Welcome to the redubbed, WattPad Thursday. My idea is to take Thursdays to share the latest installments of my fandom-girl story, The Amish Jedi, and any other interesting fandom-type stories I may find.
If you’re unfamiliar with WattPadd, it is basically the You-Tube for writers. You can go on and write, read, and engage in stories for free. There’s an app and everything. All you have to do is set-up a free account and get to reading.
Zia Zook may have been born into an Amish family, but she inherited un-Amish desires (Star Wars, Harry Potter, Twilight, and Ninja Turtles to name a few). When these come between her and the love of her life, she escapes to a land far, far away—Greenwich Village—and meets a whole new world of characters.
A story about a fandom-girl, written by a fandom-girl, for fandom-girls. Because fandoming is something you can’t just quit like a bad habit.
I hope you enjoy, and please feel free to comment on the story. My heart gets all warm and tingly when I connect with a fellow fandom-er. 🙂
Episode 1 ~ Batman (Part 1)
I can’t believe I’m doing this for Star Wars.
I heave the last duffle bag to the second floor and collapse against the wall. A stream of sweat drips down my back.
I should get up. Be an adult about this.
Grunting, I get to my feet. I’m about to knock when I notice the heart-shaped Post-it below the gold number three-o-one.
Welcome home! Had to cover a shift. Left the key with Jason across the hall.
The G was made into a smiley face with its tongue out.
I glance down the hall. There are three doors on each side. Three-o-one is directly across from three-o-six.
I clamber over my mountain of bags and stare down the green door hoping Megs didn’t mean diagonally across the hall.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I cringe. Unless Jason has gnat ears, he won’t have heard my lame knock. Now I have to be the annoying person who knocks twice in a row.
I knock again, louder.
The door opens too fast.
My breath lodges somewhere in my throat. I try to remember his name. The only thing that comes to my mind is Christian Bale, but I’m positive Batman hasn’t moved to a two-bedroom apartment in Greenwich Village.
He smirks as if he’s a master Occlumens.
“Megs says you’ve got the key.” I hold up the Post-it as if presenting evidence that I’m at his door because of an inconvenience, not to ogle him.
He rotates a ring of keys in his hand, as he walks past me toward my door—hopping over the bags.
“This everything?” He pops the lock and bends down to grab the nearest bag.
He huffs and slings it over his shoulders. “What have you got in here? Books?”
My cheeks burn. I’m sure he notices, which only causes them to burn hotter.
I look anywhere but at him as I sling one of the lighter bags—DVDs, over my shoulder. “I don’t need any help.”
He holds the door open as I march past him into the apartment.
I keep my head just long enough to lower the bag gently to the floor.
“Yeah, Megs….” He sets the bag on the kitchen counter. “She’s excited you’re here.”
The room, which contains a kitchen and living area with a massive TV is painted purple and decorated with a mismatch of furnishings. But that’s not what stops me dead in my tracks a mere three feet past the threshold.
On the wall above the TV, which is framed on either side by a door, is a massive “Welcome Home” sign. Each corner decorated with a bobble of balloons.
The bile rises in my throat and my pulse quickens. I glance to the windows and notice they are cracked open. Swallowing and focusing on keeping my breathing even, I tighten my hold on the DVD bag. “Where’s my room?”
Jason points to the door directly across from where we stand.
I make it to the bedroom door in five long strides. Anxious to get inside, I throw it open. That’s when I blackout. Actually, I am overcome in an avalanche of balloons, and then I pass out.