Bell-Bottomed Bella Written âOpenerâ
Weird time to be uploading this on my end, but I canât sleep. At least itâs the perfect time to show off something Iâve written as a ârough pilot openerâ to the series.
Donât worry if none of this makes a lick of sense. Iâll explain the new characters and stuff later.
It was a nice Autumn day in Wersterfield, Tenny-see. Rock Candy Lake glistened in the pale sunlight, the touristsâ cameras flashed at the Legendary Statues, and the older townsfolk laughed about the inside joke of calling their home state of Tennessee âTenny-seeâ just to mess with people. âŚThe author of this book included.
Apart from the author (who is still currently seething at old pronunciation habits), everyone went about their normal routines without a care in the world. Why, even Bell-Bottomed Bella had a peppier skip that morning! That little gloomy pretender!
In fact, Bellaâs walk was so upbeat that a fellow schoolmate had to comment on it. âSomething the matter, Bell?â an older girl asked as she joined her friendâs side. âYouâre not doing your moody little stomp today.â
âNope!â Bella smiled cheerfully. âIâm just so excited for Reading Time! Olâ Jebâs gonna be telling the Pretty Polly story!â
âPretty Polly, huh?â Bellaâs friend asked with a frown. âThat can be one of two different stories to me. Is it the parrot of Goldbeard or the Pretty Girl of the Harlans?â
âThe Harlans,â Bella quickly answered, thrill rumbling through her voice. âAnd you know what that means, Rem.â
âI have a guess,â Rem corrected casually. âIs it something to do with Rites of Passage?â
Bella only replied with a determined giggle.
Rem blinked slowly. âLook,â she purred lazily. âIâm glad you finally get your Rite of Passage to this whole treasure trove of local folklore, but I honestly wouldâve gone for the parrot.â
âBecause of the pretty feathers he might give out afterwards?â Bella asked with a wink.
Rem blushed underneath her black scarf. âYeah,â she murmured. âSome parrot feathers would be nice for my collection..â
But before Rem and Bella could talk about more birds, they had arrived at Westerfield One-to-Twelve. Bella did a little bow and said âGoodbye until recess, my black cat rival!â, Rem simply waved, then both went to their respective parts of the schoolhouse. All pretty standard fare for the local Gothic Girlie and her quiet âstyle rivalâ.
Unfortunately, the classes in One-to-Twelve are less Westerfield standard and more⌠well.. actuallystandard. The English Teacher is not some Shakespearen-enthralled poet. The Mathematics Teacher only gets upset if one of the âslowerâ students is not accommodated properly. Even the Science Teacher only has incidents involving dissecting the methods of projection slides rather than frogs. So, in the interest of fairness on them (and on you), I wonât go into further detail about typical class shenanigans.
But Reading Time at the library? That is where things get interesting. There had been this cycle of storytellers hand-picked by both the school and the general public. The Westerfield Storytellers was the groupâs name, and telling stories was quite literally a game to them. It became a competition to see who would tell the best stories, and their judges would almost always be the schoolkids. Jebidiah Bufordâor, as most call him âOld Jebââwas the popular choice this time of year. Something about the combination of his carefree attitude, his lumberjack-type appearance; and his weathered, rumbling drawl made him perfect for the spookier stories.
And, as the kids gathered around for the story of Pretty Polly, the sentiment still buzzed throughout the room. âHeâll scare my socks off with this one!â boasted a pretty tough-looking preteen. âI just know it.â
âOh yeah? I think heâll make it less scary for me,â piped up an elementary kid holding her teddy bear. âHe always makes them less scary.â
âYou think heâll go into detail about what Billy Stakes did to Polly?â asked another kid still wearing a lab coat from Science class. âI canât tell if she got the stitches before or after he kââ
âHey, donât spoil it!â barked a tall girl next to the over-observer. âMost of us donât even know who âBillie Stokesâ is yet!â
In the midst of all this chatter and speculation, Bella kept quiet. She sat crisscrossed in the front row. Watching the closed door at the back of the âstageâ. Waiting. Doing her best to remain stoic and unbothered as always.
Which, by the way, is really hard to do when something as monumental as this is about to happen. A new era was about to emerge like a baby raven from its egg. And, boy, was she ready to see that baby raven.