Girl, Unplugged

YA Novel Chapter 1 | 15 minute read

If I am really going to be honest about releasing my story hoard, the only true way to commit to this is to release some of the mammoth stories in my collection — meaning the novel-length pieces that currently live only in my mind and on my hard drive. The story GIRL, UNPLUGGED may be the most famous of these tales. I took this story to Pitch Wars in 2016, worked with author Austin Aslan on polishing it up to bring to agents by the end of that year, and then faced a huge personal life interruption that stopped me from taking it any further.

This story was inspired by so many things and is one I hold dear to my heart. The first three chapters have been out and about on the Internet for a long time, so I will share them with you, in succession this weekend in celebration of Valentine’s Day coming on Monday as there is a lot of teenage-crushing happening in this story worthy of the holiday. Moving forward I will release the chapters of this book weekly until it’s conclusion. (I will do this on a different day of the week so that you still can have new short stories every Friday.) If, at the conclusion, this is a journey you have enjoyed, then we can dive into another novel project!

Ladies and gents, brace yourself for the YA of it all… Here is Chapter 1 of GIRL, UNPLUGGED.

created by Nicole Rivera using CanvaPro

CHAPTER 1: Detention

Posted to TALIA’S TALES  

Oct 5 @ 3:12PM 

I was minding my own business, peeps. Sure, I had my phone out. And, sure, we all know that’s not the way of their world here in the hallowed halls of academia, but what’s a girl to do with a phone threatening to transform into a metal and plastic brick within moments?

Action had to be taken! 

A charge was needed!

This girl required connection!

I even did my best to perpetuate the fraud —THE LORD OF THE FLIES was open (and to the appropriate page!) on the top of my desk. All was well with the world. I was sure of it.

I was wrong. 

The curmudgeon — let’s call him “Mr. G” — says, “You know the rules,” while pulling my phone by its charge cord (what disrespect!) off of my lap. Then he tells me, “You can get this back at detention this afternoon.”

What?!

Wait. That’s not even the best part. This guy does all of this while brandishing his own phone on some dorky-ass belt clip in my face.

Is he for real?

You guys all know a guy like this, right? Tell me I’m not alone. Well, actually I am. I’m in detention all alone. Surrounded by computers all tuned to some science news about the sun. 

Send help, my peeps. Entertain me. I am in your hands for the next hour, let’s connect. 

~Talia 

#unplugged #helpmeimindetention #sendhelp #entertainme  #theMANisgettingmedown

Approximately 23 seconds after publishing the post, it was a lie. I was no longer alone. I grabbed my phone, thankfully revived by the outlet it had been plugged into at the computer station so I could listen to the Screaming Jellyfish album my best friend Amy gifted me the night before, and texted her immediately, “MAY DAY! MAY DAY! In detention. CD  is here!”

For the uninitiated, CD is short for Captain Distraction. Captain Distraction is code for Matthew Murphy, the boy I had been crushing on for almost two years. He was a beautiful mystery. His brown skin betrayed the ethnic representation his name announced and the gene pool his father contributed. His mother’s bloodline won the genetic battle in the same way my mom’s had with my little brother, Roger. He looked at me with his dark brown eyes, gave a nearly imperceptible nod of detention solidarity, and walked to the back of the room. I watched him go, focused on regulating my breathing, and forgot about all of my virtual plans for the hour. Quick question: At what point does keeping a crush secret become pathetic? 

My phone buzzed, whipping me out of my stupor. “Don’t disappoint me, Nat. Be Talia!” Amy was convinced that I had two personalities — the one I presented to “the real world” — Natalie Turner — and the one I presented to the virtual world — Talia Turner. “Talia’s Tales” was the name of my Tumblr page where, aside from participating in countless fandoms, I shared my own writing. I had a tendency to be super social, open, and witty with my online connections, pretty much everything that I am not in school and my day to day living. Amy is the only person on the planet who has truly seen both sides of me. It is for this reason she can make outrageous demands like “Be Talia!” She knew there was a difference, and she knew I couldn’t deny it.

However, simply saying “Be Talia!” was not enough of a direction for me. What did she want from me? Would she be pleased if I stood up and recited some of my poems about Matthew Murphy? Or perhaps write something new — on the spot — about all the feelings I was experiencing at the moment, and then shoot it over to him in the form of a paper airplane? No and no. Not happening. Sorry Amy, Talia’s sleeping, my phone is barely charged. I sent her an eye rolling emoticon with the text, “I’ll try.”

"Some really fascinating news today, guys!" Mrs. Krimble, queen and gatekeeper of Staten Island Prep’s detention, sang to us. She was an unfortunate victim of the subject she chose to teach. She was trying to entice us with science-y news, and I don’t think she even meant it as part of the punishment. I’m not joking. I handed her my detention slip, gave her a polite smile, and plugged my ear buds in. I wasn't trying to be rude. I knew I didn’t need to know what the "fascinating news" was because I knew it wasn't going to be fascinating to me. 

I did a quick glance at the rest of the room to see exactly where Murph ended up sitting. I have a problem; this, I know. He was sitting in the back of the room. He had pushed the keyboard aside and pulled out his sketchbook. Murph is an incredibly talented artist. I don't have any talents like that, so I find it amazing.

“Matthew, would you come back up here, please?” Mrs. Krimble was so loud standing right in front of me that I heard her over Mermaids in the Moonlight (supposedly Amy’s second favorite song on the Screaming Jellyfish album). “Bring that with you.” Mrs. Krimble gestured toward Murph’s sketchbook. I muted my music like a good little crushing stalker does, so I could hear everything he said when he got back to the front of the room.Murphy carefully closed his book and walked up to Mrs. Krimble’s desk. He stood right in front of my computer. I should have been worlds away listening my way to Matchless Burn (Amy’s favorite song on the album), or scrolling through all I missed in my virtual life during these past couple of hours. I should have been typing feverishly on my blog, responding to comments, and adding gifs. I wasn’t. I was listening for Murph. I was watching Murph. I call him Captain Distraction for a reason.

Mrs. Krimble asked to see his work. He opened up the book and flipped past sketches of various imagined creatures, superheroes, and landscapes before stopping on a blank page. A purple brochure fell out of his book. I leaned over to pick it up. It was from New York University.

I tapped him with it, motioning that it fell out of his stuff. "Wha-- Oh,"  he said, "Mr. Chaucey thinks I should submit a portfolio to their art school."

"A what?" I said, pulling out one of my ear buds, but Mrs. Krimble had already grabbed the brochure, and Murph’s attention, before he could respond.

“Are you kidding me, Matthew?” She flipped through the brochure and smiled in excitement. “What are you going to include?”

"A bunch of my sketches," he flipped through his book, "You know... to see if they'll give me money or something." I thought of how awesome that would be, though my heart was sinking thinking about the future where I couldn't stalk see him every day in school.

“Have you sketched any live models?” Mrs. Krimble asked.

“Not really…” he said, flipping through the sketchbook as if something would pop out to answer the question.

“Well, then, you should sketch Natalie,” Mrs. Krimble said, “for practice.” The blood ran out of my face and into my stomach when she turned and winked at me. 

Murph turned and looked at me, “Her?”

Ohgodohgodohgod he doesn’t know who I am! I was mortified.

Then he stammered on, “I mean… you mean now?” He shuffled his feet and looked like he might be blushing. I hated that Mrs. Krimble was embarrassing him like this. Why was she forcing him to even take notice of me? And what did that wink mean? I looked at him and shrugged, hoping to convey, “I don’t know what’s she’s talking about,” with my silence.

Mrs. Krimble was already around her desk and down the row with the rest of Murphy’s belongings in her hands. “Yes! I am in charge here and I say your detention assignment for the next hour is to get practice in by sketching a live subject. In this case, one Natalie Turner.” With the utterance of my name she flopped Murph’s bag on the seat next to me. “Young man, you get over here and get to work. Miss Turner will not mind being your model for one hour because – oh yes, that’s right – I said she would not and – to recap – I am the one in charge here!”

I was beginning to think that someone spiked the coffee in the teacher’s lounge. Mrs. Krimble was in her typical carefree jubilant mood, but, for once, it had nothing to do with science. It was clear she was having a blast. Still, I wasn’t sure how Murph felt about it. His face was unreadable as he walked around and took the seat next to me. My phone, concealed under my desk, was clutched tight in my hands. I was ready to text Amy about this real-life conversation I was sort-of having with Matthew Murphy, but then I was stunned into inactivity. I couldn’t tell her. Not now. Now he was here. 

He exhaled, opened his sketchbook back to the first empty page and finally — with a crooked smile — said, "Thanks, Natalie.” All types of butterflies flew through my insides hearing him say my name. Then he looked over to my Tumblr page on my screen and said, "So…You think I could sketch you? You know... for practice."

At that point I knew I was blushing. I felt the heat flow through my cheeks and rise all the way up to my ears. I clicked the power button on my phone and set it on the desktop, took my ear buds off and placed them on top.  “If you want to…" I said in a voice so quiet I wondered if I only thought it.

"Matthew and Natalie, let's not waste the whole hour, okay?" Mrs. Krimble interrupted the closest thing I had to a romantic moment in years, "Plus — remember," she added in a whisper, "no talking."

I gave her a thumbs up over the computer screen, feeling my temperature regulate back to normal. Then I turned back to Murph. He tapped his pencil to his sketchbook and then pointed it to me, miming this question again. I wished there was a way to make a gif of this moment to share with Amy via text, and the world on my Tumblr page with the tag line This is how he looked at ME today. 

I nodded to him, he winked, and my heart sighed. He tilted my chin slightly. I was facing his computer screen, still on the Scientific American home page. I read it just to keep my heart inside my chest.

Here's what I learned: space nerds that spend their life staring at the sun (I thought that was really bad for you to do) say that the bright spots they saw yesterday were brighter than any other bright spots they ever saw before. There was some sort of solar storm (Shouldn't it always be sunny there?) causing bright spots that may be sending stuff to the Earth (Uh... light?). 

I didn't want to ask Murph to scroll down because: 

1. I was starting to feel normal and didn't want to get re-flustered.

2. I didn't think the article was going to get any more fascinating than it had already proved to.

Instead, I stared at the picture of the sun and wondered if today was a good day to get a tan. And then, in some quiet space in my brain a soft voice asked, What would Talia do?

Going home I replayed the end of detention over and over again in my head. It went like this: Murph asked to take my picture so he could finish the sketch at home. Then he asked for my phone number. (Here’s where it turns crazy-amazing) I, being quite audacious in my response, said (I still can’t believe it), ”Sure — a pic for a pic and a number for a number." I have no idea where the courage came from. There was only one logical explanation: Talia showed up! 

As I waited to cross Richmond Terrace, I texted, “You’re going to be so proud of me,” to Amy, and then waited a couple of seconds before following that up with the selfie I took with Murph and his sketch-in-progress — she wasn’t going to believe it.  

Amy didn’t text back. She called. I didn’t answer. I mean, I was out in public, on the street, walking home — who the heck wants to hear all of my nonsense out there? I hit the autoresponder message using a custom message I had created for these occasions saying, “In public.” 

She texted back with, “Ur killing me,” and the side-eyed emoticon. 

“What,” I texted back, followed by, “Ever,” and the emoticon with his tongue sticking out. It is what it is. I am who I am. Amy knew better than anyone, that wasn’t her precious Talia walking down the street! 

Amy and I met in preschool. We were inseparable until Hurricane Imelda tore our lives apart. Growing up my parents would always tell my brother and I about Hurricane Sandy, how they struggled, how homes were lost, neighborhoods destroyed. We were both too young to remember. My parents never thought anything like that would ever happen again on Staten Island. They weren’t alone. Everyone thought that. Everyone was wrong. After Hurricane Imelda my parents never had to tell us about Sandy again. We had our own destruction to remember. However, we were not physically affected by the storm. Our house was fine. We lost power for a couple of hours. In all the time the storm passed through, my life was barely inconvenienced. Amy, on the other hand, had to be evacuated from her home. Thanks to Hurricane Imelda,  the ocean decided it was taking over her block. Eventually her family gave up on the rebuild and moved to south Jersey. Amy lost everything and I lost her. I missed her so much. Thank God for technology.

I spent the rest of the walk home texting back and forth with Amy, explaining the entire event. I could tell you there were complete sentences. I could say I did not employ the use of gifs. I could even say that I did not have to stop walking a couple of times just to regain composure from laughter. I would be lying. Amy was extremely proud of me. Shocked, but proud. “My little girl is all growed up without me,” she concluded with a tearful emoticon. I loved this girl so much.

Later, while I was tweeting my way through an episode of Wolf Nights with the cast and crew, I received a text from a number that was readily identified as "Murph" in my caller ID. I gulped and prayed I was equipped to handle what came next. It said,"What do you think?" and was attached to a picture of the completed sketch. It was amazing. Let's count off why:

1. Matthew Murphy spent his entire evening looking at, and thinking about, a picture of me.

2. It really looked like me. Really.

3. The background details — my iPhone, my ear buds and one of the computer screens including a detailed sketch of the sun and it's solar flares — were flawless. 

It was easy to see why Mr. Chaucey thought Murph could get a scholarship for his skills.

"Wow!" I wrote back, adding an emoticon for full effect.

Seconds after it was sent — before I could even text Amy for any kind of consult — my phone rang. It was him.

Oh no! I tapped through the autoresponder messages. There was the custom “In public” message I typically used for Amy. Well, that made no sense to anyone else, and would probably make me sound like a freak. The next on the list, “Can I call you later?” Oh hell no. That wasn’t happening. Next, “I’m on my way.” What?! I felt beads of sweat forming around my brow. My intestines flipped. The last message — Why is it last?! — said, “Sorry, I can’t talk right — ” Too late. He hung up before I could even read the thing. 

I felt sick. I stared at the phone as the “Murph missed call” message appeared on my screen. I waited for the inevitable follow up buzz and message indicating my doom: a voicemail. What would he say? He has to know the phone was in my hand — I just texted the word “Wow!” to him. I added an emoticon! He knew, and now he had to be judging me. Ohgodohgodohgod —

Verrrrt. It buzzed. The vibration in my hand nearly caused me to rocket the phone across the room I jumped so high. The flinch caused me to grip the phone tighter, so I looked down and, between my fingertips, I did not find a voicemail notification. I found a text.

Inhale. I breathed in audibly. And exhale, I let out a long, deep breath with the same breathy noisiness of a snoring beast. 

“Hey. Sry Mrs. K forced you into this. Thx for letting me sketch you," the text said.

I read it. I re-read it. Okay. I typed, "You're welcome.” I thanked the techie gods that blushing was not translated through text. 

“Guess there wasn't really anything else to do,” Murph responded immediately. He was not rereading texts. Then he sent another, “But I’m sure you would have found something online.” 

I scrambled for what to write back. He was right, of course, I could always find something to do online. In fact, I had virtual plans when he walked into detention! But would admitting to that make it seem like that’s what I wanted to do? Would it make me seem cool? What would Amy say? Based on earlier in the day I figured she’d tell me to be Talia, so I thought about that. Talia loves the online world, but given this opportunity, would she admit defeat? 

Murph interrupted my search for a response with, “Mrs. K had other plans.” I guess he felt the need to fill in the silence my circular thinking dragged us into. Maybe the still text made him nervous. God, I was so bad at this stuff.  He continued, changing topics completely, “You think I should color it?"

At first I was confused. I scrolled back, what were we talking about again? Did I mention something that needed to be colored? Then it hit me. I was stunned. He wants to spend more time on my picture? I didn't know what to say.

"I don't want to ruin it," he kept texting. I read it, he buzzed in again, "I really like it." There was a longer pause after that text, but I didn’t bother trying to clog his brain with any of my entangled thoughts. "I'm coloring it!!!!” So many exclamation points! "I'll scan this first…” I waited for more. "and I'll need to take more pics of you…” What?!?! "Okay?”

What would Talia do? What would Talia do? WWTD?

“Sure.” I threw my phone across the room the second I hit send and threw my face in my pillow. No turning back now. It’s out there. Murph and me, together, for some picture taking. Whatever the heck that means.

Verrrrt. He was responding. Where’s my phone?

Verrrrt. Verrrrt. He was writing a bunch. Ohgodohgod it was all a joke. Where’s my phone?! Beneath the curtain to my window, I saw the light of my phone screen illuminated. I jumped down to the floor to accept my doom.

First text: “Cool.” 

Second: “See you tomorrow.”

Third: “You rock, Turner.” 

I stared at my phone. What just happened?

And one more buzz in my hand, "See you on the ferry." 

The ferry? The only reason either of us would be on the ferry is if we were going to the city. Why would be going to the — OMG! It hit me all at once. The trip the museum! No wonder Mrs. Krimble was extra giddy during detention — it was the eve of our annual trip to her Mecca, The New York City New School Museum.

I got on Skype to chat with Amy. I needed as much advice as possible. It needed to be face-to-face talk. I was about to spend the entire next day with Matthew Murphy.

Posted to TALIA’S TALES 

Oct 6 @2:46AM

Have you ever seen a picture and thought to yourself, “Damn. That’s beautiful?” I’m an ordinary girl (secret’s out!), but an artist’s rendition of my features, brought to life by his hand — a hand so full of talent and vision that it must be a work of art itself — gave life to a blank page in a way I never thought possible. It gave life to my blank eyes, my plain skin, and my tortured hair. I saw Talia today, my peeps, and I hope I am someday brave enough to show you what she looks like.

~Talia

#beautyredefined #meetTalia

Leave a Comment #entertainme

First, thank you for reading this part of my novel GIRL, UNPLUGGED. A new chapter will be posted tomorrow, are you looking forward to it? What day of the week would you prefer to get your regular GIRL, UNPLUGGED fix? Are you a YA fan? Head to the comments to let me know and chat it up.

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