Hi everyone! Hope you're all having a supercalifragilisticexpialidocious summer!
To celebrate and make this party extra special, here is the EXCLUSIVE first chapter to my new story, Locker Room Talk. The prologue and description are now available on my profile joecool123 ☺
I also have GIVEAWAYS! I wrote the story "No Capes" which is about Superheroes and is *super* (ha) fun, so I came up with some No Capes-themed surprises for y'all. If you RT or Regram my post about this on Twitter or Instagram, you'll be entered into the winnings! (And so so so sorry, but due to mailing restrictions this is only open to U.S residents :( )
You can also find the completed No Capes on my profile.
Thanks for being you and being here and please enjoy!
Joe Cool (A.K.A Elizabeth A. Seibert)
Locker Room Talk
Chapter 1 – Kate
None of this would have happened if society weren't so goddamn addicted to coffee. But we are, and while that can't be helped, it led to what we to refer to as, "The Starbucks Incident." (Well, one of many incidents at Starbucks. That place is a magnet for drama.)
It happened when my roommate and I decided to splurge our internship money on delicious diabetes with ice: caramel frappuchios.
"I love seeing everyone come back from the summer," Jen commented as we stood in line. "It's like they're all deciding who they want to be this year. Brand new Sperry's? Aspiring frat guy. Traded the android for the iphone X? Recent investor in the S&P 500. Three-colored leggings with a matcha latte? Upping her social media game. Flannel shirt over a crop top? Holla for being too-cool-for-school."
"Jennifer Palmer," I replied, "Always up to par with the pigeon-holes."
"Kate Stone," Jen fired back at me, "Always ready with the driest sarcasm known to mankind."
"Human kind," I corrected her and Jen rolled her eyes. I gave the barista my order. "And I'm going to take that as a compliment."
"As am I," Jen slid her cat-eye sunglasses down her nose, peering over them movie star style. Jen was a communications major, which at any other school meant she'd be streamlined into either an advertising or entertainment agency. But at Cardinal, it was more likely that she'd become the next Press Secretary of the United States. Or a candidate for the Pulitzer prize.
Jen's favorite "game" was to make people think she was inferior to them. Or so she told me one Thursday night after several shots of whiskey. But it wasn't just a game she played. It was a weapon.
I followed her to the second floor (yep, two floors) of the café. The first floor was reserved for foot traffic that wanted to get in and get out, while the second floor was for people to make an afternoon out of it. Filled with plush armchairs, tables with wireless charging pads, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the square, this Starbucks was the destination for first Tinder dates and quality gossip.
"It's good to be back." I slouched into a sofa hidden in the corner of the room. "If I had to teach even one more SAT summer class I would've needed to update my Ritalin prescription."
Which, I could say, because my parents started unlawfully giving me Ritalin when I was taking SAT summer classes.
"That's what you get for your perfect score." Jen played with her straw. "It was just as boring here. My fellowship was 8 to 8, a.m to p.m, and most people on campus were here for some high school program." She said high school like it was decades beneath her, though it had only been three years ago.
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