VERY MILD SPOILER ALERT FOR A FOX OF STORMS AND STARLIGHT. It’s a minor explanatory thing that comes out in chapter 9 of Fox Book, which provides motivation for a major plot point that happens in chapter 12 (there are 49 chapters).
Scroll down to skip all the backstory and just read Chapter 1 of New Shiny Story <3
About a month or so ago, I started writing something which might have been the sequel to A Fox Of Storms And Starlight, and might not have – I wasn’t sure at the time.
It features Mina’s younger sister and her… looks, Imma say boyfriend, m’kay? That’s a VERY MILD SPOILER for Fox Book.
Anyway, it’s about Sunny and Kevin, who have always been planned point-of-view character for A Stag Of Hope And Memory (Storm Foxes #2), so when I started writing I wasn’t sure if I was writing book 2, or if I was writing a spin-off novella about the two of them.
Turns out, not only was I writing spin-off novella about not-the-main-characters of Fox Book, it’s also a prequel, and it’s a straight contemporary romance, not a contemporary fantasy >.< Oops.
Writer me is much pleased with the story, but OMG marketing me is having nightmarish fits about HOW ON EARTH WE MARKET A PREQUEL TO THE SERIES THAT HAS DIFFERENT CHARACTERS AND IS AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT GENRE. Oy.
However. Once Stag Book comes out, the novella will hopefully be linked more clearly to the main series: Stag Book will feature all four protags, with Fox Book as Mina & Zac’s “backstory” and Rose Book as Sunny & Kevin’s “backstory”. Plus, even though it’s technically contemp. romance and has zero fantasy aspects in it, there IS a nod to the magic source of Fox Book if you’re watching for it, AND the tone is very similar. So if you liked Fox Book, you’ll probably like Rose Book.
…Why am I calling it Rose Book?
Right. Because the title is officially now A Moment Of Roses And Sunshine 🙂 And because I can’t actually release it until after Stag Book (in order to avoid confusion with the main series; at the moment it’s slated for an April 2022 release), I thought I’d share the rough draft with you guys as a “Happy holidays, we-made-it-to-the-end-of-2020” present!
CONTENT NOTIFICATION: Kevin’s point-of-view scenes have a lot of swearing. Sorry-not-sorry. But maybe don’t read if the f-word offends you.
Also, this is an unedited draft. Feel free to let me know in the comments if you spot typos etc, but yo: unedited draft, so read accordingly.
You Have Been Warned. 🙂
1: Kevin
It’s Tuesday. First Tuesday of the year. The school year, anyway. I’m in the history room and it’s fucken hot. The air conditioner broke over the holidays—some jackass smashed in the control panel, thought breaking into school’d be a fucken hilarious way to spend their holiday obviously, fucken genius—and I’m up the back of the classroom, obviously, and the morning sun’s streaming in through the big, wide windows, heating me up like I’m a pig in an oven.
Stinks like the room’s full of pigs, too, even though they’re supposed to clean the school properly over break.
I glance at the posters on the walls—Socrates and Plato, Caesar and Stalin, Captain fucken Cook right next to Eddie Mabo as though that’s not still racist as fuck because hey, look at us, we gotst us a poster of a black fella up there.
Fucken school.
Fucken Cook.
So anyway, it’s the first Tuesday, right? First time we’ve had history this year, so the teacher’s calling the roll like he’s never seen any of us before, like the school isn’t only 400 kids to begin with, like he has no clue who we are and even less care factor. I’m only half paying attention, preparing myself to die of boredom for the next six hours, when the teacher begins:
“Sunny Bright.”
Sunny Bright? The fuck kind of name is that? Some parents are just fucken cruel, man.
I crane my neck around to see the poor schmuck who’s been saddled with that name.
It’s the Asian chick over at the side by the door, sitting in the middle row with huge, brown eyes and her black hair pulled back into two neat braids. I’ve seen her around, but she looks like she belongs more in Year 8 than Year 10 and she’s never been in any of my classes, so I never paid any attention.
But I also can’t deny she looks like her smile might just light up like the sun.
Suddenly, all I want is to be the one to make her smile.
It’s been a while since I wanted something like this, something good, something wholesome, and it takes me a minute to plan my attack.
Absently, I respond to my name when the teacher calls—Kevin Wallace, last on the list every time, except that one year Avery Zanis was in my class—and wait for him to turn his back.
Doesn’t take him long. It’s always been his modus operandi to spend the first ten minutes of class making us copy down notes that he puts up on the board in laborious, angular handwriting. Looks like chicken shit.
I flick a ball of paper at Sunny Bright.
It catches in her braid for a second before dislodging and rolling down her shoulder.
She doesn’t even notice. Too busy copying the teacher’s notes, though her blondie friend next to her isn’t having any trouble keeping herself entertained: her phone’s out, snuck in behind her giant sequined pencil case, one of those ones that change colour if you rub the sequins back the other way, the ones girls are losing their shit over these days.
If I came to school in sequins, Sunny’d probably smile.
For a brief second I actually contemplate it—wouldn’t be the stupidest shit I’ve done, though I haven’t done anything that attention-grabbing since Year 8—but nah. First up I wouldn’t know where to get that amount of sequins, and second, I’m too impatient—to glue them all on, to wait for her smile.
I don’t want to see her smile in a week when I’ve concocted some brilliant, flashy plan.
I wanna see her smile now.
Attention. I need her attention, without getting the teacher’s attention too.
What can I do?
The bin’s over by the door. Hastily, I shred some more paper from my exercise book, nest it all up in a wad in my cupped hands, and carry it across the room, weaving in and out of desks and chairs.
Dickwater—real name Richard Clearwater but who’s gonna contest—sticks his leg out and I do an ungraceful hop to avoid tripping on him. I flash him my teeth.
He smiles, politeness and honey distracting from the daggers in his eyes.
Any other time, I’d let him have it, but I’m on a mission, and he ain’t got shit on Miss Sunshine Bright.
I dump the paper shreds into the bin by the classroom door, catching the scent of something soft and floral. Something about it just reels me in, and before I know it I’m standing staring at her, slack-jawed and all, like a complete fucking moron.
I shut my fucking mouth right as she glances up at me from her work, and those deep, dark brown eyes are like magic and I just want to soak in their gaze for the rest of my life.
She frowns, and for the first time in my life I’m ready to give in, to run, because I don’t wanna be responsible for making her look like that, not now, not ever.
But her cheeks flush prettily and she puts her head back down again, copying more of the useless shit from the board.
It’s not that I have something against history.
It’s that I have a whole lot against racist pricks being paid to teach it.
I shove the distraction aside—I’ll take a photo of the board later or something when he isn’t looking so I’ve got the notes, because even though people here’d die if they knew, I do actually want to pass my classes so I can get out of this shithole.
With an effort of will, though, I shove all that aside and focus down on Sunny. Her writing’s smooth and effortless, like maybe she practises a lot or something. She seems like the type that would keep a journal, maybe, shy and quiet and cute.
Can’t spook her.
Don’t spook her. She’ll never smile if you spook her.
Suddenly, inspiration hits.
I swivel back and snag a couple of scraps of paper from the bin by the door. A roll there, couple of twists here…
There. Pretty little paper rose, bit scrappy around the edges—but then again, so’m I.
I slide the rose onto her desk as I head back to my seat—been standing by the door too long, gonna draw attention to myself if I’m not careful.
I go right to the back of the classroom and head along the window so I can avoid Dickwater’s legs this time, and the whole way across the back of the room the sun from the window burns against my arm. It’s early February, and it’s been a scorcher of a summer.
Back at my desk, I take a seat and glance over to Sunny.
She’s staring at me, like really staring, a strong, unwavering gaze I’d never’ve expected from someone like her.
It makes my stomach twist a little, not in a bad way.
It’s kinda hot, man.
I lean back, real slow, fold my hands behind my head and give her a little upward nod, just a small jerk of my chin. Hey there, it says. I see you looking.
Her lips twitch.
She lifts the rose to her chin, twirls it once or twice between her fingers. “Thanks,” she mouths—and the lines of her face soften, her sparkling eyes crinkling, a dimple coming to life in her cheek, and she’s smiling, and fuck me if it isn’t really brighter than the sun.
She turns, long, dark lashes sweeping down as she goes back to her work, and I’m left feeling like I just took a hit of crack, and all I can think about is how much I loved it, and how much I want it some more.
Keep reading: Chapter 2