Last week, for Fiction Friday, I shared the first chapter of my Negan’s daughter fanfic, The One My Father Didn’t Kill. This week we’re switching genre’s a bit and going YA Amish with The Amish Jedi. I recently posted the last chapter of the first book, so it’s “complete” so to say. I’ll still likely tweak a few things, and there are two more books to write.

Here’s part of the first chapter of Amish Jedi which can be read in full, for free on Wattpad.

+++++++The Amish Jedi+++++++

Episode 1 ~ Batman

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.

“You okay?”

My vision is fuzzy but I make out Batman standing over me, dabbing my forehead with a cool towel. I move my hand to push myself up and realize the floor is cushiony—I’m on a couch… in a purple room… and, “You’re not Batman…”

He laughs.

Did I actually say that out loud?


“You opened your door and passed out.” He continues to dab my head; part of me wants him to stop. “I carried you to the couch, opened the windows wider, but didn’t have smelling salts.” He holds up the cool towel.

I trace back his words to the moment I blacked out and it all rushes in on me. Before I should, I leap to my feet and, stumbling, I manage to fall out of the apartment and shut the door behind me with my foot. Thankfully the bag full of clothes is there to catch me when my knees give way.

I hate this shaky, weak, cold feeling. All energy gone, as if I’m sickly or something.

Jason comes out moments later.

I grit my teeth to hold back the wave of nausea. “Shut it.”


“The door!”

He shuts it, and then glances down at me like I’m a crazy person.

Thankfully, I’m used to that look. I was always the Zook’s “special” child. That is why I’m here—well, that and a broken heart.

He’s standing over me, hands on hips, brow raised.

“I…” Swallow, breathe, breathe. “I.. don’t like… balloons.” I put my head in my hands and focus on the white tips of my Converse.

“You’re serious?” he says after a long pause.

I nod. I can’t find the energy to speak, all my focus is on keeping down the tots I had for breakfast.

“I have a solution,” he says. I hear the door open and shut again, glancing up only to make sure one of them didn’t sneak out into the hall with me.

After a few moments, the distinct sound of balloons popping echoes from the other side of the door. Hundreds and hundreds of times over. Thankfully, popped balloons are my favorite kind.

About ten minutes later, the door opens again. “It’s safe.”

I nod, still fatigued. Unfortunately, he picks up on this and grabs my arm to help me up.

“I’m fine…” I shrug away from him.

He smirks. “And I’m Batman.”

I give him my best that-is-so-not-funny look before I grab the handle of the clothes bag and roll it into the apartment, hoping I catch his toes on the way in. The door shuts moments later.

“You did a thorough job.” I am impressed he hasn’t left bodies lying around. For how clean the place looks, it is as if there had never been one of them present.

Jason-not-Batman commandeers my bag and rolls it into the room. Apparently he’s a gentleman, unfortunately reminding me of him again.

“Window’s open.” He parks the bag against the wall next to the door. “You’ve got the fire escape.”

I nod and glance around the room. One iron-rod twin bed, nightstand, desk, and tall dresser outfit the room. The bedspread is a simple purple and pink quilt with lots of frilly flowers, nothing I’m not used to back home. When I’m finished assessing my new living quarters, my gaze returns to Jason and my first thought is, Why are you still here?

“Your aunt asked that you not be left alone….”


He shrugs. “She’s worried about you.”

At this, I do something I would never do in my parents’ home, roll my eyes. The last time I saw my aunt the only person she was worried about was herself. “Do you have to be in the same room as me?”

Finally, a little color shades his cheeks. “I’ll watch TV.” He motions to the living room.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Jason closes the door on his way out.