Reinvention and Reunion
I’ve read a lot of articles in Magazines
and on the internet about reinventing one’s self. While I’ve never really
thought of it as reinvention, it does seem that most of us tend to evolve over
time. We usually hit a stumbling block or a fork in the road and make choices
to change or learn new things that take us in new directions.
My characters in Need Me meet in college where they are filled with enthusiastic
dreams and ideas about life. Real life, however isn’t always as wonderful as
the one we dream of, and both of them face challenges that tear them apart for
several years.
Destiny intervenes, as it often does, and
gives them another chance. Much of this story focuses on the idea that each of
us chooses a path and seeks that elusive career passion that we are meant to
pursue.
Often, the very path we focus on is much more convoluted and
treacherous than expected. Some people give up, some turn down another road,
and others keep plodding through.
No matter what the choice, I firmly believe
we always end up a better and stronger person afterward and therefore are
reinvented either by choice or chance.
Here’s an excerpt:
Six years ago…
Caroline Sanders sat in her silver-bullet gray Land Rover
outside frat house row. She loved the way the buildings looked—so clean and
perfectly manicured. Sure, the frat boys inside were party animals bent on
throwing their parents into financial ruin while they drank, chased girls, and
studied-slash-cheated their way to fancy degrees. Tonight was no exception. The
red traffic light glared at her while rap music blared from the house to her
right. Geeze, a party on a Thursday
night? Don’t they have exams like the rest of us?
She’d just finished one of the many photography gigs that
helped pay the bills while she pursued that elusive journalism degree. The
traffic light switched to green, but just as she moved her foot to the gas
pedal, her passenger door flew open and a bulky frame dropped into her seat.
Was she getting carjacked?
“Go. Go. Come on, the light’s green.” The panicked
student-looking carjacker shoved the dash as if to propel them forward.
Caroline didn’t budge. She took in the wavy, brown hair that
fell over chocolate eyes, the dimpled face that gave away a propensity to laugh
regardless of his current fear. He didn’t look
like a criminal. His clothes were clean, though tattered, and he held a can of
something in his hand. Not beer. She glanced at his gold fingers. Spray paint?
She lifted a brow then looked behind him. On the trunk of
the tree in the front yard of the beautiful house was a haphazard drawing in
gold—of a kid whizzing on the tree. How childish. “You did not just do that. What are you, twelve?”
Footsteps thundered toward the car. “You’d better hit the
gas unless you want to get blamed, too.”
The guy reached a foot over the
console and slammed his flip-flop-clad toes over hers.
Against her will, she sped through the light. He kept his
foot in place. No chance of turning at the current speed. Another green light
accommodated their escape.
A quick glance in the rearview mirror showed half a dozen
preppies standing in the street watching their taillights. Gulp. They probably
had memorized her plate number.
“You realize you just made me an accomplice to whatever happened
back there. Please tell me I won’t be tracked down for vandalism.”
The guy gave her a quick preview of the dimpled smile he
probably used frequently. “Don’t worry, I painted over your license plate before
I got in the car. You’re safe.”
Oh, that’s
comforting.
He returned his leg to the passenger seat and glanced out
the window. “You can pull over up there and drop me off. My house is a couple
blocks away.”
Caroline shook her head. “No way. You jump in my car after
doing ... whatever you did back there ... and my car is probably the only thing
all those guys remember. Plus there’s gold paint on my license plate that just
happens to match the crime scene—”
“There’s no crime ... or at least nothing serious. You’ve
read too many spy novels. That was payback. Besides, they won’t report anything
because they don’t want us to report them.”
He rolled the window down. As they passed the lake in front of the student
union, he flung the can out hard. Splash.
“Yes, and you just tossed the only thing that linked you to the artwork you left behind. Now
my gold-enhanced license plate makes things even worse. No sir, I am not taking
you all the way home. Better yet, why don’t I just circle around and drop you
right back where I found you?”
The dimples went still. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?
They’d beat both of us into oblivion.”
She gave him a look of intimidation. “Not me. I’d just tell
the truth. You, on the other hand, would be in deep caca.”
His Adam’s apple lunged. Was her ruse working? He sighed.
“Something tells me you’d get a kick out of that—watching me get schooled.” He
closed the window.
Using her best crazy eyes, she nodded. “You have no idea.”
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