The Quad Squad

by Brittany Geragotelis

Hey guys! Just wanted to let you all know that I just added the first chapter of a new short story I'm writing called THE QUAD SQUAD. It's a family drama about quadruplets who are starting to grow apart. Here's the description:

Seventeen-year-old Brewster Bay is never alone. Like, EVER. And she likes it that way. As one-fourth of quadruplets, she feels most like herself when she's alongside her sisters. But the Quad Squad just entered their junior year and everything seems to be changing. Brewster's sisters suddenly have their own interests, their own identities, their own lives...outside of being one of the Bay girls. 

Worried she's losing her sisters--and her identity in the process--Brewster begins to have panic attacks that force her to seek professional help. Her therapist suggests she take the time to find herself; Brewster has other ideas. She just needs to get them all to team up on something...rekindle their sisterhood and remind them that they're better when they're together. But in order to get the four of them to focus on the same thing at the same time, Brewster knows it'll take something big. In the end, what she thought would bring them together, might actually tear them apart.

Check it out today and be sure to tell your friends if you like it! I'll be uploading new chapters every Tuesday!

5x5,
B.

The Curious Corner--Mexico

Hi. I'm Sacha Breitman and I'd like to welcome you to my column, The Curious Corner. Now, a little about me: I'm a young guy who was raised in the fashion industry of this big--but small--city of New York. Some people may call me an airhead but I prefer to call myself a surrealist. What can I say? I'm a dreamer. I love music, poetry, books and rain. I also love meeting new people. Today I'm sharing a short story called Mexico. Enjoy!
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Mexico

I get up at 7 o’clock, walk my dog and off I go with a suitcase in one hand. I raise my other hand and a taxi stops. I hop on and tell him—while ending my demand with a please—to take me to Chelsea. I listen to The Cure on the ride there and in twenty minutes I arrive in front of my father’s apartment. I wait for him and call my friend Ryan. We talk about the gifts of life and once my dad, Gilles, and his girlfriend, Kylie, come down, I say goodbye, and he wishes me a safe trip. I say “thank you.” Gilles, Kylie and I get into a black cab that takes us to JFK airport. On the way I begin to talk about coffee, and then we slowly drift off into a sweet silence for the next hour.

We arrive at the airport and proceed to check in. We have trouble using the self-check in machine and a man approaches us. He says “You swipe your passport like this.” My dad hands him his passport and the man swipes it in the machine. The machine digests the information and we thank the man. He says, “No problem. Now all your information is in this computer—from all your past travels to this upcoming trip. By the way, where you off to?” “Mexico,” Gilles says. “Well, have a safe trip.” Off we go to customs. I decide to take a risk and not take out my computer, Ipad or Kindle. My bag passes security and so do we. I start wondering if my bag passing security is really a good thing. But that thought quickly passes with the thought of relaxing in Mexico. We decide to eat at a diner in the airport, but first I decide to stop at Duty-Free and pick up a carton of smokes. I go to Duty-Free and stare at the shelves of cigarettes. Once I ask for my carton, a young lady who worked there, charmingly asks, “How old are you? You look like a child.” I smile, trying to reciprocate the charm and say, “Don’t worry. I am a big boy.” She smiles then, asks to see my ID, and I say, “You make me feel so young.” She says, “You just turned 18.” I say, “Correct.”

I return to Gilles and Kylie and I decide to suffer by eating some gluten (I have a mild gluten intolerance). I order French toast and a coffee. The coffee tastes powdery and the French toast doesn’t taste that pleasant either. I eat it anyway and Kylie eats half of her breakfast burrito. Awful house music is playing and I get restless. I can’t stop obsessing about leaving this city. I can’t wait for Mexico. I imagine myself basking in the sun with a drink in one hand and a taco in the other. What a dream—but a dream that will soon become reality.

We get on the airplane and I sit alone in the aisle seat. After some delays, the plane takes off and once it's in the air a sense of comfort fills me—but that moment passes and I become restless. Four hours till paradise. How should I kill the next four hours? I take out my iPad and watch Good Fellas. If you haven’t watched Good Fellas, it's an amazing movie by Martin Scorsese. I implore you to watch it when you get the chance. The movie finishes two and a half hours into the flight and then I listen to music by The Smiths and The Cure. Thoughts and fantasies run through my head. The picture of me with a taco and a drink only gets more vivid. Now, the cloudless sky is drawn into my image of Mexico and also the peaceful sounds of birds ring into my ears. I check my watch but there is still another hour to kill. I fill my custom papers. I do my best to spend as much time as possible on them. I even mess up purposely and ask for another copy. When the copy comes I fill in all the information again in a lethargic manner. I finish, and then check my watch. Half an hour till landing. I listen to music by The National, but after listening to the song, Sorrow, I get depressed, and sad, and mentally I make my soundtrack for Mexico with music from The Cure, Cat Empire, Arcade Fire, and The Kinks. I then drift off into fantasy again—basking in the sun with a drink in one hand and a taco in the other. The sky is bright and blue; the sun beams its glorious light only upon me; and the birds continue to sing. Suddenly a voice says, “Prepare for landing.” Finally I pass out.

I wake up. Everyone is getting up to retrieve their bags. I begin to do the same. Then I rush into the line-shaped mosh. I check my watch. Its 2 p.m. After enough waiting, the line moves and I try to walk as close as possible to the person in front of me so no one gets in my way. I meet again with Gilles and Kylie—and at last, I have arrived! We walk as fast as possible. The three of us are smiling bright. The exit is near. Then all three of us frown. Right in front of us is a massive crowd of tourists trying to get through customs and delaying our road to paradise. We look at each other with frustrated faces.

The Curious Corner--A Life of Dreams

Hi. I'm Sacha Breitman and I'd like to welcome you to my column, The Curious Corner. Now, a little about me: I'm a young guy who was raised in the fashion industry of this big--but small--city of New York. Some people may call me an airhead but I prefer to call myself a surrealist. What can I say? I'm a dreamer. I love music, poetry, books and rain. I also love meeting new people. Today I'm going to share another one of my short stories. Enjoy!
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A Life of Dreams

I love the sound of rain splattering upon my air conditioner. I don’t know why—but it makes me feel warm and comfortable—and grateful that I am not sleeping outside on the streets. Those nights—no matter how boring they are—are always the most memorable. Even though the rain has ceased to beat upon the air conditioner, I can still hear the tapping sound in my mind. “Everything’s okay,” the rain seems to say. Only if I could believe it. I am a skeptical person.

The lonely nighttime has now passed. Should I invite the sun in? I don’t think so. I’d rather the sun mind its own business and stay outside. I sit on my couch and take out my ovation guitar. I then play some melodic chords but then The Cure lodges into my mind and I begin to play Just Like Heaven—then my phone rings.

“Hello.”

“Hey,” someone says.

“Who’s this?” I do not recognize her soft voice.

“Its Janie.”

“Oh. What’s up?”

“Nothing, just got up.”

“Me too. You want to meet for breakfast?”

“Sure. Where?”

“You decide, Alex.”

“Le Pain?”

“Be there in thirty.” She hangs up.

I brush my teeth, dress as nicely as one could in ten minutes and walk to Le Pain while listening to the Smiths.

You shut your mouth, how can you say, I go about things the wrong way?

When I arrive at Le Pain those lyrics still linger with me. I repetitively repeat the lines. How can you say, I go about things the wrong way? Janie isn’t here yet. I get a table for two and sit down on the far corner facing the glass door. Suddenly a middle-aged man sits down in Janie’s seat.

“Excuse me sir, someone’s sitting here.”

“Well, where is that person?”

“She is still on her way over, but I assure you she’ll be here shortly.”

“Well, may I sit till she comes?”

Trying to be polite I smile grudgingly and say, “Yes of course.”

“Why thank you. Call me Dave. What’s your name?”

“Alex.”

“Like Alexander the Great!”

“I guess so.”

“May I tell you a story about my gruesome life? —don’t worry it is a very short story.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“My father was a cab driver and my mother was a fool. They met one fine day when my father picked her up in his rented yellow car—and nine months later, I was born. They were a careless couple—but aren’t all couples carless? I never saw my father and my mother died when I was ten. I remember staring for hours at my window—oh is that your friend?”

“Oh yes that’s her,” I say.

“Well, I’ll be on my way. Thank you for listening.”

“Anytime.”

Janie slowly cat-walks my way. She is a model—but so is every decent looking girl now a day. Anyways, I think she’s prettier than a model can be. I always fail to notice the clothing she wears in her ads—and sometimes she is not even wearing any. It’s actually a problem. Every time I talk with her I picture her naked. I can’t help myself. She sits down.

“How’s it going?”

“Swell. You?”

“Good. Glad to see you.”

“You too.” I order a coffee and she orders a quinoa salad with chicken on the side. She is one of those health-freaks.

“We need to talk,” she demands.

“About? Haven’t seen you in quite a while.”

“Yeah, I know. I am not sure if it has been too long or too soon."

“I guess we’ll find out. What is it you want to ask?”

“Did you never have any feelings for me or were you just angry that day when you said it? I can’t stand not knowing.”

I wonder if I should tell the truth, lie, or make an attempt to avoid this subject. You shut your mouth, how can you say, I go about things the wrong way? The Smiths run through my mind again. “Did you ever care for me?” I ask defensively.

“There was a time when I did—I mean I tried and tried and tried to do anything I could to please you for some time. Wasn’t like it mattered to you.”

I stare so hard at the door that my vision gets all fuzzy. Then I say, “There was a time when I cared for you.”

Janie smiles, looks up and then walks out. In confusion I continue to sip my coffee.

Curious Corner--Hour of Distress

Hi. I'm Sacha Breitman and I'd like to welcome you to my brand new column, The Curious Corner. Now, a little about me: I'm a young guy who was raised in the fashion industry of this big--but small--city of New York. Some people may call me an airhead but I prefer to call myself a surrealist. What can I say? I'm a dreamer. I love music, poetry, books and rain. I also love meeting new people. Today I'm sharing one of my short stories with you. Enjoy!
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Hour of Distress

I have been waiting now ten minutes for her response. My hands and feet are cold; my heart is beating so fast that I feel as if I would soon have a heart attack. I bet you she won’t text back! How ridiculous my text was to her… I asked if she was free sometime this week—but the way I asked it… Maybe she’ll just yell at me. I’d rather her yell at me than ignore me. I couldn’t live another moment not knowing if she hated me. I don’t blame her. Sometimes I don’t like me too—but she has always been so friendly. I hope she likes me. I really like her. Please God! I am trembling! Janie please text me soon! I am begging you.

It has been the longest twenty minutes of my life. My hands are still cold—if not colder—and my heart is still racing. Come on Janie please sedate this pain and text me. I’ve checked my phone countless amounts of times and still you haven’t replied. I’ve just received a text! Please be Janie—please be Janie… Raphael! I felt an evanescent ease, but once I saw it was Raphael—Oh it vanished like the wind and my hands and feet grew only colder. I won’t answer Raphael’s text. I am too consumed to ever text again. Until Janie responds I may never write again. But I should do something to get my mind off her. Awaiting her call is poisoning me. It is like one of those suspenseful movies that end during a cliffhanger. I always leave the theatre in confusion wondering if the protagonist will live happily or die miserably. It is a distressful state to leave a theatre in! My hands get cold and my heart also races during those movies. Speaking of movies why not watch some television. That would be a good idea. I will do that. But where is the remote? It is not under the couch and neither is it in the living room. The horrible thing about modern technology is that it only gets more complex. That is not good for the user is it? I do not know how to turn on my TV without a remote. There used to be an on button that one would have to push; but since everyone including me now own flat screen TVs, the button is impossible to find. I also can not search for it in such an obsessed state! Maybe I just need some sleep. No no! I cannot sleep with this heart of rancor! It keeps me restless by beating me into that fight or flight mode. That selfish prick! Thirty minutes now! I don’t know how much longer my heart could beat this way! Maybe if I call Jesse my mind will be relieved of Janie.

“Hello.”

“Hey, what’s up Jesse?”

“Oh you know. Just relaxing and eating a turkey sandwich. You?”

“Um. Nothing much. The same—except I am not eating a sandwich, but what a good idea that is. Maybe I should eat something.”

“Yeah, eating is good. I like to eat.”

“I bet you do Jesse.”

“You hanging out later.”

“I can’t—maybe. Depending if Janie likes me or not. If she does I will see you; but if not I’ll probably want to be alone tonight.”

“Uh, okay. Good luck?”

‘Thanks. I’ll talk to you soon!”

I devote as much time as possible to the making of my sandwich. Just so you know I am a man of extravagance. I love to create lively meals—but only meals that one can prepare in less than five minutes. After five minutes, it is no longer fun for me to cook. But anyways, I am going to combine the roast beef with the honey cured ham and salami. I’ll then add some lettuce and tomatoes and a touch of Dijon mustard. Voila! A masterpiece! But she still hasn’t text me back! Well, fortunately I did kill a good ten minutes—but now she is back in my head. What to do now… Eating the sandwich may kill a couple more minutes. And as you may expect from a sandwich that was materialized by an extravagant character like me, the sandwich tasted pretty bad. Fortunately, I dropped it and then my dog ate it. Oh! Thank God. What a miserable time I had eating that sandwich—but now that the sandwich is gone from my mind; Janie is back. It has now been an hour with no answer. What an ass she is. Actually, I don’t even care to ever hear her response! If I had the luxury, I’d throw my phone right upon this very wall, but I will need it later. Janie can hate me all she wants. I’ll just ignore her back! I swear to you, reader—my phone rings! It must be her. Oh it is her and she wants to meet too! She doesn’t hate me! She loves me just as much as I love her! I bet she needed that hour to think of what to say to me. But what should I answer back? Maybe just give her a mere, “Sounds good;” or should I say something funny? Everyone loves something funny...