Jump to content
LL Medico Diapers and More Bambino Diapers - ABDL Diaper Store

Internet Star (Ch 9 posted 11/28)


Recommended Posts

I began this story about 18 months ago on another site, but have never (I think) posted it here. I thought I would continue it. I hope you enjoy it. ?

 

 

1. “You need a gimmick”

The video ended, and Geneva felt her life was ending with it. All she wanted to do was play it again right away, but Naomi was waiting. It was Naomi who had shared the video, TimTom’s latest, and she was hanging online, awaiting her friend’s reaction.

Geneva lay back on her pillow and clicked to Skype. “Oh my God! I am so in love with TimTom!”

“I know,” Naomi said. “He’s pretty amazing.”

“He’s everything,” Geneva said. “I think he’s my absolute favorite YouTube star right now.”

Naomi paused. “Well, I’m not sure I’d go that far.”

“Naomi! You just said he’s amazing.”

“I know, and he is,” her friend agreed. “But do you like him more than, say, Badass Branford?”

And here we go again, thought Geneva. It was going to be another one of their patented silly conversations, the kind that might go on forever and accomplish nothing but somehow made life with Naomi so much fun. Thursday they had spent over two hours Skyping about comic book movies; God, we’re such total geeks! But it was hilarious...and she’d discovered that for some bizarre reason her friend actually liked the DC universe more than the Marvel one. She’d always known Nay loved Wonder Woman, so in some way she understood, but really? Overall? No way! X-Men, Avengers, Guardians of the Galaxy?  And don’t even start about Deadpool! What else did DC have? Aquaman? Yeesh.

“Well, Branford’s really funny,” Geneva allowed.

“Just ‘funny’?” Naomi said. “His editing alone may be the best on the net.”

“Sure, he’s good at some tech stuff, but he’s just not as talented as TimTom. Plus TimTom’s way cuter. I could watch him forever. ”

Naomi paused thoughtfully, assessing her friend’s position. “Well, I’ll certainly give you the cute thing. But you really think he’s the most talented?”

“Of course! Don’t you?”

Naomi was not about to lose a second consecutive argument. Besides, she had an agenda and she needed to find a way to swing the conversation to where she wanted it to go. There was a reason she’d sent that video, and it wasn’t just her friend’s love of TimTom.

“OK,” she said, “devil’s advocate here: he sings really well and all, and he’s undeniably good looking, but why hide behind the split personality gimmick?”

Geneva was taken aback. She’d never heard her friend diss TimTom before. “Hey, I thought you liked him!”

“Oh, I do, I do. I’m just surprised that he’s your absolute fav, that’s all. What about AcaManics? They’re completely awesome in their singing, and their videos are brilliant and creative and funny too. And you turned me onto them.”

AcaManics were actually one of Geneva’s favorite music groups; she’d even seen them live on tour a few months back when they came to town as an opening for Kelly Clarkson, who was pretty great herself. And Kenny, the super gay member of the group whose voice was a higher soprano than Callie, their one female singer, was so cuddly she wanted to take him home.

“OK,” she admitted, “maybe I’m over-reacting. AcaManics are probably better.”

“Wow, did I just win? That was way too easy. But you weren’t over-reacting, Girl,” replied Naomi. “You were reacting with hormones instead of synapses.”

They both laughed, and they both knew she was right. TimTom was not only hot as a YouTube artist with his quirky videos that featured his tenor Tim half dueting and comically fighting with his baritone Tom half; as both of them acknowledged, he was undeniably “hot” as a teen sensation as well.

“Yeah, well,” Geneva said, “you wouldn’t kick him out of bed either.”

“Hey: gay here!”

“Oh. Right. Sorry,” Geneva said, chastising herself for the momentary lapse. But Naomi just laughed.

“Kidding! I may be gay but I’m not blind. I just acknowledged his good looks, right? Of course I’d hold onto him, if for no other reason than to call you up and get you to my house as quickly as possible!”

After they had calmed down from that one, Geneva asked, “Well who is your favorite?”

“My favorite Youtuber?”

“No, your favorite porn star. What have we been talking about?”

“Oh," Naomi replied. "Well, my favorite porn star is Peter McLongdick.”

“Cute." Geneva raised her eyebrow. "Anyway, I’d think your favorite would be his sister..”

True, but guys' names are more fun. Brenda Bigboob just doesn’t have, you know, the same zazz. As for my favorite Youtuber…” She hesitated. She thought she was out of the conversation when she won the argument, but of course Genny would turn it around. It was a favorite tactic on both sides, and one of the things that made their long conversations so much fun. Agendas will need to wait, she thought. Choosing a favorite from all of the Youtubers she watched regularly, though, was hard. “I guess it would be a tie between AndyReid and Kalana.”

AndyReid was a very popular artist who made videos featuring pop music that he had rearranged into multi-part acapella harmonies, sung by multiple boxed versions of himself. Some of the “Andys” beatboxed; some of them sang the various choral parts. Sometimes he costumed his various “selves” and made the entire video into a sort of choral dramatic presentation of the song’s story. Always, however, the singing itself, in Andy’s pitch perfect voice, carried the video and made it work.

Kalana’s work made use of multiple versions of herself as well, but the structure changed from one video to the next. She was a mimic, capable of making herself sound like practically any female artist and quite a few male ones. She had two main kinds of videos: the first involved her, in elaborate costumes and sets, singing a popular song split among 20 or so “artists,” shifting smoothly from one set and costume to the next as a new artist picked up a new set of lines; the second had her using the boxed screen structure that AndyReid used and having many cartoon, fictional, or real personalities in the boxes doing essentially the same thing.

Geneva replied, “Well it’s easy to see why you can’t choose between them. Both great, and so similar. I kind of like Kalana better.”

Aha! An opening! Naomi thought, and she pounced on it.

“Of course you do,” she said.

Geneva was puzzled. “What does that mean?”

“Just that you’re probably attracted to all of the Disney stuff and the other cartoon characters she does.”

Something about that sounded like an insult to Geneva. “So? Why does it matter that I like them? I mean I like TimTom too, and not in a childlike way.”

Naomi shook her head. “I didn’t mean anything. I think it’s cute how much you still like to hang onto your childhood. Marla Houston couldn’t wait to throw hers out the window.”

“Marla Houston? That slut? She’s slept with half the junior class. Why bring her up?”

“Because she’s probably the only one in the class who’s as small as you, except Jori, and Jori’s a dwarf.”

This time Geneva did feel insulted. “So because I’m smaller than other girls I should, what, assert my adulthood by dressing like Marla Fucking Houston?”

Naomi knew it had been risky to mention Marla, but it was necessary. “Hey, hey, I’m sorry. I really wasn’t trying to be insulting, but I can’t seem to say right things tonight. You know I love you, right? I mean you’re my BFF. I would never want to hurt you.”

Geneva paused a moment and then said, quietly, “I know.”

“So, OK, then. All I was saying is that you still openly like that stuff. A lot of us do. Hell, Miley Cyrus made a video in a onesie sucking on a pacifier holding a teddy bear. Cuteness is in. I just meant that it also probably shows a bit of personal strength when someone who is cute and quite a bit smaller than her classmates does it.”

“I don’t suck on pacifiers.”

“You know what I mean.”

It was time to slow down and see where the conversation went naturally, Naomi decided.

Geneva, for her part, was through being angry at her friend. She shifted her position on her bed so she was more comfortable, and then said, “Well being short and 'cute,' as you say, isn’t exactly helping me in life, you know.”

Naomi looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve told you this before. Boys don’t really take me seriously, as much as I want them to.”

“Right,” Naomi said. “You said they always seem to treat you like a little sister or something.”

“At least it feels that way. Maybe I’m just imagining it because of my size and general lack of breasts. But I know what I’m not imagining, and that’s the parts in the musicals: I’m the best singer in the class—you know I won that competition—and a good dancer, but I never get anything other than chorus parts. They can’t see me as a lead.”

“Yeah, that sucks.”

“It does. I wish there was something I could do about it.”

Annnnd...Naomi thought, we come to the moment we’ve all been waiting for. She let herself appear pensive for a minute and then said, “What about your own YouTube videos? How are they doing?”

“About as well as any girl-with-guitar videos do. Which is to say I get some likes and some good comments, but I’m no Kalana.”

“Yeah. You need a gimmick."

This time it was Geneva who was confused. "Didn't you just say gimmicks are stupid?"

"They are, but they work. People like Kalana make millions, you know.”

Geneva stopped. “Wait. Millions?”

“Hell, yeah. You didn’t know that? YouTube is a freaking printing press for money. You know that idiot girl who yelled at the audience of that talk show last month?”

“The one you can’t even decipher because her accent is so awful?”

“Yeah, that one," Naomi said. "I read she’s monetized that one stupid line she said to the tune of a million dollars.”

Geneva was shocked. “Are you kidding me? That total moron who can hardly speak a complete sentence? A millionaire?”

Naomi shrugged. “That’s YouTube.”

“Wow,” Geneva said. “Well that just sucks." She was quiet for a moment: life was just unfair. "Anyway" she said after a bit. "I need to go. I still have homework, and Mrs Stiles doesn’t like late papers.”

“OK. Take care.”

“See you tomorrow. And thanks for sharing the TimTom.”

“No prob. Love you!”

“Love you too! Bye!”

The two girls logged off their Skype session. Naomi was certain she had piqued her friend’s interest in her videos once more. Her channel had been dormant for several months, with nothing new added, and all Naomi ever heard from Genny were these complaints about being overlooked. And it was true: the girl had so much talent, and she was terrifically underappreciated at the school. It was shameful. Naomi had been her friend since elementary school. Back then, when everyone was her size, Geneva had indeed received the majority of the leads in anything the school put on. (Naomi smiled remembering the production of Annie they both were in, the one during which they had first met. Naomi had been one of the anonymous orphans; Genny had, of course, been Annie.) But then middle school came and everyone else started to grow, and soon the parts were handed out to other girls, girls who had taken second and third leads before, girls who were objectively not as strong as Geneva, but who looked the part better.

And for years now Naomi, as Genny’s best friend, had listened to her growing bitterness about her lot in the Bensington High School drama world. Ever since the Freshman Play, Geneva Whitmore had been relegated to the background, where both of them knew she didn’t belong. And when she won that blind voice competition last spring, they both saw it as almost a kind of “Fuck You” to the teachers and directors and fellow actors who had not believed in Genny. And they both had thought things would change. Of course, they didn’t: this fall’s casts came and went, and Genny once again was where she’d always been.

Naomi, however, believed she had finally come up with a way to get her friend’s talent out to the masses and let her voice be heard, and maybe even get her a lead at school if things worked out. And if she could make them both some money in the process, all the better. If she played her cards right, Genny would see it as a good idea as well, even though there were a few things about the idea that she might have to work through first.

Geneva rolled off of her bed and headed to her desk with her laptop. She’d tried doing her homework lying down many times; it didn’t work. Lying down was internet play time; sitting up made it work time. She opened her online English folder to find the assignment. Not too hard; that shouldn’t take long, she thought, and started typing. But for once the bed/desk separation wasn’t helping her. The conversation with Naomi kept replaying in her mind, and she found herself staring for long intervals at the blank screen instead of writing about Oedipus.

Damn it.

She couldn’t fight it, and she didn’t feel like lying down again, so she let herself violate the sacred desk space and clicked YouTube open once again. She looked up the moron girl (which, amazingly, she found when she typed in "moron girl on Dr. Bill show") and watched the video of her interview. She was there with someone else—her mother?—and Dr. Bill was asking her something about her life. Why was this girl even on the show in the first place? She mumbled something unintelligible in that absurd accent of hers, and someone in the audience responded to it. And then she turned to them and said the line that kept getting replayed, the one that sounded like “Meshew ousside n saydat agin.”

She’s getting a million dollars for that? Life was really unfair.

Geneva clicked to her own home page and called up one of her videos. 397 likes: not bad, certainly, but it wasn’t going to make her a star. Probably all people who knew her at school.

She let herself scroll down the comments section. Predictable. Mostly her friends saying how much they loved it. A few trolls sexualizing her; she skipped those. A bunch from people she didn’t seem to know who just enjoyed the video and wanted to say so; that was nice. But there was another group that interested her. It wasn’t a large group, certainly, only maybe six or seven comments scattered throughout the thread, but they were there, and when she double-checked she found they were all from different accounts. They weren’t trolls; in fact, they were complimentary about her playing and singing. What stuck out in these posts was that each of them seemed to assume that she was a whole lot younger than her 17 years.

“You are absolutely amazing for someone so young,” one read. “You’re going to be a star when you grow up.”

Another, in a similar vein, said, “Geneva is such a pretty name, and you have such a pretty voice. I hope to hear more from you when you get to high school.”

The others were like these. And when she checked her other videos she found, on each one, similar comments. Some were from the same users, but others were from new ones. In all cases the commenters loved her but thought she was a little girl with a huge talent. It wasn’t the first time people had made that mistake, but it got her thinking.

“'You need a gimmick,'” Naomi said. Well, that would definitely be a gimmick, but she had no idea if it would work, or if she even had the guts to try it.


 

 

  • Like 6
Link to comment

2.  Are you out of your mind?

“You want to what?” Naomi said, staring at her friend in astonishment, her lower jaw refusing to reconnect the halves of her mouth into a single unit.

They were sitting at Starbucks sipping Lattes. Naomi had been a bit surprised when Geneva had asked to go to this one, as no one came to this Starbucks, but now she understood. The fact that no one came here was precisely why they were here. This was not a conversation Genny wanted overheard.

“Genny, are you out of your mind?”

Her friend just smiled and took another sip. “I don’t think so. Maybe? But consider it: You said I needed to find a gimmick if I want to make it big on YouTube. And you also commented about my size and ‘cuteness.’”

Naomi shook her head. That was not where she thought Genny would take this. “Yeah, but I didn’t mean—”

“Wait,” Geneva said. “Look at this.” She opened her laptop and called up one of her videos, already scrolled to a section of the comments where two of the strange remarks were visible.

“Read these two comments, Nay. There are lots more just like them.”

Naomi took a moment to read the remarks and then looked up at her friend, who was intentionally sitting with the most adorable, innocent expression she could muster. All Naomi could do was burst out laughing.

“Is it that ridiculous?” Geneva asked.

Still laughing, Naomi nodded. “It’s pretty ridiculous, Genny. I mean these comments are one thing, and your size is one thing, but you’re talking about putting yourself on YouTube pretending to be a child.”

“Why not? Some of these guys already think I am. And pretending to be a child who can sing like me and dance or play guitar in videos might be just the way to get known.”

“You can’t do that!” Naomi said firmly. “It’s...it’s fraud. Or if it’s not, it should be.”

They sat quietly for a couple of minutes sipping their drinks while Geneva thought about what Naomi had said. Could it really be fraud just to pretend to be a kid? Putting it that way made the answer pretty clear.

“Shit,” she said. “I thought I had an answer.”

“That’s not the answer,” said Naomi. This was getting very uncomfortable.

Geneva nodded. “You’re right.” Then she added, “damn it.”

Again they were silent, with Geneva’s disappointment clouding the table. It was pretty obvious that she had wanted this conversation to take a different path. Now she found herself, as always, on the outside looking in, and the only sound was the occasional clinking of cups against the table.

As for Naomi, the whole thing had been a shocker. Genny wanting to pretend to be a little girl? She wondered if she had somehow triggered this and if she needed to take charge of the situation and defuse it. After a few minutes, she broke the silence. “Don’t you think it would have been pretty embarrassing?

Geneva nodded. “I guess so. I mean I wasn’t really thinking about that, just the possibility of becoming famous and making money from my singing. You know how frustrated I’ve been about not getting any recognition.”

“You won that Junior Class Honors Award.”

“Yeah. And it helped feed my ego. I guess it will look good on a college app, but I need something to make me feel better about my talents right now, not in college. I guess I could try out for things outside of school, but how little would I look then? I’d be compared to the real world, not the high school world. I’d be lucky if I could get the little kid roles.”

Naomi reached across the table and took her friend’s hand. “I knew you were feeling bad, but I had no clue it was like this. I never would have started that conversation last night if I knew it would lead to—”

Geneva shook her off. “This isn’t about that. Well, not all of it. You just lit a fire under some things that had been simmering on their own for a long time. And when you told me how much money people make on YouTube…”

“You’re really fixating on that.”

“Hell, I don’t know why everyone isn’t fixating on that.”

Naomi nodded. “OK, you may have a point. But to humiliate yourself? You’d be totally recognizable, and people like Lara Miranda would have a fucking field day.”

“Who cares what she says?” asked Geneva. “I don’t live my life worrying about Lara Miranda.”

“I thought you did. Didn’t you just complain last night about not getting leads? Well she’s the one getting a lot of them.”

Geneva shrugged. “I know.”

“So you want to go on YouTube dressed like a middle schooler everyone still knows is you, and you think this is going to help somehow?”

“Maybe,” she said. Then, reconsidering, “I guess not. Anyway, I don’t think I’d have felt humiliated at all.”

Naomi was silent for a moment, trying to figure out her best path. “What do you mean? You’re 17 and you’d have been appearing as like a pre-teen.”

Geneva shrugged. “So?”

“So how can that not embarrass you?”

“Naomi, look at me. I mean seriously. We joke about it all the time, but imagine my life. How many times a week do you think I hear comments about my size? How many times do you think I hear someone mistake me for someone a lot younger? Do you think those YouTube comments were the very first time? I didn’t expect them, but they didn’t exactly shock me either. I get this shit all the time.”

This was a side of Genny she had never seen anything of before. And she thought she knew her friend well. But then she had parts of her life Genny had never seen as well; she guessed everyone did. “I had no idea.”

“That’s because there’s nothing I can do about it, like there’s nothing you can do about being gay. It’s just a fact about my life, so I deal. What good would it do to complain? I long ago got over the embarrassment of being seen occasionally as a pre-teen. I just roll with it. Hell, I’ve been known to play along sometimes.”

Naomi studied her friend. “What do you mean?”

“Well, for a simple example, Mom and I went to a restaurant last weekend, and the hostess offered me a lollipop and a children’s menu. Mom was about to say something, but I was feeling silly, and I happen to like lollipops, so I took them and we went to our table.”

“You ordered off the children’s menu?”

“What can I say? I like chicken nuggets.”

“How did your mom react?”

“Oh she just laughed. It wasn’t the first time and it surely won’t be the last.”

Genny plays little girl and her mom lets her, Naomi thought. It seemed so...unlikely. But it didn’t change the facts at hand right now.

“How does it make you feel to do that?” she asked.

“Actually, when I’m with my Mom and I do it, it’s a fun game. I like it when the waitresses think I’m like in sixth or seventh grade or something. It’s like, for a while, years of responsibility are lifted.”

“How about when people make a mistake elsewhere?”

She took another long sip of her latte, and it occurred to Naomi that it was an odd thing to be doing while talking about pretending to be a little girl. “Whatever. No harm, no foul.”

“But you understand why you can’t do this thing, right?”

Geneva looked down. “Yeah,” she said. “No, I get it. I hadn’t thought of it before, but I can’t make money pretending to be something I’m not.”

Geneva stared at her drink, and Naomi’s mind rushed around to places she had never really contemplated before. This was uncharted territory, but something told her it was worth a try.

“Genny?”

Her friend looked up.

“What if I said I might have an idea?”

Geneva’s eyes opened wide, and her face followed them, her expression an invitation. “I’d say tell me what it is already!”

“You might think it’s weird.”

“I just suggested pretending to be a pre-teen. I think weird is in my wheelhouse.”

“OK then,” Naomi said. “But please remember that I’m offering this as a professional suggestion only, not as something I think about you personally.”

“O...K,” Geneva said slowly. “That’s a bit foreboding.”

“No, it’s nothing bad. I think. Oh hell, I’ll just spit it out: I’m thinking of a variation of what you were suggesting earlier.”

“But we can’t do that; it’s fraud.”

Naomi shook her head. “It’s only fraud if you’re pretending to be something you’re not. I’m not going to suggest that. In this suggestion, no one knows you’re Geneva—you use some other stage name—but you are still 17 years old.”

“But?”

“But you are dressed and perform as a little girl.”

This time it was Geneva shaking her head. “Don’t you think I thought about that? I mean those comments thought I was young with no outfits at all! But I just didn’t think me dressed in middle school-ish clothing was much of a gimmick.”

“I totally agree,” Naomi said.

Geneva was completely confused. “But I thought you said—”

Naomi gently put her finger to her mouth and whispered, “Shhh.” Geneva was quiet, stunned a bit by such a command from her friend, who went on, “I said you would be openly 17. I did not say you’d be dressed as a middle schooler.”

“OK, now I am hopelessly lost,” Geneva said. “First you say you’re offering a variation of my plan, but now you’re not?”

“I am. You would not be dressed as a middle schooler. You’d be dressed a lot younger.”

Geneva was silent. After a long moment, she asked, “How young?”

Naomi shrugged. “Negotiable. I was thinking maybe three or four?”

“WHAT?” Geneva said so loudly it was almost a yell, actually standing up in her shock. But Naomi had expected that reaction, so she remained perfectly calm.

“Take it easy, Genny. Sit back down and don’t make a scene. We’re just talking here, remember?”

With several deep breaths, Geneva sat back down. Then, in a harsh whisper, she asked her friend, “Are you nuts? Three or four?”

“Let me explain, OK?” Naomi kept her voice calm and her eyes locked on her friend’s eyes as she spoke. “I told you: I’m not in any way saying that you look or act that young in real life. That would be idiotic and way incorrect.”

“Damn right.”

“So...what I am suggesting is that by playing a character who is little more than a baby, you would be creating an obvious parody that no one could reasonably expect to be real and therefore can’t be fraudulent. And as a gimmick, a baby singer is pretty high concept, I think.”

Naomi watched as Geneva turned that over in her mind.

“Doesn’t it make sense, Genny?” she asked.

Geneva nodded, reluctantly. “I wish to hell it didn’t,” she said, and resumed drinking her latte.

 

  • Like 6
Link to comment

This a really cool concept Kerry. Excited to see where this goes :) But why do I suspect ulterior motives on Naomi's part? :D  @kerry

Link to comment
1 hour ago, YourFNF said:

This a really cool concept Kerry. Excited to see where this goes :) But why do I suspect ulterior motives on Naomi's part? :D  @kerry

Hmm... You may have something there. Or not. I'm not saying.  ?

Link to comment

That was fantastic. I tried to give it a like and just got them back but apparently I only get to give 1today. Still you have me hooked with this story. I am loving it and the promise of things to come have me very intrigued. I can’t wait to see how they transform a small teenager into a toddler girl singing sensation. 

Link to comment

(3) This can’t be good

 

Geneva was lost in thought. A baby singer. That was so far over the edge that she found she could hardly imagine it, but Naomi was certainly right that it was about as high concept as you could get. There were other girls on YouTube, girls in their twenties, whose personas were pristine, doll-like creatures who could be any age from 13 to 16; she’d seen them. This would just be a comparable age drop, right? But it was such a strange idea.

“I don’t know, Naomi,” she said. “I mean it makes sense in the abstract, as a concept, but I don’t know if I could do it.”

“Oh come on,” said Naomi. “You said it felt good to pretend to be little; well, this is just pretending to be really little.”

Geneva looked carefully at her friend. There was something about Naomi all of a sudden that suggested that she was not revealing absolutely everything about this new plan, and Geneva wanted to know why.

“What exactly are you picturing, Naomi?”

Naomi smiled. “OK. Don’t react.”

“This can’t be good.”

“That was a reaction. Now listen: You would wear considerable makeup so we can hide who you are. Your hair would be in pigtails, with maybe a bow. Your clothing would be a really adorable toddler-style dress, ankle socks, and Mary Janes. And you’d be very clearly wearing a diaper along with rhumba panties.”

Geneva startled at that, and Naomi held up her hand. “Of course what you wear would vary from video to video, but that’s the basic vein.”

Geneva counted to ten. “You are nuts.”

“No, I’m being perfectly serious. You could talk to your public in a babyish lisp, maybe, but you’d sing in your absolutely glorious 17-year-old voice, maybe with a small tweak to hide your identity. And you’d do some kind of signature sign-off at the end that takes it back to your persona. I think you could be a megahit.”

Her eyes closed, Geneva tried to picture it, but every time she got to the costume the internal video went all fuzzy. “Where could you even find clothing like that? I may be small, but I don’t fit into Toddler sizes.”

This was the part that Naomi had dreaded, but she was asking her friend to accept a huge risk, so she felt it was only fair for her to accept one as well. OK, she thought, here goes.

“I have some,” she said.

Geneva was beginning to think she was lost in a really bonkers dream. What did her best friend just say?

“I said I have some,” Naomi repeated.

“Yeah,” said Geneva. “That’s what I thought you said. I don’t understand.”

Naomi went on. “I’m really trusting you with this, Genny. No one, and I mean no one, knows about this. You are absolutely the first.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There are some people who are like you, who enjoy shedding responsibility by pretending to be younger, but we take it a lot further." She hesitated before going on, as if unsure what her next words should be. "To feel the full release of stress," she continued, "we need to try to remind ourselves what it was like to be as young as... toddlers... or even babies."

She waited for some reaction from her friend, but Geneva just stood there as if she had not understood, so Naomi added, "As a group, we’re called Littles.”

Geneva blankly repeated the word. “Littles.”

“Please don’t judge me, Genny. I’m praying you don’t judge me. It’s just a part of me that I can’t change, like being gay.”

“But you don’t share it.”

“I do...but not in real life.”

Geneva paused to absorb that. “You mean online.”

Naomi nodded. “Yes, There are several communities where I hang out." She found herself suddenly racing as if her life depended on getting an explanation out. "I actually enjoy playing both toddler and caregiver. That’s the one who takes care of the baby; I think that’s why I love babysitting so much, though in all honesty part of me is also jealous of the kids.”

Again the table was silent for an uncomfortably long time, but finally Geneva spoke. “So let me see if I understand all of this, OK?”

Naomi drew a deep breath. “Shoot,” she said.

“You say that you are a Little.”

“Yes.”

“And that means that sometimes you like to pretend to be as young as a toddler or baby?”

Naomi smiled. Still speaking far too swiftly, she said, “Well, in my case, my ‘Little” is three. So I pretend I’m three.”

“But others are different?”

“Sure. Some kids like being infants. Some just regress to first or second grade. It varies.”

Geneva’s expression shifted again and Naomi saw her looking once again into the distance, at nothing in particular. “What is it??

“Oh,” she replied. “Nothing. Just that...infants? I mean they can’t do anything.”

Naomi laughed. “I think that’s the point. They need someone to do everything for them." She realized she was speaking more normally now. Geneva's questioning must have loosened the knots in her mind. "I don’t really think it’s possible to do that successfully, or at least fully, without a caregiver.”

“Which you also like to be.”

“Right. But I’ve never had the guts to meet someone from this world in person, so it’s a sort of theoretical desire.”

“Of course. But you actually do the rest?”

“Yes. Privately. In my room. And occasionally when no one is home I use the whole house.”

Geneva looked at Naomi more carefully than she ever had before. Maybe she had never really seen her friend before. Surely Naomi was opening herself up in a completely new way that, she thought, might forever alter their relationship. Could she think of her friend the same way now that she knew this?

“How?” she asked.

Naomi paused. Honesty. “I...dress in my baby clothes and diapers, suck on a pacifier, drink from a bottle. Stuff like that.”

It was exactly what Geneva had been thinking. How can we be the same now? How is it even possible?

“Do you...use...the diapers?”

Naomi wasn’t sure she wanted to answer that, but in for a penny, in for a pound. “Sometimes,” she said. “Just wetting, though. I don’t like messing them.”

“No,” Geneva said. “No, that would be, um, messy.”

“Oh, God,” Naomi suddenly said. “You think it’s too weird.”

“No, no!” Geneva protested. “Weird, yes. I’m trying to process. Let me process.”

I’ve gone too far, Naomi thought. She’d always been terrified of anyone finding out for precisely this reason. If anyone could handle it, Genny would be the one, though, and she’d been so sure she’d read the situation and the signs right today. What if I was wrong? I could lose her forever. She didn’t have any fear that Genny would ever tell anyone; she wasn’t that kind of person. But her world without her best friend in it would be so...empty. Why had she even started that stupid YouTube conversation? Damn that TimTom! It was all his fault.

“Nay?”

“Yeah?”

“It really is pretty weird, isn’t it?”

Naomi smiled tentatively. “I guess it is. But is it too weird?”

There was a brief silence, and then Geneva smiled. And then she laughed quietly.

“What?” Naomi asked nervously.

“It’s just that I seem to be learning a whole lot in the last couple of days about things I never knew existed. It’s as if I’ve lived 17 years with blinders on.”

“Maybe you have,” Naomi said, breathing more calmly and realizing only then that she’d been breathing oddly before, some combination of holding her breath and hyperventilation that only she could accomplish.

“Well, if I’m supposed to take them off now, I’ll need to learn a lot more.”

Naomi looked cautiously at her friend. “So you don’t think I’m strange?”


“Of course I think you’re strange. But we’ve already covered the fact that you think I’m kind of strange as well. You seem to think I’m the kind of strange who can join your little party and wear your baby clothes to sing on YouTube. And I think I just might be strange enough to give it a shot. So I guess we’re a couple of odd ducks. Come on, Naomi. Let’s go to your house so you can show me all of this stuff. This odd duck feels like doing some swimming.”

  • Like 5
Link to comment

4. Your parents have no clue?

“Where on earth do you even get this stuff? Geneva asked.

Naomi’s bed was piled with pretty much all of her Little paraphernalia: diapers of various types from plain white to patterned with little circuses and teddy bears and other childish designs; six or seven oversized toddler dresses in various colors and styles, each of which was clearly designed to reach just below the waist and allow the diaper to show pretty obviously; several multicolored onesies; some diaper covers from simple colored plastic panties to elaborate ruffled ones; eight different footie pajamas in different designs; some miscellaneous smaller things like socks and tights; three pacifiers; bottles, sippy cups, and a Lion King toddler plate and bowl along with soft-handle baby silverware; and a whole bunch of random toys and stuffies.

“I’ve bought it all online over the years,” her friend replied. “It’s kind of expensive, but when you get things one item at a time, especially when stuff is on sale, you can accumulate quite a stash.”

Geneva just stared. “Clearly. And your parents have no clue?”

“As far as I know. And I want to keep it that way.”

“Hey,” Geneva said, “I have no intention of telling them. But how do you keep this much stuff a secret? Doesn’t your mom ever look in your closet?”

Naomi smiled. “She knows better. I’ve always been a very trustworthy kid and I long ago earned the right to some personal privacy. She violated it once and I pretty intentionally threw a fit. I mean I made a much bigger deal out of it than it really was, just to make a point. And she ended up agreeing that she had been wrong.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. That was two years ago and I don’t think she’s been in my room since, other than just to leave a pile of laundry on the bed. As long as I show them that they can trust me, they don’t bother me.”

Geneva couldn’t even imagine it. Not that her mom and dad were nosy parents, but she certainly did not enjoy that kind of freedom at home. Actually, her home life these days was much the same as it had always been, and it had never even occurred to her to question that: she got home from school and her mother was waiting with cookies or something. Then they talked a bit about her day and she went up to do her homework, since she wasn’t allowed to do other things until it was done. Once it was done, it was often dinner time, and after dinner she might shower. After that, or if she didn’t, she’d either go online or watch TV or read. Of course she only went to sites or watched shows her parents approved of, but that was just natural. And on weekends, like now, she was allowed to go out with her friends.

As to her closet, well, her mom did all the laundry and put it away, so hiding something in her closet would be really hard. In fact, now that she thought about it, she couldn’t even think of a single place she could be sure that her mom wouldn’t find something if she hid it. There were a lot of places that were unlikely, but no place that was certain.

Sometimes she did think it was unfair that her younger brother Allen was allowed more flexibility in his life than she was. He was allowed to see friends on school days, for example, which she didn’t care all that much about because...homework...but then there was the fact that she knew he went on sites she’d been forbidden to go to. She was pretty sure he had permission, too, which was surely unfair. But she wasn’t absolutely sure about the permission, and she didn’t want to get him in trouble if she was wrong, so she never mentioned it to her parents.

What really bothered her, though, was that Allen, at fifteen and a half, was allowed to get a learner’s permit, something that she, now seventeen, had not yet been allowed to do. That she did complain about, but her father had taken her aside and tried to calm her tears.

“Sweetheart, I know it seems unfair. It probably is. But your brother is over a foot taller than you. There is no issue with him driving but there is one with you. You know it’s true: you can hardly reach the pedals and see over the dash at the same time.”

“But, Dad,” she pleaded, “they make pedal extenders and stuff.”

“It’s just safer if you let us drive you, Honey,” he said. “Please, trust me. I just don’t want to see you hurt.” And he enveloped her in his arms and held her as she cried more until her tears were dried up.

Of course he prevailed. It was just the way things were. It was just one more thing that being her size made harder. But she knew her parents loved her and wanted what was best and would protect her.

“I literally can’t imagine that much freedom,” she said to Naomi.

Her friend smiled. “What do you mean? Your parents trust you.”

“I guess so,” Geneva said, “but it’s different. If a package came for me, my mom wouldn’t hesitate to open it for me.”

Naomi was shocked. “What? That’s illegal! They can’t do that.”

“They would. If I ever got packages, I mean.”

Naomi calmed down. “Oh. So this is a hypothetical package. You don’t really know they’d open it; you’re just projecting.”

Geneva shook her head. “No, they’d definitely open it. Not out of nosiness or anything. Just to know what to do with it.”

“And you’re fine with that?”

“I guess. It doesn’t hurt me any.”

Naomi shrugged. “Sometimes I don’t get you at all.”

“What?”

“Never mind. We have shit to do here. What do you think about all of this?

Geneva surveyed the pile once again. “I think you’re really committed to this lifestyle.”

Her friend rolled her eyes. “No shit, Sherlock. But about my idea?”

She thought about it for a moment. “You’re a good eight inches taller than me. They wouldn’t even fit right.”

“Not an issue,” said Naomi. “I’m good with a needle. I can make temporary hems. Do you want to try something on?”

Truthfully, that was just about the last thing Geneva wanted to do. But it was why they had come, and it was her idea to come, so she nodded.

“Pick a dress,” Naomi said.

Geneva’s eyes found themselves drawn to a pink dress patterned with flowers and festooned with lace.

“Good choice,” Naomi said, picking it up. “Let’s see, you’ll need a pair of pink ankle socks to match and a pair of Mary Janes—I think we’re the same size there; my feet are small—and a diaper and panties—”

“Whoa!” Geneva said. “I’m not wearing a diaper.” Her friend looked at her with a confused expression. “I mean, I’m not...ready...for that.”

“It’s just the two of us, Genny. Safest situation in the world. And we need to see how much I need to take up the hem. The only way to do that is with a diaper on.”

It made sense. Damn it. Geneva had thought she could spare herself that, at least, but it made sense. “OK, then. Whatever.”

Naomi smiled. “It’ll all be fine. You’ll see.”

“I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t agreed to this,” said Geneva, pulling off her clothing. In no time at all she was down to panties and a bra; the AA bra was hardly even needed, but she wore it because it would hurt too much to accept that fact. If she were really completely honest, she could get away with a training bra, but there was no way.

“OK,” Naomi said. “Lie down.”

“What?”

“Lie down.”

“Where and why?”

“Where is right there on the floor, and why is so I can put your diaper on.”

Geneva looked to the floor where her friend was pointing and realized that Naomi had set out a large white changing pad there. “Um, Nay? I can probably do this myself, don’t you think?”

“Actually, no,” Naomi said. “It isn’t really intuitive to diaper yourself; it takes a bit of practice. And all of my diapers are premiums, so they aren’t cheap. I don’t want to waste any because you screwed up the taping.”

Again, something that made sense. It seemed to Geneva that the more humiliating the experience she had to go through here, the more logical Naomi was making it sound. She nodded and laid herself down onto the changing pad.

“Good girl,” said Naomi.

“Cute.”

“OK, now, I need you to lift your legs for me.”

Geneva did as she was instructed, and she felt her friend slipping her panties off. “Is that absolutely necessary?”

There was a brief pause. “I suppose not,” said Naomi. “But you might as well get the full experience.”

Her legs still in the air, she felt Naomi suddenly grab her ankles to lift them higher and a diaper slide underneath her raised bottom. Then she was lowered back down.

“OK, now just lie there, but spread your legs apart a little.”

Again she did as she was told, and was surprised to find Naomi showering her nether region with a spray of cool white talcum powder.

“Where did that come from?” she asked.

“My diaper bag,” Naomi said. “It’s right here.” She pointed to a small backpack that was leaning against the bed. “Now I’m going to finish up, OK?

“Fine by me.”

In a practiced, swift motion, Naomi raised the diaper between her friend’s legs and secured all four tapes expertly. “All done,” she said. “You can stand up now.”

“What about the plastic panties?” Geneva said sarcastically.

“I decided it would be more fun this time just to let you see the diaper. Besides, I used a really adorable one.”

Geneva stood and caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her first thought was that she looked ridiculous standing there in a bra and an oversized diaper. But as she looked closer she noticed that Naomi was right: the diaper was undeniably cute. It had teddy bears and bunnies and balloons and butterflies and flowers and all sorts of colorful characters on it. She was entranced.

“It’s called a Bellissimo,” Naomi said. “It’s one of my favorites.”

Not wanting to sound too enthusiastic, Geneva just said, “It is pretty cute.”

Naomi smiled. “Let’s get the rest of this on you then.”

It didn’t take long for Geneva to find herself wearing the pink dress, the ankle socks, and the shoes. Naomi even sat her down and brushed her hair, parting it into very childish pigtails and adding a bow. Then she stood her up and let her see the full effect in the mirror. Even with the too-long dress, it was impressive: Geneva did not see herself at all; she saw an overgrown toddler. If the dress were shorter and the diaper visible, then…

This could actually work.

She had another thought. “Nay?”

“Yeah?”

“You know those girls who dress like anime characters?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you think about making my face and hair anime-style? I mean a neon wig and huge eyes, the whole bit?”

Her friend smiled. “I’m sure there are tutorials for the makeup. And lighting helps. And our regular baby becomes an anime baby just like that! Cosplay as well as AB play! And that would definitely hide your identity. This just keeps getting better!”

“I’m going to need a name.”

“Little Genny?”

“Too close to my real name.”

“Princess Asaka?”

“Where did that come from?”

“I don’t know. Just made it up. Sounded vaguely Japanese.”

Geneva rolled her eyes. “I’m not trying to be Japanese. I’m trying to be me, but littler. How about just something like Baby G?”

“Baby G,” Naomi repeated. “Yeah. That could work. It’s tight.”

Geneva smiled.

Naomi looked at her. “What?”

“I think Baby G needs to write some new songs.”

  • Like 6
Link to comment

This so cute it's nice to see some one getting a gentle introduction to the scene. :D

Link to comment

5. Is that how everything works?

The light above Geneva’s bed was one that had always struck her as wonderfully symbolic. Instead of some generic bowl covering light bulbs, she had a fixture her parents told her they’d found at an art fair when she was just a baby. It was one of those things that looked a whole lot more complicated than it really was: the artist had used steel and crystals to create the effect of stars reflecting off of mirrors. When the light was on full, it was a beautiful ceiling lamp delivering bright light; its real power, though, came when she dimmed it and simply stared at it shimmering above her. She had always looked at the fixture and seen her future: she wanted to be a star.

As she looked at it tonight, though, she saw it a bit differently, though certainly still symbolically. She had learned, somewhere along the line, that the entire glorious apparatus was actually lit by two completely normal light bulbs that the artist had hidden within it. The light came from something you could find anywhere; what it was encased in was what was unusual and amazing.

Is that how everything works? she thought. Did everything really need a gimmick to succeed? The more time she spent thinking about the Baby G concept—which for every possible reason was almost all of her time at present—the more her thoughts boiled down to two main conclusions: 1) it could definitely work; and 2) she was not at all sure she had the guts to do it.

Naomi’s secret had thrown her for a loop. It was one thing to have a bit of fun pretending to be a little girl because your size dictated that you were often mistaken for one, but why on earth would someone who was tall enough to be a normal teen ever want to do something like that? And the diaper thing was way beyond comprehension. Of course she had looked it up online. Typing “little” into google really hadn’t helped much; the term was just too vague. But the couple of relevant sites she found also mentioned “ABDL,” and that, she had discovered, was a gold mine. She’d already spent over two hours reading and looking at photos and videos. It was a weird world. Old people her parents’ age dressed as babies were sort of creepy to look at. But she hadn’t thought that she’d looked creepy at all at Nay’s house. Nay was right: she’d looked kind of...adorable.

As she continued to watch videos, she came across some of kids not much older than she was. They talked about why they enjoyed “being a baby” and showed themselves sitting in cribs, wearing diapers and baby clothes, playing with toys. The whole thing seemed to be, as Naomi said, about escaping ugly realities for awhile. Nothing wrong with that, anyway, she thought. But she wondered how they could put these videos online: they were so clearly recognizable! Don’t they care that all of their friends will know? What about employers?

She clicked to another of her own videos. 312 likes. How could she be a star if she could only muster such a tiny following? Following. She checked her page’s followers total. 224. Shit. Almost a whole year now and only 224 followers. It was beyond depressing.

Staring blankly at the screen, her eyes happened to fall on the Suggested Videos column on the right. Of course there were a few of her own at the top, but then, as usual, the suggestions veered off. And right there, in the middle of the list, was a name that stunned her: Lara Miranda. She has her own videos? That initial thought was instantly replaced with a realization: Of course she does. The bitch. With trepidation, Geneva slid her finger across the trackpad until the cursor landed on her enemy’s video and clicked.

The video was called “Fireworks” and was a cover of the song by Katie Perry. Lara, all 5’9”, model-slim, flowing brunette hair, I-look-28-even-though-I’m-only-18 bit of her, had obviously spent some money on it: the thing was very well produced. It featured her on location in Chicago’s Millennium Park, in summer, and used the Chicago 4th of July celebration to strong effect. Lara’s mature looks and her sultry voice made the song into something quite different and rather sexier than Katie Perry’s version. Geneva wasn’t really sure that was the appropriate interpretive read for that song, but apparently it didn’t matter: the video had 12,414 likes.

12,414.

Immediately, she skyped Naomi. As soon as she answered, her friend could see that she was agitated.

“What’s wrong?

Geneva looked at her, upset. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about Lara’s video?”

“Which one?” Naomi replied.

“She has—of course she has more than one. Fuck.”

Naomi suddenly understood what this was about. “You didn’t know she had any videos.”

Geneva shook her head. “I just found “Fireworks.”

“That’s an older one,” Naomi said. “She made it a couple of summers ago.”

“Great,” Geneva said. “She looked more grown up two years ago than I do today. Or probably ever will.”

“Oh my God, Genny. What’s going on in your head?”

Geneva didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t sure herself. Finally, she answered, “She has over 12,000 likes.”

“So?

“What do you mean, ‘So?’ She has 12,000 likes. I have 300. That’s a big deal!”

Naomi shook her head as if trying to get something through to a young child. “No, Genny. It’s not.”

Geneva was shouting now. “Why the hell not?”

“Because,” Naomi said, her voice maintaining its outward calm, “ in the grand scheme of things, 12,000 doesn’t mean much. Yes, 300 sucks, and 12,000 is clearly a lot better, but it isn’t anywhere near YouTube stardom. That’s in the millions. She doesn’t have it, Genny, and she isn’t going to get it.”

For a moment, Geneva was silent. “How do you know?”

Naomi smiled. “Because she doesn’t think she needs to take risks, and you’re practically required to take risks to succeed on YouTube. Maybe she could be a Broadway star, I don’t know. But not on YouTube.”

“You make it sound as if it’s somehow a better thing to make a career out of dressing up as a baby.”

“Better? I don’t know if I can judge that. But I know what I can judge.”

Geneva studied her friend. “What?”

“Fame and fortune. And both come much easier on YouTube than on Broadway, whether that’s fair or not.”

“Shit,” said Geneva. “If that’s true it’s terribly unfair.”

“I never said it wasn’t. But it’s true nonetheless. Broadway doesn’t make millionaires. YouTube does. And it makes them a lot.

“But what about fame? Broadway makes stars; Lin-Manuel Miranda, Audra McDonald, Phillipa Soo—”

Naomi cut her off. “Yes, it does. And for every one of them there are ten thousand others who labor in the background unknown. And for every one of them there are a hundred thousand others who never even make a show, even off off off Broadway. Even in, like, Cleveland. On YouTube, the first ratio may well be the same, but as for the second? Everyone can post, so everyone technically has the chance to become a star.”

“But—”

“But nothing. For a handful of Stars with a capital S, Broadway really is the Great White Way. But YouTube’s star-making power isn’t limited by the number of available theatres or parts in plays or Big Names available. It’s about being timely and having some luck on your side.”

Geneva considered this. “But...if Baby G became a star, Geneva Whitmore still would be unknown.”

Naomi smiled. “If Baby G becomes a star, Geneva Whitmore can write her own ticket.”

Geneva paused. “Why are you pushing this? Does it have to do with your—”

“No. Not at all. I was extremely hesitant even to suggest any of this because I knew I’d have to tell you about that and then...well...that would be a natural conclusion to draw. I admit it’s convenient as hell that I have the costuming, but that’s about it as far as connections go. I’d never ever want to force my thing on a friend.”

Geneva nodded. “OK. I was just… A part of me was wondering… I mean I told you about how I enjoyed pretending I was younger and stuff, and…”

Naomi finished the thought. “...you thought I thought I might have found a kindred spirit?”

Geneva nodded again.

“It crossed my mind,” Naomi admitted. “But most of all, when you told me that it scared me.”

“Why?”

“Because I knew who I was, and I had to wonder if somehow in some unconscious way I had rubbed off on you.”

Geneva laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Maybe. But it was my first thought.”

“Well, it’s ridiculous.”

“OK, OK. It’s ridiculous,” Naomi agreed.

“Yes, it is,” said Geneva.

“Totally,” said Naomi.

“Without a doubt,” said Geneva.

“Absolutely,” said Naomi.

“Indubitably,” said Geneva, and they both started laughing.

“God,” Geneva said, “we are both really silly people.”

“No shit. Have you written anything yet?”

“For English?”

“Nooooo,” Naomi, said, dragging out the word. “Songs.”

“Oh. Right. Those.”

“Have you?”

“Not as such.”

“Which means,” Naomi interpreted, “you haven’t started.”

Geneva smiled. “Something like that.”

“Well I’ll let you get to it then.”

“I haven’t the foggiest notion of what to write about.”

“Whatever’s on your mind, I guess,” Naomi said. “See you later.”

After her friend had signed off, Geneva sat for a long time, staring at the screen. Finally, she crossed the room and picked up her guitar. Strumming a couple of chords, she found the combination she was hearing in her head and fingered a little lead-in.

 

The girl spent a lifetime in dance and ballet

She picked up piano and voice on the way

Her dream was to fly on the stages someday

And she knew it was what she would do

 

The goal never strayed very far from her heart

She worked day and night at perfecting her art

Then off to New York, she could finally start

What she’d be when she finally was free

 

But the city is unforgiving

And some dreams aren’t for the living

When the world leaves you beaten and broken and scared

While some moron is now a YouTube millionaire

And there’s nothing for you anymore anywhere

And you stand on the bridge and look down at the brine

And the water looks fine

Geneva stopped and examined the notepad she’d been scribbling on. Damn, this thing took a dark turn. She really liked the musical progressions, but she wasn’t sure about the lyrics. Re-reading them, she decided that the two stanzas were really pretty sappy and probably stupid, but there was something about the chorus that was working for her, and that was a bit frightening. She’d never written anything that dark before, didn’t even know she had it in her. Generally, she wrote love songs or songs about making choices or things like that, things that she and every other teen girl could relate to. This one was coming from some new place she had never accessed before.

Teen angst? she wondered. Could be. She’d never really suffered from that affliction; maybe this was what it looked like. She’d need to be careful in fleshing the song out that it doesn’t go there; teen angst was too easily dismissible as a source of real world pain, and the pain her lyrics were finding didn’t want to be dismissed. She played the last part again:

And you stand on the bridge and look down at the brine

And the water looks fine.

It made her shiver. And then, suddenly, she saw the whole spectacle: Baby G, in full regalia, singing this dark, depressive song in Geneva’s beautiful, trained mezzo soprano voice. The picture was so absurd it made her laugh out loud. At least my voice isn’t one of those operatic ones; that would be even more bizarre. Her voice teachers through the years had often pushed her in that direction, but Geneva, with her diminutive frame, had no desire to cultivate a diva’s vocal patterns. Very few Broadway actresses sang in that style, Audra McDonald being a notable exception. She could do it, of course: you couldn’t learn and progress as a singer without those lessons. But it wasn’t for her. Neither her tastes nor her body suggested operatic soprano or that such parts lay in her future. She was more pop and ingenue.

And, apparently, dark and twisted emo girl.

In baby clothes.

Geneva started laughing again at that idea, and this time she laughed so hard that she couldn’t stop until she buried her face in a pillow. OK, Lara, she thought. Do your thing. It’s not going to touch mine. In the end, we’ll see what all those high school leads are worth.

  • Like 6
Link to comment

I really relate to that feeling of wanting to be something of wanting it to mean something. *hugs Geneva*

@kerry

Link to comment
14 hours ago, ELLIE52 said:

You're a real natural at writing flowing conversations

Thanks, Ellie! I always try to hear the words spoken aloud in my mind. Sometimes I even say them out loud for real. It helps.

6 hours ago, YourFNF said:

really relate to that feeling of wanting to be something of wanting it to mean something

Yeah, Geneva started out as someone I made up but she's got a lot of me in her. (So does Naomi, in a different way.)

Link to comment

6.  We’ll co-produce it

Some days, Geneva was especially glad her mom was an Amazon Prime member, and today was one of them. When she saw the thick envelope with her name on it, she knew immediately what it was; she scooped it up and whisked it into her room before anyone else even knew it was there. Slicing the plastic (why are these envelopes always so hard to open?), she withdrew her prize: a bright teal-colored wig, so shiny it actually shimmered. In her mirror, she quickly put her hair up and pulled it on. 

“Perfect!” she said aloud. And it was, as she knew it would be: the unnatural color, the pigtailed style, everything. She’d been so fortunate to come across it, and now two days later here it was. She studied her reflection: even with just the wig it was already so different. She was sure that, with make-up added, she’d be virtually unrecognizable.

Well, pretty sure, anyway.

The first song, she thought, had turned out very well despite the fact that she couldn’t use her normal writing group. No, Naomi had told her, if you use them, then they’ll know the Baby G song is yours. Which was right, of course; she just hadn’t thought about it. So Nay had become her “writing group” for the time being, which was weird but she thought it had worked out pretty well even though Nay was more science girl than writing girl. If she leaned toward the Humanities at all, it would be history. Still, her advice was good and anyway she had a lot riding on this thing too: they had decided to put up half the money each to make the video. 

We’ll co-produce it, Naomi said.

Is it really going to be so expensive? Geneva asked.

Well, it won’t cost a million dollars, but we need a professional recording, and we need a video shoot and editing and other stuff. It does cost money.

Geneva replied, Can’t we use school facilities and some of our friends?

Sure, said Naomi, if you want to erode that wall between Baby G and Geneva Whitmore, but I thought you really didn’t want to do that.

Silence.

Right, said Geneva. We’ll co-produce it.

The trick to the Baby G gimmick, they had decided, was going to be the set. Naomi had all sorts of adult sized baby clothing thanks to her weird kink, but what they needed was someplace for their creation to be while she was singing. They couldn’t very easily do these shoots out in public, for obvious reasons. Nor could they do things involving extras. No, this thing was going to live or die on Baby G alone: the videos were going to be her, on her own, singing her songs. But that left a huge problem: how to maintain interest from one video to the next.

Fortunately for Geneva and Naomi, the solution found them. 

Geneva was working on her English homework when her phone buzzed. A message from Naomi.

Naynay OMG guess what I’ve found!

GennyW Too tired to guess 

Naynay Oh come on!

GennyW Fine. Um...new boots

Naynay NO! About the vids!

GennyW Oh. You should at least give a category

Naynay What have we been talking about nonstop for like two weeks?

GennyW Point

Naynay And since when do I care about boots?

GennyW Another point. So what about the vids?

Naynay I found a location!

GennyW REALLY?

Naynay Yes indeedy. And it’s all approved and everything! ?

GennyW I could kiss you!

Naynay Did something happen and you forgot to tell me? ?

GennyW Nooooooo! It’s a figure of speech and you know it

Naynay Hey a girl can dream

GennyW LOL So where’s the place?

Naynay Ever hear of Neverland?

GennyW Like in Peter Pan?

Naynay That’s the one

GennyW Obs, what about it?

Naynay Did you know there’s a store called Neverland in town?

GennyW Um...no

Naynay Kaaaayyyy...guess what they sell

GennyW Nay!

Naynay Just one more I swear!

GennyW Arrgh. Pirate ships?

Naynay Nope

GennyW Mermaids?

Naynay You’re not even trying. What does Peter Pan want?

GennyW A mother. Because he’s always going to stay a child, so...wait...NO!!

Naynay Yes!

GennyW Right in town?

Naynay They just opened a few weeks ago. I found them through a mention on one of my sites. An actual store! Where you can walk in and not just click. But the best thing isn’t the clothes. It’s something else.

GennyW What?

Naynay The store itself: They have part of it decorated as a nursery...for big babies! 

GennyW You’re kidding

Naynay Crib, playpen, toys, stuffies, all sorts of things, and all adult sized

GennyW So…

Naynay So I told them about Baby G and asked if we could film vids there and they said yes as long as we credited the store on screen!

GennyW Wow...this is really happening, isn’t it?

Naynay Yes, little girl, it is. My Aunt Margie already agreed to let us use her vocal studio, which is pretty much professional level. I’m surprised she’s letting us. And I’m shocked that she said she doesn’t need to supervise. So we’re totally golden!

GennyW OMG!

Naynay I believe if you scroll back to the top you’ll find I already said that. ?

###

It took several hours and about three million takes—or at least it seemed that way to Geneva— to get a recording of “The Water Looks Fine” that both she and Naomi agreed was about as close to perfect as they could get. Aunt Maggie had taken a long time just talking with the girls and teaching them the ropes of her sound board—Naomi was familiar with sound boards in general from tech at school but not with this one—and then, true to her word, she had left.

“Got a little shopping to do,” she said. “I’ll be back in the late afternoon if you’re still here.”

At that point they had smiled. No way would they still be there that long. But it was after 4:00 now, so she actually could return any time. 

The problem, it had turned out, wasn’t making a quality recording. They’d done that on about Take 2. The problem was making one that captured just the right feeling for the character they were creating. First, they had to find the right version of Geneva’s singing voice for “Baby G.” It couldn’t be Geneva’s straightforward voice; that much they’d agreed on: it would be too recognizable. But what would she do? She tried to “Do You Want To Build a Snowman?” it, swallowing its roundness so that it would sound younger as Kristen Bell had done in “Frozen,” but neither of them was satisfied with the result. It was good, but they thought it sounded too much like Bell. They didn’t want Baby G to be some kind of imitation. She tried making it softer, but that had the unexpected result of making it sultrier, which was pretty much the opposite of what she was going for. In the end, after trying many variations, she ended up using a slightly nasal head voice that, to her, sounded all sorts of wrong, but somehow, when she played it back, she found that Naomi’s reaction had been right: it was indeed Baby G.

The struggle wasn’t over, though. They needed to figure out the production of the song. First they recorded a base version with just Geneva and her guitar, both at once. 

“That’s it raw,” Naomi said. “Now let’s try some shit.”

Since Geneva also played keyboard, and keyboards can make the sound of pretty much any instrument you want, the two girls had a blast adding instrumentation to the song. The first thing they added was a drum track, knowing they’d get someone to record it for real if they decided to keep it; keyboard drums always sounded awful. Geneva added some bass and another guitar for depth, and when Naomi suggested it, used the keyboard as a keyboard, letting some mean piano riffs into the piece. Eventually, they finished that version and listened to it, and realized exactly what they had: a terribly overproduced piece of musical amateurism. Fun to create, but just too much.

“We’re doing this all wrong,” Geneva said. “Think about what the videos are going to show: Baby G in her nursery, playing or whatever, right?”

Naomi nodded.

“So where do all of those other instruments come from anyway?”

Naomi smiled. “You need to get back in there and lay down just the guitar track so it’s perfect.”

It took awhile, but they did that, and Geneva even laid down a couple of extra guitar tracks that they decided they might overdub for depth without much of a problem. Then they tackled the vocals: singing to her guitar track, it only took two takes for Naomi to pronounce the track “golden.” For a while after that, they played with the overdubbing and decided to use one extra guitar on the chorus, and Geneva went back in and recorded a harmonizing vocal as well. When they put it all together, it sounded simply wonderful.

Baby G had her first Master Recording.

###

The message was all wrong. 

After all of the work, all of the focus, all of the extra hours she’d put in; after the endless diets and purges, the pure hell of standing in front of mirrors, the way a single contrary voice could destroy all of the applause; after the voice lessons and the dance lessons, the summers in arts camps, the self-denial, the recognition that she was seen as a prima donna by just about everyone, this was not the message she was supposed to get.

Dear Miss Miranda,

We regret to inform you that New York University will not be able to offer…

Lara Miranda stared at her screen, not comprehending. Everything had been leading to this moment, when she would get into NYU, early admission, and then just roll through the rest of her senior year, an already-accepted college student with a future all mapped out. But the message on the screen stubbornly persisted in being wrong. 

“I don’t get it,” she said aloud, though no one else was there. “I have good grades. I have all the leads. I have great videos. My resumé kicks ass. Why?

“Must just be you,” said a voice behind her, and she spun her chair to see her freshman sister Jaymee standing at her door. “What happened?” she asked. Then she noticed the screen. “Is that NYU?”

Lara reached behind herself and, with a motion she had perfected in years of hiding screens from her mother, buried the current screen using the mouse. “None of your business, Shrimp.”

Lara never missed an opportunity to make fun of her sister’s lack of height. While Lara herself had been blessed with their father’s height, Jaymee was stuck much closer to the ground thanks to their mom’s tiny stature. Though she was only a freshman, and technically she could still have some kind of growth spurt, no one expected her to. For a long time, Jaymee had countered by calling her “Stick,” but in the last two or three years she had at last filled out her figure and finally felt like a woman instead of a really tall pre-teen, so “Stick” basically no longer applied. For her part, Jaymee knew better than to react to the “Shrimp” monicker; it would only make things worse.

“It was, wasn’t it? You didn’t get in.”

They’re gonna find out anyway. “Well,” Lara said with a shrug, “they aren’t the only school in the world.”

Jaymee smiled. “Ooo...now that’s acting! If they could see that, they’d let you in. But I guess that would be some kind of paradox, wouldn’t it?”

“Geek!” Lara said, just wanting her sister to disappear.

“Drama queen!” Jaymee countered.

“Micro-nerd!” Lara shouted.

“Non-Violet!” Jaymee called, reaching for a devastating blow using the name of NYU’s sports teams, a name Lara, who had said it so often, would now not be a part of. Hearing this, Lara, who had been poised to continue the insult contest, simply stopped. Jaymee was right: she would never be a Violet, and she had really wanted to be. She felt tears welling in her eyes.

“Lara?” Jaymee was standing there, awaiting the next blow, and now realizing it wasn’t coming. She studied her sister and saw the change in demeanor: the slump of the shoulders especially was not a thing she associated with Lara. Then she saw a tear slide down her cheek. Immediately she was at her sister’s side, her arms around her.

“Lara, I’m sorry,” she said. “I wouldn’t have made fun if I’d—”

“It’s not you,” Lara said, her tears coming stronger now, her voice beginning to catch. “Anyway you’re probably right. They just didn’t want me.”

Jaymee smiled a small, rueful smile. “Well, you are a bit of an acquired taste.”

Her sister chuckled through her tears. “Am I that bad?”

Jaymee paused, then went with it. “Sometimes, I guess. But you’re my sister and I love you no matter what. And now you have a clear job to do.”

“What?”

“Get out and kick so much ass that NYU will know they blew it big time!”

Lara gave her sister a long, hard hug. “I know I’m rough on you, Jaymee. I tease you a lot. But for what it’s worth, even though I’ll probably go back to normal tomorrow, I hope you know that I do realize how special you are.”

Jaymee stood up and shrugged. “Oh, I know that. And anyway I’m keeping a list of all of the mean things.”

Lara was puzzled. “Why?”

“If you become a star, I’ll use it to get you to let me into your entourage. And if I become some world class scientist, I’ll use it to remind you why you don’t get to ride on mine.”

“Creep,” Lara said, and they both laughed as Jaymee left the room.

Outside, in the hall, she bent down to pick up the small potted plant she had left there and walked down to the living room where her mom was reading.

“What was all that?” her mom asked.

“Lara didn’t get into NYU,” she replied.

Her mom put down her book. “Oh no!” she said. “Is she OK?”

Jaymee nodded. “I think she will be, Mom. But can you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Take this to work or something? I was going to give it to her, but it’s kind of not appropriate any more.”

Her mother smiled and accepted the plant from her daughter, kissing her as she did so. “You really are a sweet child, Jaymee, especially with the way she treats you.” 

“She’s OK.”

“Well, I’ll take care of this for you.”

As her daughter left, Adele Miranda slowly ran her fingers through the soft leaves and violet petals of the plant. Yes, I got really lucky with my children.

 

  • Like 6
Link to comment
7 hours ago, foofybabykitten said:

this is the point where you stopped previously on another site correct? I'm really glad you're continuing this, and I can't wait to see what happens next :D

Yes it is. It'll go more slowly at this point as I need to write more chapters. I don't want to have no buffer. ?

Link to comment

7. Humor me.

With all of her focus on “Baby G,” Geneva came close to overlooking the audition dates for the school musical, Annie. She had been surprised when they announced it: she and many of her classmates had done it in elementary school. Back then she’d been Annie herself, but she was much older now. And there was no way she could get the main comic part, Miss Hannigan; that would clearly go to Lara Miranda. But there was also Daddy Warbucks’ assistant, Grace Farrell, as well as some great chorus parts, including one she really did covet: a solo in “NYC” that had launched Sutton Foster’s career, so why not? But Naomi had other ideas.

“Go for Annie,” she told her as they walked through the mall.

“Are you kidding? I’m way too old. That’s definitely going to be one of the freshmen.”

But the way Naomi was looking at her told her that she had other thoughts on the matter.

“Look,” she said, “you’ve done it before; that puts you a step ahead. Also you’re 4’10. A lot of young kids are taller than you.”

“Rub it in, why don’tcha?” Geneva asked sarcastically.

“No, no!” said Naomi. “That’s not what I meant. I meant what 14-year-old is going to be able to compete with you? You’re a really good actress and your voice kicks butt.”

Geneva smiled. “Thanks, Naynay, but my voice is way more mature than my body. We both know that; it’s why we searched so hard for a Baby G voice.”

“Use that,” Naomi said.

Geneva looked at her friend as if she were on crack. “I can’t do that!” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because...Baby G! Someone will know she’s me!”

Naomi took her friend’s hands and looked her straight in the eye. “No one will recognize you,” she said. “Hell, no one would recognize you as Annie under all that red curly hair. Baby G is a completely different thing. But if it worries you, try adding just a little bit of the Kristen Bell voice to it; that should disguise it completely.”

It took several tries before Geneva was able to blend her Baby G voice successfully with her “I Wanna Build a Snowman” voice, but when she did, Naomi’s eyes lit up.

“That’s it!” she said.

“Really? Cause to me I sound like a parrot with indigestion.”

“No, it’s great,” Naomi said. “Wait a sec.”

She got out her cell phone and opened up a voice recording app. “Sing something,” she said.

Geneva looked about them. The mall was rather empty despite it being the start of Christmas shopping season, and they hadn’t been bothered as she looked for a possible voice, but that was at a low volume. To be effective, this would take a bit of belting.

“Um,” she said. “We’re not exactly in private.”

Naomi shook her head. “Just do it.” And she turned the recorder on. At first, Geneva just stared, but Naomi was insistent. “Come on! Or are you going to let a lead pass you by because you weren’t willing to try?”

“I’m telling you I won’t get it.”

“Humor me.”

Geneva sighed. When Naomi got like this there was nothing for it but to do as she asked. So she started singing. “The sun’ll come out tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow there’ll be sun.”

She stopped, and Naomi raised her eyebrows. “More,” she said.

Geneva shook her head in resignation. “Just thinking about tomorrow clears away the cobwebs and the sorrow til there’s none.”

“Try the chorus,” Naomi urged.

“Here?”

“Just do it!”

Geneva took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and belted, “Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya, tomorrow, you’re always a day away.”

When she opened her eyes, some people were staring. One woman applauded. Geneva wanted to crawl under a rock.

“Now listen to this,” Naomi instructed, and she played the recording. The voice that came from it was far younger sounding than Geneva’s natural voice, a bit thinner but still bold. And it was significantly different from Baby G, but without that voice she never could have found it. For the first time in high school, Geneva Whitmore actually started believing she could take a lead. And all she had to do to get it was convince people she was much younger than she was.

That’s pretty much the story of my life, she thought. For once, though, it might be an advantage instead of a disadvantage. Maybe the sun would come out tomorrow.

“Let’s get lunch,” she said to Naomi.

“What do you want?”

“There’s a new Thai place in the food court. I’m in the mood for some Pad Thai.”

Naomi smiled. “Yum,” she said, and they headed to the food court.

###

The Neverland store did not disappoint. As advertised, it actually had what amounted to a nursery made for adults! There was a giant crib with a mattress that was so far above the ground that they had a set of steps to climb in. There was a playpen filled with toys and stuffies. There was a changing table sized for adults. I won’t be using that, Geneva thought. There were giant Legos and wooden blocks. And on one end of the room was an actual ball pit like at McDonalds PlayPlace, but much, much bigger.

“We try to make everything very realistic,” the store’s owner, a man named Jack, was saying. “Our clientele are actually pretty particular.”

“I’ll bet,” Geneva said. 

“Do people actually come here and use these things? Naomi asked, a little too enthusiastically.

“They do,” said Jack. “All the time. Sometimes they buy our clothes—” he pointed to the sales rack— “and dress up in the changing room before playing.”

Geneva could see her friend’s excitement. “Wanna try it, Naynay?”

“What? No. Of course not. I mean, unless you do. Do you?” Naomi stumbled over her words as if they were large weights casually deposited in her way. “I mean, No, right?”

Geneva laughed. “I’ll be in there soon enough,” she said.

Jack picked up his cue. “Yes, so if I understood you guys correctly, you will be filming videos here for a Little persona?”

Geneva wasn’t sure whose face was redder, hers or Naomi’s. She decided to go with her own, even though she couldn’t see it. This idea was hard in the abstract, but now here she was standing in front of a giant crib that she was expected to use! “Hard” didn’t being to describe it. “Insane,” maybe. Or “utterly ridiculous.” Or—

“Yes,” said Naomi simply. “It’s a gimmick we came up with for youtube.”

Jack stared at her for a moment. “You know, that’s the problem I’ve been having with it. I’ve done some thinking since we talked. And I’m not sure we can do this.”

Geneva surprised herself by getting upset.

“Why not?” she asked. “I thought we had an agreement.”

“Well,” said Jack, “you see our clients take this lifestyle very seriously. After some consideration, we realized we can’t let vanillas use it to poke fun at it.”

“Vanillas?” Geneva asked.

“People who aren’t into it,” he said.

She looked at her friend, who was clearly weighing the consequences of the thing she was about to say. 

“We won’t poke fun,” she said. “Honest. Baby G is a very real Little character even if she’s entirely fictional.”

“How can we know that?” he asked.

And Naomi responded. “Because I’m not vanilla.”

He examined her face for signs she was not being honest, but the deep blush told him all he needed to know. “You’re into ABDL?”

She shook her head. “CG/l. But it’s still…”

“I know,” he said, and then he thought of something. “Is that why you said you would not need any clothes?”

“Yes,” Naomi said.

“Well, then,” he said. “I guess we have some contracts we need to sign, don’t we?”

He led the way to a table behind the register as Naomi pulled the contracts she had created out of her backpack.

“Now I’ve told two people,” she said to Geneva. Shaking her head, she wondered how many more people would learn her biggest secret before all this was over.

  • Like 7
Link to comment

8. Good thing I don’t have any boobs.

“Little cheeks, little necks, everything around me is Little. 

If I wring little necks surely I would get an acquittal!”

All of the eyes in the audience were on her as Lara Miranda sang her version of Miss Hannigan’s funny/abrasive anthem. But she was paying the most attention to the eyes of the director, Mr. Harvey; his was ultimately the only opinion that mattered, and she was actually nervous for the first time in her high school career. This was such an odd choice for a musical. Not only had much of the prospective cast done it in middle school or elementary school, but there was no diva role for the school’s star actress. She’d hoped for Hello, Dolly or Sweet Charity or something that could feature her throughout the performance, but in Annie this comic foil was the only part she could practically go for. Almost all the rest of the female main characters were, quite literally, “little girls.” It was a smashing showcase, all right, but for freshmen. As she arrived at the song’s final moment, she reached into herself to find that something extra that would assure her the role.

“Someday I’ll land in the nuthouse with all the nuts and the squirrels.

There I’ll stay, tucked away, til the prohibition of little girls.”

She allowed the first syllable of “Little” to get completely wrapped up in vibrato and then stretched out the others as long and as hard as she could. Go big or go home. When she was through, she saw the familiar look in Harvey’s eyes; she’d won the part. That may not have been the way he wanted it sung, but he knew she could adjust anything. She felt a huge jolt of relief course through her; she really hadn’t known how concerned she was. 

A couple of other girls sang “Little Girls,” nowhere near as well as she had, but she was deprived of the moment she’d been waiting for when Geneva Whitmore didn’t try out for the part. She had been smiling to herself all day about a “little girl” singing that song. No doubt Geneva would have sung it well, but the visual would have been hilarious. As she looked around the auditorium, she realized that Geneva wasn’t even there. Guess she couldn’t see any role she could do, Lara thought. 

She sat down in the back of the house with Raven to watch (and comment on) the rest of the auditions. Lara loved this part; she thought of it as Mystery Musical Theatre 3000. As usual, 

She and Raven spent much of the time trying not to laugh out loud; the parade of little Annies was adorable but also often ridiculous; most of these girls simply lacked the voice. Around the sixteenth or seventeenth trip through “Tomorrow,” they gave up and went out into the lobby where they could speak more freely. 

“I suppose that Kleinman girl might be OK,” said Raven.

“You’re just being blinded by her curly hair,” said Lara. “Her voice was nothing special.”

Raven shrugged. “Are any of them?”

Lara shook her head. “I mean one of them has to take the role, but it’s going to be a stretch for Harvey to make her solid enough.”

They were both silent for a moment, listening to the strains of the song—must be Contestant #20 by now (how many were there anyway?)—coming from the theatre. 

Raven wandered over to the theatre door and glanced in at the blonde freshman girl who was trying unsuccessfully to hold the stage. “Well, at least there is enough talent there to make a great bunch of orphans for you to beat on.”

“Shhh!” whispered Lara, waving her hand in front of her friend’s face. “You’ll jinx it. I haven’t got the role yet.”

Raven rolled her eyes. “Right. As if anyone could compete with you. I noticed that Geneva Whitmore didn’t even bother to try.”

Lara smiled. “Probably sick of losing to me,” she said. 

Neither of the two had been able to believe it when Geneva had beaten Lara in the vocal contest. It was an annual thing, and it meant that Geneva would get the choice choir solos for the whole year. But whatever, Lara thought now, I still get all of the plum parts.

Suddenly the two girls stopped talking. Inside the theatre, someone was killing “Tomorrow.” The voice was strong and stunning even without amplification. “You’re only a daaaaayy a-waaaaay.”

Shit!” Raven said. “Sounds like you might just have a decent lead after all!”

They made their way back into the theatre but the girl had turned her back and was exiting the stage. Only when she passed through a side door could they see who she was.

“Geneva?!” Lara said. It hadn’t even occurred to her that the diminutive singer might try for a little kids’ part. But of course she would. It’s the lead! And the fact of the matter was that she had rocked it. 

“This is even better than we thought,” Raven said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” she said slowly, “Miss Hannigan is in charge of Annie, isn’t she?”

“I mean in the play, sure.”

Raven shook her head. “You’re missing my point. You know how Harvey likes to use in-character improvs in his rehearsals.”

“Yeah? He likes to build character relationships on shared experience. So?”

“He’s bound to cast a bunch of frosh as the other orphans, which means there will probably be some improvs where you get to mother hen the bunch of them.”

A light went on in Lara’s eyes. “Including Geneva,” she said.

Raven nodded. “Including Geneva. She’ll actually have to do what you say!”

Lara’s smile was devious. She thought for a moment and then said, in character, “You’ll stay up until this stage shines like the top of the Chrysler Building!”

They both laughed at the mental picture of Lara lording over Geneva as she cleaned the stage floor on her knees.

“You’re right, Raven,” Lara said. “This could be a lot of fun.”

###

“Tell me again why we need Ryan?”

Geneva tried to keep her voice down so he wouldn’t hear them, but it was difficult; she was agitated. “I thought we were keeping this between us.”

Naomi spelled it out for the third time. “We have essentially two options. Either we borrow the equipment from school, which would make this a school project and we’d have to show it to Ms. Johansson, or we use somebody else’s equipment. Ryan’s the only one I know who has what we need.”

Geneva watched him carefully as he sat on the other side of the room. The boy was a junior; she knew him from the tech crew, but not that well. He was one of Naomi’s geeky friends; he basically kept to himself most of the time. Even in last year’s musical, when he had been assistant stage manager, she hardly interacted with him. And here Naomi was telling her that she needed to trust him with the biggest secret of her life.

As if reading her mind, Naomi said, “You can trust him, Genny. I’ve known Ryan for years, and he can keep things to himself.”

Geneva scanned the tall, thin boy who was hunched over his books, reading. She couldn’t tell what it was (other than thick), but based on the stack of Neil Gaiman books next to it she figured it was probably fantasy of some sort.  His longish blonde hair dangled close to the pages and he pushed it back without a break in his concentration. This was the boy Naomi trusted to do sensitive things?  Well why not? He sure looked the type. As Geneva well knew, though, you can’t just a book by its cover.

“OK,” she said. “Ask him.”

Naomi got up and walked across the library to the table where Ryan was sitting. It was too far for Geneva to hear what was being said, but it must have been interesting to Ryan; he had actually moved once. It was when he briefly looked across the room at her. Shortly the conversation ended and Naomi came back, her face aglow.

“He says he’ll do it,” she told Geneva.

“Does he know what it is?” she asked.

The expression on Naomi’s face read, Sort of. “I mean he knows it’s a secret and all, but I didn’t go into details.”

“Don’t you think we ought to do that some time before he has to, say, walk into that ABDL shop?”

Naomi tilted her head. “Look at you with the lingo!”

Geneva shrugged. “I pay attention. But really, how do we even get him there if we don’t come clean?”

“No worries,” Naomi smiled back. “I’ll talk to him at tech and tell him all about it. He’ll be fine. He’ll probably find it just as adorable as I do.”

“Yeah,” Geneva said. “I think that’s what I’m afraid of.”

Naomi nudged her friend playfully. “I think we should change the subject. Let’s talk about your first-ever high school lead!”

Geneva smiled. When she’d gone to the website to check the cast list, she told Naomi that it really didn’t matter to her, that if she didn’t get it then she’d be very happy with the Sutton Foster part. But the squeal she let out when her name was at the top of the list belied that argument. They had gone out for some ice cream to celebrate. Pistachio, of course, for Naomi; chocolate chunk for her. She loved biting into the large pieces of semisweet chocolate and letting them melt in her mouth and mingle with the vanilla ice cream. 

Other than her, Lara, and Flynn Weathering as Daddy Warbucks, the list was pretty much a surprise to Geneva. The NYC solo had gone to a sophomore girl she hardly knew, and most of the orphans were, as she’d figured, freshmen and sophomores. Grace Farrell was a junior, Megan McNamara, who had been in the musical each year in chorus roles. And Miss Hannigan’s sleazy boyfriend Rooster was a senior boy who had never even tried out before. It was one of the most interesting cast lists she’d ever seen: practically no one where you’d expect them. Except Lara. Part of her really wished that Lara had not gotten Miss Hannigan, but she’d heard the audition from backstage: she owned it. 

Damn.

“What more is there to talk about?” she asked Naomi.

Naomi rolled her eyes. “You, silly. This is a huge month for you. Annie onstage and Baby G on youtube. You’re getting everything you want!”

“Yep,” Geneva said with a forced half-smile. “I get my choice of being like 10 or 3. Good thing I don’t have any boobs.”

“Your body is about to become your biggest asset,” Naomi said.

“Remind me of that when I’m sitting in a crib.”

“I won’t need to. The song is dynamite and you’re going to hit it out of the park.”

“Oooo,” said Geneva. “Sports metaphors. Since when do we use sports metaphors?”

“We always have,” Naomi said, mock-serious. “I think you’re way off base.”

Geneva’s smile grew bigger. “Oh, that was hitting below the belt.”

“Nope,” said Naomi. “I think it was par for the course.”

Geneva laughed. “Now we’re running neck and neck.”

“This could be a split decision.”

“He shoots, he scores!”

Naomi looked puzzled. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Geneva, still laughing quietly, said, “Absolutely nothing. I’ve just always wanted to say it.”

Naomi shook her head. “Game, set and match,” she said and joined the laughter.

Geneva just laughed harder. “Bingo!” she said.

“Shhh!” Naomi said through her own laughter. “They’re gonna throw us out.”

“Well then,” Geneva said, “that would be a third ‘first’ for me this month.” To herself, she added, and I don’t know which of the three I’m going to regret most.

  • Like 5
Link to comment

Wow I actually still had a like to give this. I have to tell you I am having a hard time keeping up with you on this. There’s so much new content added I just never seem to get to read it all. I really am enjoying the story. I almost felt like crying with Lara when she found out she wouldn’t get to be a Violet. Jayne must have a heart of gold to put up with her sisters insults and still be considerate enough to get the plant to begin with and then get rid of it before it can cause any ill feelings. 

Yes I am posting twice. Apparently with the last chapter I got my like to stay but the comments didn’t post so they were still there this morning and I figured better late than never. I liked this chapter to. Geneva is sure taking on a full load. On top of regular classes, add in the leading role of a play and then just for good measure throw on the Baby G production. I couldn’t hang. Something would start to fall through the cracks. I got a chuckle out of the metaphors. Good job with all those. I ran out of likes but I wanted to give it one. I also want to read more. 

Link to comment
10 hours ago, CDfm said:

Geneva is sure taking on a full load. On top of regular classes, add in the leading role of a play and then just for good measure throw on the Baby G production. I couldn’t hang.

You never know. Something might. ?

10 hours ago, CDfm said:

I am having a hard time keeping up with you on this.

Well things will slow down considerably now; I'm out of pre-written chapters! ? (Gotta write some more.)

Link to comment

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now
×
×
  • Create New...