NYC Midnight Round Three

I did not place in the third round. I am not completely surprised. I could see the weak parts of my third round story. To be fair, I had forty-eight hours to write it, and for some reason it was just being stubborn. I wasn’t fully happy with it, but I ran out of time. With even one more day and a higher word count, I think I would have been good.

Romantic comedy is one of my strengths, too, so to know I couldn’t win on this was kind of a blow. Then I remind myself I got to round three because of a horror story I wrote, so I guess there is no rhyme or reason. I was not feeling the story while I was working on it.

So…yeah. I didn’t expect to place in the top five. I read the story that got first and it absolutely deserved it. I was blown away by its’ cleverness. If anyone had to win, I’m glad it was that author.

My feedback was interesting. It seemed the three judges really loved it. They were gushing in the positive feedback part. On what the judges thought I should work on, however, they pointed out the obvious flaws that I’d already clocked. But one judge went the extra mile and gave me a lot of great advice to turn this into a full length novel. They gushed over everything and want to see this whole relationship played out from meeting to getting together.

What’s funny is I actually thought about making this into a novel. Despite being pains, I loved my characters. I love the concept. Even before feedback, I’d messed around with character sheets for the two mains, and I really want to play around with the story and see what comes out (no pun intended).

Anyway, my prompts were:
Genre: Romantic Comedy
Character: Gymnast
Subject: Tech Savvy

Enjoy! I’d love to know if you would read a full length novel grown from this!

Surely, You Can’t Be Serious?

“How should I sit?”

I peeked over a lighting ring I had just plugged in. Its soft light gave a warm glow to the skin of the man next to a pommel horse. “Why would you sit?”

Blake looked at the horse. “Aren’t I talking first?”

“Just stand there while you explain.”

Blake grinned. “You’re the expert, Trevor.”

I snorted – not an elegant or flirty sound at all. “I can plug things in and get them to work,” I said, ignoring the way Blake’s grin turned sly. “I’m no expert at staging.”

“You’re a Media major,” Blake pointed out.

“Doesn’t mean I’m creative,” I retorted.

My tone wasn’t the best way to entice Blake, but his outfit was distracting me. It was too tight and left little to the imagination. I certainly didn’t need those little smiles and bright eyes either. I had a job to do and a pain in my heart to ignore.

Blake was the star of our gymnastics team. I was not a star of anything. My major was technically New Media at the university, but I wasn’t creative enough to make stunning graphics or Cannes-worthy films. I was more interested in the equipment and designing production facilities – more a Media Engineer than a Media Creative. 

The rise of influencers gave me a unique opportunity for a side gig. Many fellow students aspired to be the next viral star. I helped them. Even though they annoyed me, I was happy to take their money and hook them up with a streaming kit to make their dreams (not exactly) come true. None of my clients had become famous, but it wasn’t because their setup sucked. They did.

For whatever reason (I didn’t care), the gymnastics team decided to jump on the viral video bandwagon and create a streaming channel. Who would watch a semi-decent team of gymnasts tumble, spin, jump, and dance their way across the screen was a good question. But they gave me money. I gave them an online presence.

The channel got a decent number of views for a small university team that never won championships. It may be the fact that their team only recruited people with perfect smiles and mediocre talent.

Here was my issue. I’m a certified nerd. Right down to the ill-fitting clothes and heavy-rimmed glasses that slipped down my nose. I’d never learned to style my hair. I wore khakis and anime t-shirts. My backpack was as big as my torso. I spent my mealtimes arguing the merits of Star Wars shows, Marvel Superheroes, and why My Hero Academia was better than Naruto. 

My brain – my logical and dependable brain – knew I had to stay in my lane.

My libido never got that message. I thirsted for jocks. Crushed on completely unattainable men. I’d tell myself, as I sat with my friends at the university cafeteria, that I should develop feelings for one of them. Then, say, the soccer team would stroll by, punching and shoving each other in grass-stained shorts and dirty knees, with a whiff of hard-earned sweat, and my hormones would react so violently I couldn’t eat my baloney-and-cheese-on-white-bread sandwich.

The newest crush was Blake – Captain of the gymnastics team and perfect stud. If I were creative, I could write yards of poetry about his eyes and smile or, more importantly, his broad shoulders and thin waist. Instead, I treated him distantly and with disdain to protect my stupid heart from the cruelty of my hormones.

Blake, who I found was an easy-going sort, took it in stride. The bastard seemed amused by my caustic barbs and frowns. The worse the things I said, the louder he laughed. I could downright insult him and still those blue eyes (of course, they were gorgeously blue) would shine as the skin around them crinkled. 

I assumed he was one of those jerks who get off by picking on the littler, weaker guy, unaware that he was damaging my psyche and my self-esteem. The ‘nice guy act’ was getting on my nerves because I knew he was softening me up for something. I didn’t believe his interest in my interests for a second, no matter how many times he asked me about them.

We constantly worked together. Blake starred in most of the videos we had done for the stream. Someone had the boring idea of showing gymnastic things. The girls tumbling. The guys swinging on the rings. All of it. I could not care less because it’s not like I’d jump up to the rings and swing around with my noodle arms. 

Unfortunately, when demo’ing the men’s events, Blake always seemed to be the one to gyrate around me. This did nothing to help remove my crush because his damn outfits were just so. Damn. Tight. Not to mention the way Blake seemed to flirt constantly with me.

It had gone on for weeks. We’d done a handful of videos together. Most of our time was me insulting Blake to protect my heart and Blake poking at it.

“Want to jump up on the horse?” Blake asked after he’d finished spinning around on it for the camera. He patted the leather as emphasis.

“No. I think you do better riding it,” I snapped. 

“I think you’d probably be good at riding something,” Blake said. 

I didn’t like the little leer he gave me as he said it. “I’ve never even ridden a horse.”

Blake chuckled. “We can fix that. My family has a few horses. You should come home with me sometime.”

What the…  “Of course, your family does.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Means you’re a rich boy. Poor boys like me don’t own horses.”

Blake shook his head. “We’re not rich. Just comfortable. My sister is a champion rider.”

“Too bad you’re not a champion gymnast.”

“Ouch,” Blake said, affecting a pout, but I could see the laughter in his eyes. “You’re always so mean to me.”

I shrugged, turning my attention to the camera setup. I hoped Blake would shut up because I didn’t need this today. I had a damn exam to study for after this.

“Trev,” he said. Another thing that annoyed me. Use my full name. I knew he knew it.

“What?”

“Why won’t you go out with me?”

I froze. There was static in my ears, and I felt my heart stutter. Blake had made jokes suggesting that over the past few weeks, but I couldn’t take it seriously. Why would a jock be interested in a dork? A male dork at that. My luck was never such that a hot guy would be into nerds and be a sexuality that leads to two boys banging each other.

“Trev?”

“You never asked,” I said through clenched teeth.

“I ask all the time!”

I snorted. “Right.”

“I’m serious.”

“Doubtful,” I said.

“Why do you think that?”

“I don’t like being made fun of,” I snarled, ignoring his question. For the first time, Blake looked hurt, if I went by the way he frowned. It was a strange look on a face made for smiling.

“Who’s making fun of you?”

“You are,” I accused. “I’m just here to do my job and you keep setting me up for a prank.”

“You honestly think that?”

“Of course I do. Why would you want to go out with me?”  I pointed to myself. “I’m. A. Nerd,” I added, slowly, to get him to understand. I mourned my heartbreak and the loss of money from the gig after Blake booted me off the project.

Blake pursed his lips, which was adorable. “Why? I think you’re funny and nice. You make me laugh.”

“I insult you all the time!”

“But it’s funny! You’re smart. Interesting. Cute as fuck.”

“Now I know you’re joking.”

Blake laughed. The asshole actually laughed. Then he closed the gap between us to stand in front of me. I noticed for the first time that we were nearly the same height. “Cute as fuck,” he repeated in a softer tone, reaching up to tuck an unruly piece of hair behind my ear. The gesture shook my secret romantic heart to the core. “I mean it.”

“Surely, you can’t be serious,” I said with a quiver in my voice. Blake looked serious, even with that evil, amused gleam in his eyes.

“I am serious,” he said, then with an impish grin, added. “And don’t call me Shirley.”

I groaned to stop the laugh that wanted to bubble out, even as I was pleased he knew the reference. “That was lame. Why would I go out with someone who makes lame jokes like that?”

“Cause I’m asking nicely? Please? Pretty please?”

I imagined that Blake got his way most of the time with that pleading look. As he kissed me, I thought, ‘Who am I to say no to it?’  A damn lucky nerd getting to live the nerd/jock trope. That is exactly what I was.