Description About a lesson in Irish Dancing last night

She sails on waves of jumps and flight, an elegant seagull, while her imitators are like crabs learning to topple on their claws. The instructor has years of competition beneath her belt or rather, on her feet. The one night lesson kept students struggling to stay on their toes and their minds kept tumbling with knowledge of new steps.

Recording an hour of a day Jan 28

Warning: this won't make much sense, but these are pieces of conversations and actions in my family on Jan 28. Things aren't very cohesive, as I was practicing my typing and not writing a story

Once upon a time in a land far, far away… a science book sat, gazing unseeingly at the ceiling, on the kitchen table.

“Pleeeaase, this is due tomorrow. Camille, please. Camille, Camille, Camille, Camille,” Megan begs

Poke. Poke. Poke. Jab. Poke. Poke. Jab. Back rub. Jab. Poke.

“Go to www. Then your gmail” laugh, click “Shoot.” “Doesn’t always work. I got a text in the middle of the night from gmail saying someone was trying to get into my account.” Mom to steve from MI

Scoot, scoot. Bump, bbvump, sit, poke,pull  ft, yfgghcf, press keys, dangle glasses, stand up, grab trash, head run, steal chair, ride writer.

“Camille!” poke, blow, jump on writer’s back, eat gummy worm, steal pen from writer’s hair, place pen cap in writer’s hair, annoying writer.

“They have several functions that they use.” “And it will say Google Plus. Now it will upgrade your gmail.” Leans over, “Good typing practice, Camille.” Laugh, chat on cell…..gasp, “IT’s your birthday!...oh… so what iss your birthday… it’s confidential? It’s once every 10 years? So it’s a leap year of a leap year? So you aren’t really fifty-two.” “September 5th, September 5th…” “Kay, I just emailed you. Well, it should be in your email by now. Ok, so back to where those boxes are… then click on the lower…. If you want to ignore it or go back you can….” Pause, “K, don’t worry about those unless…” “ok, back to the box with the 9 boxes.” “…yeah drive is the cloud.” “I think someone winked at you. Well thank you. I invited you to chat… she’s so silly, she’s transcribing everything I say…” “Left side…” “Because it said it sent you an invitation to chat from me. It’s after the wink. There’s not another email to open? There should be another email,” “There’s a possibility I went into Spam. I don’t want to be Spam. Ok that’s kinda a chat box, but not really” “Now invite me to click. I just invited you again. I clicked on the plus sign in your bubble… that looks blue… do you see it? No it’s in the lower left. You have to go up where the green light is.”

Grandma and Megan change the trash, megan slammed the door to the cold outdoors.

“you see me and I just added you.” Adjust comp. “Camille is a silly girl.”

Sing song from sound of music,

Grandma to megan “Aren’t you going to Young Women’s?”

“Oh Snap!” runs around, “…goodbye.” Slam door

About Extreme Theater of Mar 2012

Extreme Theater is a experience at my high school charter, where everyone that comes (in drama or not) are split into groups. Each group is given a phrase and a prop and have to create and complete a mini play within the next 24 hours.

I've never been in drama except for a few plays in middle school as chorus and participating in Extreme Theater the year before. This time Extreme Theater was not only in the spring instead of the fall, but we were competing with the testing of a new activity called Extreme Choir. Most of those who were in Extreme Choir would have been in Extreme Theater, but it was required for choir students to participate in the first Extreme Choir. I was told that in the future, the two events would be held on different weekends. In the meantime, Extreme Theater had smaller and fewer groups than normal, so most groups had only one writer instead of the two in the years before.

My group, was done both with our script and having lines memorized hours before the other groups, which had never happened in Extreme Theater before, so my group was pretty proud of themselves.

However, later when it was nearing time to preform, we had an increasing lack of actors and actresses, so my group unitedly decided not to preform our skit, which wouldn't have been as awesome without them. We supported our sick actresses and the other groups instead. Despite feeling only an ounce of disappointment at first, it just felt right.

But, on this blog is the script we wrote together. It's called 'Role Call.'

Extreme Theater Skit March 2012

Roll Call!

Actors

Caleb: Bus Driver

Jenna: Sarcastic teenager

Jamie: Depressed mode

Emily: Convention goer

Sara: old lonely grandma

Caleb: Director

Camille: Writer

Lizzie: Advisor

Mr. Dowdle: Advisor

Kevin: Advisor

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sitting outside of a stalled bus

Jamie: “Where are we again?”

Caleb: “We’re half way through Nevada, folks.”

Jamie: “I’ve never seen so much sand in a desert!”

Jenna: “I’m so hot!”                        Shakes her head in Silence

Caleb: “Whoa, It’s not what it looks like. Just remain calm and whatever you do, don’t panic. I’ll check the engine again.”

Caleb exits

Emily: “If we can’t get the overheated engine to be fixed, how are we going to get to the knitting convention now?”

Sara: “I knew I should have taken the train.”

Grumbles as she knits; Sara gets bored with just knitting

Sara: “Hey young’ns, let’s play a game.”

Jamie: “What kind?”

Jenna: “No thanks.”

Emily: “I’ve had my tickets reserved for six month, and now I’m going to miss it completely? This is ridiculous!”

Caleb enters

Caleb: “Hey, I have an idea. Does anyone have a phone that gets a signal?”

The young girls all check their phones

Sara: “I keep my phone on my wall at home! Why do you ask?”

Emily: “Nope, sorry. Just lost the signal.”

Jamie: “Nuh-uh.”

Jenna: “No. Duh. We’re in the desert!”

Caleb sighs

Sara: “Why is that important?”

Emily: “How long will we be here?”

Caleb: “Until we can get a signal to call the outside world, we are stuck here.”

Jenna: “Great! Now we’re all going to die by baking.”

Jamie: “Baking? I love cookies! Can we have those?”

Emily: “Nooo! I can’t be stuck here! I have the convention to get to!”

Caleb: “It’s okay. I’ll keep working on the engine meanwhile.”

Caleb exits

Emily: “I can’t tell you how frustrated this makes me. What if we’re stuck here? There’s no one for miles!”   

Sara: “I’d love to play a game? Who’s game?” Laughs at the horrible pun

Emily: “This isn’t a joking matter! I’m pretty upset, if you can’t tell.”

Jamie: Raises her hand “I can tell!”

Jenna: Rolls her eyes “Thanks, Jamie. You’re so helpful.”

Emily: “How are we supposed to survive?”

Jamie: “We’ll be fine. You find us food, you find us water, and you find us air!”

Jenna: “Oh I’ll bring you a bucket of air.”                Sarcastic

Jamie: “That’s perfect!”

Sara: “Are you two twins? You look very similar.”

Jamie: “If we were twins, we’d have the same first name!”

Jenna: “No, you idiot, we’d have the same last name. Which we do.”

Jamie: “Oh. Right. If we were twins, we’d have the same last name! That’d be awesome! I’d totally make matching outfits.”

Jenna: “I would totally burn them.”

Emily: “I’m not interested in playing a game. I’m interested in going to the knitting convention!”

Sara: “Oh, it’ll take your mind off the problem. Let’s see. I know I have them in here somewhere…” Searches purse “Ahh, found it! My lucky Uno cards!”

Jamie: “Ooh, I love that game.”

Jenna: “Have you ever even played it?”

Jamie: “No! That’s why I love it!”

Sara: “Well, I can teach you how to play!”

Jenna: “No thanks.”

Emily: “Why are they lucky?”                    Slightly curious

Sara: “Well you see, when I was a young girl, we used to go down to the soda fountain. It was there that I’d get peppermint striped candy and a nice root beer float. Have you ever had a root beer float? Try it with peppermint striped candy, it’s delicious. Anyway, I was going down the street when I saw a shiny nickel that someone had accidentally dropped. I thought of trying to find the owner, but instead I decided I would pet a dog, who I think was a Labrador retriever. Or maybe it was a poodle. No, it was a Labrador. What was I talking about?”

Jenna: “Something.”

Jamie: “I love dogs! That’s such a great story!”

Emily: “But you didn’t explain why the cards are lucky.”

Sara: “Oh. These old things? I bought them at a store just before it closed.” Nods as if that means something important

Jamie: “Oooh. That gave me chills. Did you hear that, Jenna?”

Emily: “Oh, I’m sorry, what are your names? My name is Emily.”

Sara: “I’m Sara, once the greatest trapeze artist in the circus! I used to drive the elephants around in the center ring, and I was called ‘Sara—the Amazing!’ Gentlemen would line up in front of me, wearing their spats and top hats and sometimes even a monocle and I would simply sit, beautiful as the sunset, while they swooned over me.”

Jamie: “I’m Jamie, the bus driver’s name is tag, no wait, Caleb, and that is Jenna reclining on the seat and I love the circus!”

Jenna: “You’ve never been to the circus, Jamie!”

Jamie: “That’s why I love it!”

Sara: “Where are you going, dear?”                Addressing Jenna

Jenna: “My business is my own.”

Sara: “Come play with us, with my magic cards.”

Jenna: “I’d rather be left alone. Besides the cards aren’t magic.”

Emily: “So, I didn’t hear where you two were headed?”

Jenna: “Our grandmother’s funeral.”

Jamie smiles awkwardly

Emily: “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Jenna: “We didn’t really know her.”

Jamie: “We get to see all of our family, and that’ll be nice.”

Emily: “You’re so sweet.

Jenna: “Oh thanks”

Sara: “What are your names again? Such sweeties.”

Emily: “I’m Emily”

Jamie: “I’m Jamie…Jenna’s over there.”

(Sara gives her a card-hand?) Oh yes, of course.”

Jenna: “No really, I’m alright.”

Jamie: “Jenna, I bet I could beat you.”

Jenna: “Nice try. Oh come on, you’re just pretending you want to be here.”

Jamie: “Actually, I do want to be here. It’s your fault we didn’t see Grandma before she died! You were always just “too busy” to visit. I actually always wanted to see her and now I can’t!”

Jenna: “She was just an old lady who didn’t know my name and made up stories for attention.”

Sara fiddles with cards.

Jamie: “You know what, if that’s how you want to remember her, that’s fine, but I don’t think Grandma would appreciate that.” She sits down “Just let her be, like she wants. Let’s start.”

Sara, Emily, and Jamie start to play Uno and after a pause

Sara: “Maybe Grandma told you stories to bring you closer to her.”

No body says anything for minute.

Jenna looks up and hesitates: “Have enough cards for me?”

Just as they sit down and the audience has a feel that it is about to end…

Caleb runs in

Caleb: “Hey, I fixed the bus!”

Jenna: “But we just started.”

Caleb: “Oh, Uno… I guess I can let you finish this round, but hurry it up! I’m behind on schedule! And don’t you have a knitting convention? (Addressing Emily)”

Emily: “Oh, it’s okay if I am a little late.”

As Caleb is about to walk off, Jamie asks, “Hey, do you want to play?”

Caleb: “Yeah, why not?”

Everyone sits down to play Uno

The end

Mrs. Richardson's Cabin, written in 2013

An Exercise in Detail

The students marched up the wintery hill. The writer and Mrs. Martinez lingered behind because the teacher had sought her camera for a picture of the retreating forces. (The writer laughed at her unintentional pun.) The students lined up at the door of the borrowed cabin for a Writer’s Retreat. Before entering the threshold of the cabin, each student bent and removed their shoes when they were near the door. Immediately, the students spread out, seeking to explore before Mrs. Richardson (It was her family cabin built by her grandparents and owned by her cousin) called us to the kitchen to discuss the rules of the house. The kitchen was the warmest room in the house, whereas in the main room the carpet was as cold as ice despite attempts to heat the house. Boys crowded around the pool table, even playing a game (allowed only if they knew how to play) before settling down in that corner to write a bit. Tall wide and clear rectangular pieces of glass covered the two walls furthest from the door- near the boys. Sliding glass doors have access to a thin porch cradling a couple feet of frozen white water connected to a snow-laden bridge above a freezing, dashing stream. Pine trees decorated in white fluff dwarf the cabin ceiling by several feet. Inside, green carpet marked with equal signs of blue and beige cover the floor of the living room, stairs, and loft. Wooden floors make for easy cleanup in the kitchen. Also in the living room, an old squared tv including a dvd player and dvd case seated below it sits next to the vent where the author sat to get toasty warm but her toes froze anyway. A fancy fireplace oven sits in front of a elegant red rug and a long smooth black couch full of pale red, green and brown plaid pillows. It’s to the left of a lamp and tv. The lounging couch sits a student, writing in a notebook. A fancy folding table and aging chairs yet holding onto their gleam of youth occupy the corner next to the stairs. A folded bed stands next to the taller steps- underneath which is a closet. The stair lining isn’t perfectly smooth- a few splinters make this writer yelp. Two small glass chandelier of 6 or 8 lights. Still, there is a few decorations on the wall. A large painting of pioneers paused at a stream for washing claims the tv wall. A huge buffalo head is mounted on the higher side of the stone fireplace. Old skis with boots attached hang above the hidden right side of the room where a lamp and a two player game box with small soccer figures are skewered on poles waiting for unplayed games, mainly gathering dust. Artic snow shoes are suspended above the boys’ heads. On the adjacent wall, the pool table poles are stretched on their rack. A large painting of traveling pioneers holds up the space above the small stair landing.

In the kitchen after lunch, the writer sits on the wooded floor, back against the corner of the hallway. Above the solid wood table and benched, a stained glass box of light.

The writer went snowshoeing up to the mostly frozen waterfall. The snow was amazing, glistening with the frozen shards of snowflakes or ice. It truly was a winter wonderland. Like hard frosting, the snow was smooth at a distance was smooth and up close was full of soft sharp ridges. It was easily broken by a step off the path or a tennis shoe not riding the grip of the claw on the snowshoe. In the midst of trees a few twigs and branches brushed the marching students. The stomping of the single file line filled the air with noise little louder than the silence when everyone stood still. The frozen water next to the waterfall was faintly blue; solid ice. The packed snow near the waterfall became clumped and then the smooth ice which became wavy and finally the clumped in round balls or dangled with sharp points on the edge of the bank. Icicles were easily perceived as hazardous beauty. The first snow piles in the middle of the stream from the melted waterfall appeared as textured as polar bear fur. This writer tried climbing up a mountain of mostly untrampled snow. When she sank into the snow it nearly seem like she was swimming—it was so thick. On top, her mother asked for help up a less traveled path up. The writer grasped her mother’s hand and slid down the hill. In trying to help her mother one more time this writer ended up in the snow upside down. Then this writer had a hard time standing back up until she smoothly sledded down on her pants to the original path.

Once more in the kitchen, the students discuss Winterfest. Family photos and a bookshelf cover the left wall. An electic piano is on a cabinet under a painting next to another window clear sliding door.

Breakfast, a Personal Essay (Based on a true story). Written in 2013

Breakfast

    One early summer morning, my mom was fuming, but she was able to focus her anger and frustrated energy into making breakfast.

    At the time, we were living in our cousin’s basement while our family looked for a home of our own. As the sky warmed up, it became a perfect azure day. The house slowly filled with activity. In the living room, my youngest sister and cousins laughed and giggled as they bounced up and down in front of the X-box Connect sensor, playing virtual adventures. When they woke up, my other siblings and remaining cousin perched on perilous chairs in front of the desktop computer, avidly watching ‘Minecraft’ how-to videos. In the front room, my Aunt May paired triangles and parallelograms in preparation for sewing her next quilt. Elsewhere, Uncle Jim might have been reading a computer code manual or researching a two person-sized sailboat kits. Dad may have picked up a piece or two of clothing and dropped it in the washer. Then my mom called everyone up for pancakes. In the basement bedroom, I slept through it all.

    Eventually I woke. At first it seemed a typical uneventful day; I had stayed up late to finish my latest conquest from the library. Megan and my cousin Allen were kicking a ball around in the backyard. Logan sat stiffly, defending his computer time from any invader of his nearby space. My other cousins Jessie and Steven were now playing X-box sports games. Rebecca had lost interest in the game and was lost in her own world, playing with borrowed toys. I bounded up the two small sets of stairs with the great enthusiasm of the well rested. As I ate a bowl of cold cereal, my mom and aunt took turns telling me what happened at breakfast. Their eyes danced with merriment since they already knew the punch-line.

    “When I made pancakes this morning, I mixed the flour, the eggs, the milk, and then I added the sugar…” My mom began retelling the story.

    It had been a surprisingly quiet meal. Mom continued to pour the batter and flip new flapjacks as everyone—my aunt, my uncle, my three cousins, my dad, and my three siblings slowly ate their one or two pancakes.

    After her first bite, Aunt May asked with a blank face, “Can you pass the strawberry preserves?” After it was handed over, Aunt May proceeded to spread the jam liberally across her food.

    “Can you put jam on mine too?” Jessie and Steven asked. Before Aunt May could respond, they decided against the strawberry flavor. “Never mind.” Instead they waited their turn for a different topping. My cousins, siblings, my dad and maybe even my uncle soaked their breakfast in syrup.

    After a few more bites, the children excused themselves to go play. Not one word was spoken about the meal. Instead, they talked excitedly about the next games they wanted to play.

    Then my mom ate one of her own creations. I could nearly see the event. She poured a drizzle of the maple liquid on the top of the perfectly golden pancake. She turned her fork on its side and cut a piece out of the circle. She raised it to her mouth and ate it. Mom made a disgusted face and guzzled a tall glass of lukewarm water.

    “I don’t understand. Why does this taste so bad? I even put in a little extra sugar than the two tablespoons recommended!” My mom exclaimed. Her anger from earlier this morning had dissolved, leaving puzzlement in her expression.

    “Sugar? What sugar?” Aunt May asked curiously, “I didn’t think we had any.”

    Mom went into the pantry, “This sugar,” she said as she pulled out a large non-labeled container.

    I had caught up to Aunt May and Mom’s story enough to comment with humorous horror, “Oh, no!”

    Aunt May, Mom and I burst into laughter. I was no longer excluded from their great joke. Just before I had come up, my mom had scraped away the remaining salty flapjacks into the trash.

    Mom smiled, “I was really grateful that everyone was so polite, even though the pancakes tasted so terrible.”

    I smiled in return, but inwardly I wondered. Would I have been so kind?

Notes while making A Buzz in the Park

Notes while making A Buzz in the Park

Caution: Not meant to be organized or make sense









Prompt: The untimely murder of one's beloved pet. And a stinging desire for revenge.







Others

It has black stripes, not yellow

It does too have stripes of yellow, don't make fun of Buzz, it's not nice



I brought Buzz a pretty flower, but now you killed him!

That's a weed, not a folwer.

It is too a flower, it's a dandy-lion,



See it's not dead, its alive-- points to new bee

Like Schodinger's cat

…

Buzz! You're alive!

All's well that ends well

Why did you say that? What does that even mean? 8-yr-old brother

Buzz you need to sting him, he killed your friend!

Should we run?

Yes, you should. The mini female sherlock's mouth quirked in a smile

I'm not scared. Even as he inches away

I doubt a bee is going to revenge the death of it's kin. It will just keep working

Harsh

Such is the life of a bee, sigh, however the bee named Buzz is following you

Ahh! Why?!!!!!! runs around

Hmmm... ah-ha! Your sister must have switched the bug repellant with perfume! Hence why you smell of obnoxious flowering plants and why the bee is following you

…stop laughing sis




if a version 2

woody then Jesse eats from the apple slice before the death of Buzz

Personalities of the three children

Name: Jesse

Age: 5

General physical description: red hair, green eyes, short

Brothers and sisters: Woody

Position in family: youngest

Special friends: Buzz

Influential person or event:

Sense of humor:

Temper: hot

Personality type: ENFP

Extraversion 8%, Intuition 16%, Feeling 56%, Prospecting 26%

Personality description: Very sensitive but bold/protective when her friends or fantasy world is in danger of being mocked or hurt







Name: Woody

Age: 8

General physical description: Brown hair, green eyes, tall

Brothers and sisters: Jesse

Position in family: oldest child

Special friends: Shirley

Influential person or event:

Sense of humor:

Temper:

Personality type: ENFP

Extraversion 46%, Intuition 31%, Feeling 29%, Prospecting 55%

Personality description: He's curious and full of energy and enjoys watching Shirley figure things out even if he can't always understand






Name: Shirley

Age: 8 on the verge of 9

General physical description: brown hair, grey eyes, tall

Brothers and sisters: none

Position in family:

Special friends: Woody

Influential person or event:

Sense of humor: dry

Temper: slow

Personality type: ISTJ

Personality strengths: Introversion 61%, Sensing 30%, Thinking 87%, Judging 54%

Personality description: She favors facts of science and mysteries.






Reasons for the names I chose:

Jesse, Buzz, and Woody are inspired names from Toy Story. I don't own the characters (for disclaimer purposes).

Shirley was a similar female name to Sherlock




Other little details:

Shirley eats green apple slices, Woody thinks they are too sour while Shirley shrugs and says says the taste of knowledge isn't always sweet—correlating to the biblical story Adam and Eve. Anecdote: Adam is earth while Eve is the seed and children are the plant.

A bird has a bow tied on it's leg, a stick in it's beak, and peeps—little bo peep

Setting: a park in California

A Buzz in the Park, a short story by Camille H.

Caution: This is a work of fiction. A bug meets it's untimely and detailed end in this story. And childhood drama.

A Buzz in the Park

By: Camille H.

“Buzz! Buzz! Where are you?” a girl of the proud age of five years old called as she whirlwinded her way across the park, “I brought you a pretty yellow flower to match your stripes!” The tiny red head zigzagged from bush to bush, searching for something small among the branches. A dart of color purred as it speeded past the suddenly delighted smile,

“Buzz! It's me, Jesse!” the girl giggled as she trailed barefoot behind the huge flying dot. It was a beautiful day as the kindergartener played hide-and-seek with a very fat bumblebee in the shade of several towering trees.

“Owch! That's one fat bee.” as a tall boy, smelling faintly of bug repellant and flowers, and the fat bee collided.

Jesse gasped in horror, too far away to stop what happened next and too shocked to say a word, let alone scream at her older brother. The hands of the older sibling snapped out and clapped the bee, causing the bug to be squished and smeared across the palms under the boy's fascinated and yet disgusted eyes.

“Cool. Hey, Shirley! Did you know bee guts are...”

“WOODY KILLED BUZZ!” Jesse screeched. Instantly her older brother's head jerked up, looking straight at Jesse, frozen in surprise. His green eyes, a family trait, were clearly saying, 'Oh no.' He glanced at his forgotten hands before he hastily tried to wipe the dead bee guts off on his pants.

Jesse's normally bright green eyes were dark, glinting with vengeance. The five year old marched closer, “You...KILLED...Buzz.”

Woody gulped, wildly looking around for any sort of distraction to save him. The eight year old nearly sighed in relief when his eyes met his best friend's grey eyes. At least until, Woody realized that as the other brunette quirked a smile at him, Shirley was inwardly laughing at him. Before Jesse could attempt to murder him, or worse, tell mother, Woody blurted out the first thing that came to mind,

“We could have a funeral.” Not the best suggestion ever. Woody winced at the wicked gleam in the younger red head's smile, “Not mine of course. Please don't tell mother!” he blurted out in his panic. “I'll help pick flowers.” 'I want to live' Woody begged in his mind as he stepped away from Jesse. Shirley, still watching Woody in amusement, handed Jesse one of her green apple slices. 'I think Dad will understand if I run instead of facing the problem this time.' In a glance looking away from the sibling drama, Shirley blinks as she spots a blue bird in the trees with a ribbon in it's nest and a twig in the bird's beak as it herds three fledgelings, before turning her gaze back to observe the scene.

“Well...” Jesse smirked as she took a large bite out of the apple slice. 'Since when can my baby sister cause chills or smirk like that?' Woody wondered as he inched away backwards. His heart must have stopped when he tripped onto his back in the warm grass. 'This must be the end.'

“I'm sorry for killing your black striped bumblebee!” Woody stuttered

“It has yellow stripes not black.”

In a moment of what Woody was sure later was insanity, he argued, “It does too have black stripes. It's on top of the yellow.”

“It does too have stripes of yellow, don't make fun of Buzz, it's not nice.” Jesse poked Woody's chest.

“Sorry, you're right. Stripes of yellow, got it.” Woody backtracked.

Jesse shoved the dandelion in front of his focused green eyes. Beads of sweat mixed with a couple rays of sunshine made the boy's forehead shine.

“I brought Buzz a pretty flower to match his stripes, but now, you killed him!” Jesse shook the dandelion to make her point. Woody remained silent, staring at the plant that emphasized his growing guilt.

“That's a weed, not a flower.” Shirley muttered under her breath.

“It is too a flower, it's a dandy-lion!” Jesse turned towards the almost nine year old, scowling before turning back to her brother.

“LOOK!” Woody shouts in relief as he points to another fat flying yellow and black stiped dot, “See Buzz isn't dead, he's alive!”

Jesse's attention and anger is instantly diverted, “BUZZ! YOU'RE ALIVE!”

Shirley shrugs and walks over, pulling Woody off the ground, not caring about the bee guts still smeared on her best friend's hands, “All's well that ends well.” the brunette quips.

“Why did you say that? What does that even mean?” Woody asked with plaintive green eyes, “It would have been nice if you helped me earlier.”

Shirley shrugged again, “I was enjoying the show. But don't worry, I wouldn't let her kill you. Who would be my best friend then?”

“Thanks.” Woody snorts, “I feel so ap-pre-ci-ate-ed.”

“Nice word, but sarcasm doesn't really suit you.” Shirley's gray eyes dance in laughter, before handing over an apple slice as a peace offering, “Want one?”

“Sure, thanks.” Woody smiled before taking a bite and making a face, “How can you two eat these? They're so sour!” he complains.

Shirley shrugs, “The taste of knowledge isn't always sweet either.”

“Green apples are not sweet.” Woody pouted.

The two eight-year-olds turned at Jesse's commanding voice. “Buzz you need to sting him, he killed your friend!”

“Should we run?” Woody asked, already edging away.

“Yes, yes you should.” Shirley's mouth quirked into a smile.

“I'm not scared.” Woody retorts

Shirley just hums her disagreement, “The bee Jesse has named Buzz is following you.” Shirley says after a moment.

“Ahh! Why?!!!!” Woody runs around, trying to get away from the pursuing bee. “It's not really wanting revenge, is it?”

Shirley hums as she watches the odd chase, before glancing at a bug repellant bottle on a young family's picnic blanket several yards away, “Hmm... ah-ha!” Shirley shouts, “Your sister must have switched the bug repellant with her perfume, not your mother's because you said she can't abide the smell... and that is why you smell of both insect pesticide and obnoxious flowering plants...and why the bumblebee is following you.” Shirley leans against a tree, content with her logic.

Not far away Jesse giggles, “No more Buzz killers.”

“...Stop laughing sis.” Woody pleads as he fends off more 'Buzz's' that have come to investigate the smell, now that attention has been focused on it, it reeks to high heaven, “How do I get them to leave? Shirley?”

“You could wait for nighttime, I suppose, but now is still in the early hours of a bright California day.”

“I've already had enough of Buzz's for the day!” Woody wailed before taking cover behind Shirley, closing his eyes. When he no longer heard any buzzing, he opened his eyes and peeked up at Shirley, seeing no bees around, “How...?” Woody trailed off.

“My natural bug repellant actually works.” Shirley teased with a smile, waving a single yellow rose intertwined with a red tulip. “My mom grows plants that bees avoid.”

“Then let's go play there.” Woody eagerly followed Shirley, carefully watching for his little sister's safety and ignoring the fact that his little sister was now tagging along.