The WRA Draft

Chapter Nineteen: The Video Chat

(Olivia's POV)

Shit, he just said that.

I had just finished editing the script for the night, relieved to have it done with. Mr. Kelsall and Mrs. Fay would probably find something wrong with it, but I would deal with that later. Dad was still on his trip so my siblings and I were at my Mom's house again, and she had made green bean casserole, one of my favorite foods.

We had just finished eating and I went back to my room. I was watching The Incredibles when my laptop got a notification, saying that someone wanted to chat. It was Denver. I smiled and thought back to the small kiss.

I greeted him with a smile. "Hey, Denver! What's up?"

"What are your plans for your love life?" he asked suddenly.

What the hell?

My smile formed into a frown. "What?"

"What do you plan to do with your love life?" he asked again. "Like, do you plan to marry? Have kids? What's your plan?"

I still couldn't comprehend his question. Why does he care? What was in that meatloaf? I cleared my throat. "What does it matter? I'm still young."

"Well, what's your hope?" he asked after a moment of silence.

"Um, well, I think I'd like to find someone when I'm older," I say, even though I'm looking at the person I want now. "You know, get married after college. From there, we'll find a nice house and after we get settled in for a while, think about kids."

"Will that think turn into a do?" he asked.

I laughed. "That sounded so freaking wrong."

Denver laughed with me. "Just answer the question."

"Yeah, I think so, eventually. I'm not one to rush into kids. I'm not the person who gets married, has sex, and gets pregnant all in the same week. I want to make sure that whoever I'm going to have kids with will be a good father, you know? I don't want to have the child then find out the man is forgetful or abusive. Perhaps I can start with a dog. Dogs are like babies, right?"

"Pretty much." Denver grinned. "Slap a diaper on a golden retriever and you're a mother."

I giggled. "Exactly."

We were quiet for a little while, checking our social media. I got on Twitter and noticed that I had gained a lot more followers. Mostly people from my school, but a few that I didn't recognize had followed me as well. It was the same for Instagram and Facebook. It baffled me, actually. I looked up from my phone and caught Denver looking at me. I smiled and set my phone down, resting my arms on the desk.

"What about you?" I asked him.

"Pardon?" he asked reaching for something off the screen.

"What's your love story? Got any goals?"

Denver held a small ball. It was one of those balls with the stretchy rubber spikes that sprouted out throughout the ball. He messed with the spikes as he answered. "I don't know."

"Oh, come on! You can't make me give my details and not expect to answer the same question. You've got something in there." I gave him an evil grin. "I'm gonna find out."

Denver rolled his eyes playfully. "You're a year younger than me and you're short."

I scoffed. "I am not short! I'm one of the tallest girls in my grade!"

"And you're still short."

"I hate you."

"And I hate you." He looked up at the camera to give me a smirk. I rolled my eyes, trying to suppress the smile that forced itself upon my face. I failed to hide it and let it loose.

Once again, Denver and I sat in silence. But this time, it was a comfortable silence. I got on my phone to check social media, particularly Twitter. I had gained ten more followers and my sister retweeted an article. It was from the New York Times, reading Iowa 8th grade class selected for Challenge.

I scoffed at the article as I skimmed through it.

"What is it?" Denver asked.

"This article about the Challenge," I answer. "Listen to this:

"Once again, the dreadful Challenge has rolled around and its victim this year is an eighth grade class from Marrisville Jr. Sr. High, located in Elkader, Iowa. The class of 2027 has been challenged to write and put on a Broadway production.

"We have yet to hear from the students' side of this challenge, but a word was received from the government's side.

"Everything is under control in our neck of the woods," Senator Michael Stevens confirms. "We've got a wonderful director and already have a script. Auditions will be next week, March 2. We'd love to see any actor or actress in need of a role there."

"The production has been written by Maine Representative Jonathon Griffin and will be directed by Californian Representative Cale Dawson. It follows a man in Indiana that attempts to create a career in comedy. The production is set at a comedy.

"The Marrisville students have yet to announce anything, so they remain a mystery to us all. We wish well to both groups in their challenges."

I finished reading the article. I looked through the rest of the article. There were photos of senators and representatives and buildings. There was a photo of our school which didn't surprise me. But I found a photo of a large group of kids. I figured soon enough that it was my class. It was us when we were, and this is a guess, sixth grade. I wasn't sure why I found this funny, but I laughed.

"What is it?" Denver asked.

"They've found a photo of my class when I was in sixth grade," I answer slowly, concentrating on all of the familiar young faces. I look at each person, identifying them, remember how much nicer they were then.

"Yeah, that's how they usually are when they're younger." Denver chuckled putting the ball back.

I look up at the screen. "Huh?"

"You said that out loud."

"I did?" He nodded his head. My cheeks heated up. "Oops."

"Well, you're not wrong." He shrugged his shoulders. "We were all nicer when we were small. No cares in the world-"

"Except for when snack time rolled around," I added.

"Of course, how could I forget?"

"An excellent question!" I laughed. Denver joined in. He accidentally snorted, making me laugh harder. Soon, we were laughing harder than a pack a hyenas on laughing gas.

A knock at the door brought our giggling to a halt. Denver looked behind him. "One second."

He got up out of my view of the screen. I heard scratching at my own door. I opened it to find Quincy meowing up at me. I picked him up and carried him into my room, setting him on my desk by the laptop. I gave him a few treats while Denver greeted whoever was at the door. Quincy ate them happily.

Finally, Denver reappeared on the screen, but now he had a guest:

Maria.