so many mini-stories and scenes pop into my head & i have absolutely no time to develop them into full novels so I'm making a book of one shots.
This book will feature people that I feel should be utilized more in fanfics or be casted in leading ro...
I was getting acquainted with Stephen, a brown-skinned guy who had a cute southern accent that reminded me of Ms. Tricia with a cute face to match. His facial hair was perfectly lined and his eyes were a beautiful dark brown that naturally glistened. He just had a certain light in his eyes and warmth in his smile that pulled you in and made you feel welcomed. He was also a childhood friend of DeAndré, meeting him in church and going to middle school and high school with him.
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I was getting to know him over a drink and a conversation that was originally on the topic of food and the church service earlier— how great it was for everyone to watch D get behind the piano and organ again. Speaking of him: DeAndré was somewhere, either helping on the grill or getting more beer—I don't know. What I do know is that everyone at this function has been really welcoming and inviting.
I instantly felt as if this was my second family, drawing comparisons between his uncles and mine. It felt like I was back at home.
"So, what do you do for a living?" I inquired. "Teach," Stephen nodded. "Really?" my head tilted a bit. "Yeah. I teach general music— you know, teach them music theory and how to read sheets— and I direct the choir at the local high school," he nodded. "That's so cool. Teaching is great. I mean, I wouldn't do it because that's just not me, but. . . it takes a special person to teach and relate to kids. Teachers honestly have the potential to change a kid's life," I nodded. "Word. My old English teacher really changed my thinking and—"
"DeAndré! Oh my gosh! It's been so long, baby boy," the most obnoxiously loud, nasal-y voice broke my focus and immediately pulled me out of my conversation with Stephen.
I nearly snapped my neck toward the sound, just as everyone else around me did. Across the room, DeAndré was hugging this woman, her feet off the ground as he spun her. The widest grin was plastered on both of their faces, and I couldn't help but notice how she had on the same dress I changed out of before meeting his parents yesterday.
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"Who the hell—" "That's Mary Jane. She grew up with us," Stephen answered, his eyes still stuck on her as D put her down and she kissed his cheek. "I see they were close," I mumbled before sipping from my can of Sprite. "Yeah. First loves," he nodded.
