Version 1:
“I don’t get it,” she snipped, popped her gum loudly, and sniffed, looking around the hallway. Students were stuffed in there, nudging each other into two lanes, one going each way. No one looking, thank God.
“Missy, I think you’re the one,” Jim whispered, pushing up his glasses with his middle finger, like always. Missy looked away, but he kept on going, “I dreamed about you last night. I thought about you when I was brushing my teeth this morning, and when my mom drove me to school. I think about you more than my chemistry homework.”
Missy smacked her gum again. Clint was coming down the hall, football jersey shimmering under the fluorescent lights. “Gross,” she sneered, turning away from Jim and towards another cheerleader just in time. They popped their gum in unison, just to prove a point.

Version 2:
Patrice stared at the large black poodle, a faint growl rumbling in her throat.
The black poodle whined meekly, pawing the ground. When Patrice turned toward her own yard, the dog followed after her, sniffing at her tale, whining. Only when she’d reached her own porch did he stop, sit back on his haunches, and howl.
With a clipped bark, Patrice chased the intruder out of her yard.

Version 3:
“Huhnh?” Emme barely managed, her eyes still glued to the television. Her soap still had three minutes. Clint had come too early today. She’d get to him in a minute.
“I mean, like, I’m getting real into you…” she thought she heard Clint trail on, but she wasn’t really listening. Alora and Zane were just about to kiss, after months of hiding their love from each other. But Ben was in the back room. He could come out any minute. They needed to hurry it up! Emme glance at the clock. Only two minutes left, and the last minute would be scenes from the next show. She could hear Clint still murmuring something, but she wasn’t about to miss this. Zane had a hand on Alora’s arm, and the way he was looking at her… ooh…
“What are you doing?” Ben called. The music rose, and the scene faded as Ben and Zane faced each other.
“Damn!” Emme cried out.
“What?” Clint’s voice sounded hurt. “You don’t want to?”
“Want to what?” Emme snapped. “Look, could you stop talking? I’m trying to watch this.”
The trailer looked good. Seemed Ben and Zane were going to fight over Alora in the next episode. But when Emme finally turned off the television, Clint was gone. Emme just rolled her eyes, turned back to the television, and flipped on Days of Our Lives.

“I don’t understand you,” she challenged him, her eyes holding his own intently.

Her hand was gentle on his cheek, but he didn’t look up. “It means something that you apologized. But you’ve hurt me for the last time. I deserve better than that. My daughter deserves a better future than the one I’ve been living, the example we’ve set.”

Or…

“I beg your pardon?” she challenged him, her eyes holding his own intently.

Her hand was gentle on his cheek, but he didn’t look up. “I’m glad you told me, but it can never be. Whatever the circumstances, I have made my vows and he has done nothing to deserve the censure of the world if I should break them. Nor should I feel better by ruining you, not when that is the last thing I should wish to do. Yet, I am selfish enough to treasure your declaration and shall hold dear the realization that I have not gone through my life unloved or that my own love has been in vain.”

“What do you mean?” she challenged him, her eyes holding his own intently.

Her hand was gentle on his cheek, but he didn’t look up. “You’re a good boy. Any girl your age would be glad to have you, but I don’t think it will work out between us. If I get married, it won’t mean I’ll stop loving you or won’t be here for you at Playland.”

Or, how about…

“What the hell?” she challenged him, her eyes holding his own intently.

“I love you,” he said, dropping his eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re the last one I think of at night, first when I wake up. And I don’t want you here alone, for however long it takes, alone, when I could be here with you. Where I want to be.”

Her hand was gentle on his cheek, but he didn’t look up. “Stubborn, noble, you don’t have to tell me, I know you believe this. But I can’t let you do it. You’re so damn wonderful, vibrant and alive. You deserve to be living, enjoying the sunshine and the fresh air, untainted by antiseptics. You deserve a woman who has a future to give you, to share with you, not someone fading into darkness in a sterile cheerless room.”

Does that help?

Davida