staring at me. It was disconcerting, actually. And a little exciting, I had to admit. I tried not to smile to myself as I headed out of class. This time, I think that he almost said something. Almost. But he didn’t and I am amazed at how disappointed I am.

Greg Hoover is hard to miss. Six feet five, chocolate brown, broad shoulders, tapered waist, really, really nice build. His face is not fine, but good looking. Almond shaped dark brown eyes, a smooth perfect forehead, full lips, nice cheek bones. His body is a ten, though. Okay, maybe an eleven. And a half.

But all of that is only part of why I’m drawn to him. Much, much more of it is the way he looks at me. He looks at me as though he sees inside of me, or at least as though he wants to see inside of me.

That’s so different from most of the boys I know. They don’t want to see inside of me. All they want is to get inside of me. But maybe part of that is my fault. Maybe.

Still, whenever I think that, I get frustrated, and kind of mad. Is it my fault? Really? Do I deserve the way that boys look at me? The rumors? The messages on Facebook? The random touches when I walk down the hallway? Did I do something to deserve the way that some girls look at me hatefully when we’ve never even exchanged hellos, much less argued? Or the fact that so many more girls look at me as though they’re somehow superior to me?

And with each question that I ask myself, and I ask myself nearly every day, I get more and more upset. And I think that I know, though I’m truly not certain, that the answer is ‘no’.

No.

I think.

Well, maybe.

"I do things like get in a taxi and say, “The library, and step on it.” So cool."

Tue, 29 Nov 2011 16:42:16 -0500

“I do things like get in a taxi and say, “The library, and step on it.” So cool.”

- David Foster Wallace (via booksandnerds)

Hi. I’m a young adult writer and some of you may have checked out my first two books: Jason...

Tue, 29 Nov 2011 16:34:35 -0500

Hi. I’m a young adult writer and some of you may have checked out my first two books: Jason and Kyra or Played. Well, now I’m working on a new novel for teens and beyond, as yet untitled. And what I’ve decided to do is post parts of it as a blog.

The new story is set at Cross High School in Detroit, just like the othe two. This time there are two main characters: Courtney and Jasmine. They are sixteen year old girls, good friends, and coping with a lot. Courtney is a volleyball phenom whose mother lost custody of her and her three younger siblings so now they’re all split up. Courtney lives with her mother’s first cousin, who Courtney has always called her aunt, and the aunt’s husband. Courtney is also in love with a boy from her old, rougher neighborhood. His name is Marcel and he’s in a gang and sells drugs.

Jasmine is an only child from a stable home, single mom, her dad is deceased. However, Jasmine worries about her grandmother, who is struggling with cancer. Additionally, there are some nasty photos circulating of Jasmine from tenth grade, and these still cause her stress. Also, Jasmine is falling fast for a guy named Greg Hoover, that’s right for those of you who read Jason and Kyra, that’s Jason’s best friend.

There’s actually more, but I think that’s enough to get us started. I hope you enjoy the story and tell lots of people about it. Thanks for checking it out.

Peace and Blessings,

Dana

Rudolf Steiner quintet, with my son Omar Davidson subbing at...

Sat, 23 Jul 2011 10:58:32 -0400

Rudolf Steiner quintet, with my son Omar Davidson subbing at first violin, perform at the Ann Arbor Art Fair. July 21, 2011

Rudolf Steiner quintet, with my son Omar Davidson subbing at...

Sat, 23 Jul 2011 08:37:02 -0400

Rudolf Steiner quintet, with my son Omar Davidson subbing at first violin, perform at the Ann Arbor Art Fair. July 21, 2011

Omar at the U of M law library, 07.21.11.

Sat, 23 Jul 2011 08:23:20 -0400

Omar at the U of M law library, 07.21.11.

U of M law library entrance, July 21, 2011

Sat, 23 Jul 2011 08:20:49 -0400

U of M law library entrance, July 21, 2011

Photo

Sat, 23 Jul 2011 08:14:02 -0400

A walk in the law quad.

Sat, 23 Jul 2011 08:12:34 -0400

A walk in the law quad.

Me in the U of M law quad.

Sat, 23 Jul 2011 08:10:45 -0400

Me in the U of M law quad.

Photo

Sat, 23 Jul 2011 08:07:17 -0400

Photo

Sat, 23 Jul 2011 08:06:07 -0400

Cool kicks and classical tunes … nice!

Sat, 23 Jul 2011 08:05:02 -0400

Cool kicks and classical tunes … nice!

Jacob

Sat, 23 Jul 2011 08:03:24 -0400

Jacob

Photo

Sat, 23 Jul 2011 08:01:46 -0400

Omar and Richard

Sat, 23 Jul 2011 08:00:10 -0400

Omar and Richard

Photo

Sat, 23 Jul 2011 07:56:39 -0400

Photo

Sat, 23 Jul 2011 07:54:38 -0400