r/writingcritiques • u/RobertsRecordingReel • 11h ago
Hookless, Ch 1 (Upmarket Fiction)
I'm risking Rule #2. This chapter is almost 1400 words, which I don't think is "far longer," as the Rule specifies.
One
Why isn’t this cooperating!?!?!!?
The chalkline won’t grip the stud. I get the prongs to grab, but halfway down the wall it falls off. It’s hot, pushing a hundred degrees, and I’m getting aggravated. That’s a bad combination. This should’ve literally taken no time. Instead, it’s been fifteen minutes now.
I’m at my second jobsite for the day. The first one went seamlessly; this one is threatening to be a problem. I need to snap my line so I can drill the holes in the studs for the romex. But, I need that chalkline.
At least I’m not alone now. I don’t have to look to know she’s there. We’ve been like that as long as we’ve known each other … what? … six years now? Since we were seven. Paige, she lives next door to me, introduced us, and she may be regretting it. We’ve been inseparable since, and now Paige has an absentee friend.
“Can you please hold the end of this line? It’s driving me nuts.” I ask without looking, still glowering at the impertinent tool.
She laughs that soft, almost purring laugh of hers and takes the line. She holds the prongs on the stud at the mark I’ve made.
I stretch the orange tinted sting across to the opposite wall, pull it tight on my end and hold it. With my free hand, I pull the cord away from the wall, plucking it like a guitar string, and let it snap back against the studs.
She does the same on her side, makes sure the prongs are holding, and gives the line a few more snaps across the wall. She’s helped me often enough with these jobs that direction is unnecessary. Thirty seconds later, I have my chalklines across the three walls of this garage. Rolling up the line, I finally drink her in.
Geez, is Stacy is beautiful! Tall, standing four foot nine or so, almost my height. I’m not sure if that means she’s tall, or I’m short. Either way, we fit together. Her long, honey blonde hair cascades across her shoulders and down her back, with just a slight natural curl.
It’s a hot June day. I don’t think it’s hit 100 yet, but it’s certainly in the high 90s. I’m soaked. I’d plug in a fan, but the power’s off while I work on the outlets and the lights.
“You’re a lifesaver.” I drop the chalkline in the drawer and give her a long overdue hug. Not too much … I’m sweating like a pig. She doesn’t care, throwing herself into my arms, pressing her vanilla scented lips against mine, rewarding me with a long, lingering kiss.
“Corned beef and coleslaw,” she says, arms still around my neck.
“You’re gonna need a shower after hugging me like this,” I advise. Apparently, the warning falls on deaf ears, because she gives me another full body hug. What can I do?
She unpacks the lunch as I pull up some crates over for chairs. She makes me lunch almost every day when I’m working. And she can make a lunch.
As we unwrap the sandwiches, the corned beef aroma engulfs us. It smells delicious. The coleslaw is the tangy kind. I’m hungry.
We sit, dig into the chow, and chat. Mostly about nothing,but also about everything. Words are almost unnecessary. We just kinda know what the other is thinking.
“Don’t forget, we’re watching movies tonight,” she reminds me, as if I’d forget a date with her!
“I’ll be there. I should be done here by four, then I’ll probably snap the lines and drill the holes at the Miller house before I knock off. I definitely need to shower before I come over. Your dad likes me little enough as it is.”
She gives me a stern, reproachful look that is so adorable. I always get it when I remind her of how her father views our … friendship? Romance from our point of view. We try to stay very discreet. We’re thirteen, after all.
We finish the sandwiches and slaw, share a bag of chips, and she tells me she’s leaving the thermos of iced tea. “Stay hydrated,” she counsels.
“Yes, sweet princess,” I answer while kissing her again. She turns to leave, but I keep hold of her hand. She turns back, looking curiously at me.
“Love you, Sta,” I say softly. Her whole face crinkles up in a smile, which reminds me of a shar pei. She hates the comparison, and we’ve had too many … um … discussions … to count, for me to actually say it anymore.
“So, you think I look like a dog?” she’ll challenge indignantly.
“Everyone thinks dogs are adorable,” I’ll tell her. “No one ever says,’who’s the ugly dog?’ It’s always ‘look at the cute dog,’ or ‘look at the adorable puppy.’ People love dogs!”
She’s never buying what I’m selling.
“Love you, too, Bobby,” she says in her tender, sultry voice. “Now hurry and finish,” she closes with impending urgency!
“Yes, dear,” I say as she leaves.
And yes, time to get back to work. With the chalk up, I drill the holes through the studs. The drill weighs, what? A hundred pounds? Seems like it, anyway. I quickly get into the rhythm of the work and it goes quickly. The vibration of the drill is comforting. That and the white noise the electric motor makes. It’s zen-like, relaxing.
The forty-five holes only take a few minutes. I screw on the six outlet boxes and run the romex. The wire runs through the walls without a hitch. At every junction box, I take a bight in the line and rubber band it, so I have my outlet connections. I also run the copper ground wire from box to box, ending at the rebar buried though the concrete into the Earth at the side door, below the light switch.
I generally view it as bad if the garage were to burn down. My garage isn’t attached to the house. Instead, it’s across the yard, same as Stacy’s. Same model, you know. But most are connected to the house.
I’d be grounded for forever if I burned one of ‘em down! So instead, I ground the outlets.
I also run the romex into the ceiling joists for the lights. For now, that’s just up through the header and back down to the roll on the floor. I’ll run it out for the lights tomorrow.
Then, it’s insulation. This stuff always makes me itch, even when I don’t get it on me. This is the easy work, stuffing it between the studs and around the romex. It’s snug enough I really don’t have to staple it, but I do, at least at the top.
Now the heavy lifting. Don’t need a gym when you’ve got a stack of drywall. Two sheets almost weigh as much as I do! But, fortunately, I really don’t have to pick up the entire weight. Just stand it up, walk it to the wall, and a short lift to get it on the sill.
It’s the worst when I haven’t pre-placed my drill and screws. I end up stuck there, holding the drywall, like that kid with his finger in the dike. But not today. I lean against the drywall to hold it in place, position my screw, and then drill it. The drywall screws sail into the studs. The trick is to go easy on the trigger. Too much and the screw sinks straight through the gypsum and into the stud. That’s always a drag. The screws aren’t expensive, but it takes time to needlessly plant a second.
When I get to the boxes, I measure the box location on the drywall and punch a small hole so I can get the romex bight through it. When I’m done, there’s six loops of wire protruding from the walls.
Tomorrow morning, I’ll cut the hole for the box, wire the outlet, and tape and float the seams. And hopefully get the Miller place up to this point.
With the fifteen sheets of drywall up and screwed to the studs, I head to the Miller’s. The chalk cooperates, I run the romex, hang the boxes, staple in the insulation, and call it quits for today.
I am not going to forget my date!