**Hey all. This is definitely not meant to be a preachy story, I'm just writing it for myself. Hope one of you will like it. I'm sure at least one of you can relate. **

Julia sat in the back, like always. Nose stuck in a book, only the movement of her eyes could be seen over the creased binding of a flashily colored paperback. Jet black hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun. No makeup decorated her face. She tugged on a strand of her hair, twirling and chewing the tip.
Her eyes raced across the pages, devouring the words like a starving man. As the action in her cheap murder mystery increased, the storm blue eyes flicked faster and faster. Engrossed in the chase, she ignored the incoming classmates. Her friends grinned and tilted their heads sideways to see what captivated her this morning.
It was a source of amusement for them, the variety of her reading. Sci fi, fantasy, murder, classic, non fiction, western, and even a skeezy romance or two. They never knew what would appear in her hands. She called herself a bibliomaniac; they found bookworm to be simpler. Julia took delight in the simple fact that symbols could make up something as complex and versatile as words, building to stories, epics, feasts for the mind.
She would read anything at anytime, diving into the oceans or rocketing to Mars, living vicariously through flimsy pages. Her favorite place was a used bookstore, the potential of all the unread books, picking one at random out of the clearance bin to surprise herself.
All of these words have been used to make a simple point: She lived to read.
As she consumed yet another story, a sandy blonde watched her with calculating eyes. His expression was unreadable as he moved slowly to the back of the room, greeting friends and dodging desk corners waiting to catch unwary hips. He sat backwards in the chair in front of her, testing to see if she would notice him. Without looking up, she grabbed the pen lying on her desk and said, "Dom, I only have one pen. You have lost the last six I lent you. You can't have it."
He grinned impishly. "Seven, actually. But I have a pen," he replied. She looked up at that, surprise on her face. His grin widened as he continued, "I bummed it off Clair. I just wanted to know what you are reading."
With a smile, she put her finger between the pages she was on, not entirely closing the book as she redirected her attention for the time being. "It's called Three to Get Deadly, by Janet Evanovich. Mystery New Jersey style." She settled back in her chair, book still only half closed.
Dom nodded absentmindedly. "How much of your day do you spend reading, do you suppose?" He cocked his head to the side casually. Seeing that he wasn't going to stop talking and that their substitute wasn't going to get it together any time soon, if at all, she dog-eared a page and put the book down. She shrugged, twisting the silver post in her cartilage. "Dunno. A lot? I like reading. I don't really count the minutes I spend." She flipped corner of the book with her thumb, rifling the pages. She peered over his shoulder at the young new teacher who was verging on tears. Rrr-mp. Rrr-mp. Rrr-mp.
Irritated and hypnotized, Dom placed his hand flat on the paperback, sighing with relief. "No offense, but that sound gets really annoying." He removed his hand as she raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smile.
Rrr-SLAM! "Geh!" He snatched her book away and hid it in her backpack. "There. Now you have to be sociable." He stuck his tongue out at her. She flicked the tip of his tongue and slouched in her chair.
"What's it to you if I read, anyways?" She was suppressing mild anger now at the theft of her entertainment and cheap torture device. He leaned back as well. Legs extending out into the aisles, crossing his arms, he opened his mouth to speak when the sub fled the room in loud sobs. "Well that makes four. Count on a pop quiz tomorrow."
"Mmhmm. You were going to explain your preemptory actions, Mr. O'Connor." Julia tapped her fingers on her desk. With a flourishing bow he continued, "Very well, Ms. Lancaster, at thy bidding, I embark upon my explanation, fair lady." Ignoring a look of mock-disgust, he sobered up. "I used to read a bunch as well. I would read ANYTHING. It got out of hand. I started . . . losing myself, I guess you could say. The more I read, the less time I had for anything else."
Julia raised an eyebrow and wiggled her fingers. "Vampire fiction really sucking your soul away?" Sarcasm laced her voice like arsenic tea. He glared, irritated. "Lemme make my point, wiseass. You love baseball, follow the Mariners?" He put his arms on her desk, leaning forward to lance her skepticism.
"Duh." She plucked her tee shirt, an Ichiro jersey. "Everyone knows I know the entire team." She recrossed her arms as he smirked. "Ok, expert. Name the Mariners Japanese pitchers, including the newer one who pitches with his entire body."
"Don't know why you use the plural. Their only Japanese pitcher is Kazahiro Sasaki. The best closer in Mariner's history." A smug look blossomed across her face. Dom leaned forward and pinched her cheek. "And you call yourself a fan," he crooned. "One of their relief pitchers is from Kobe, Shigetoshi Hasegawa, popularly known as 'Shiggy.' You haven't watched a game in a long time, have you?"
Julia scowled at him, angry that he managed to beat her at Mariner's trivia. "You had to look up his name, didn't you." This was more an irritated declaration than a question. He nodded, "Proved my point, though, didn't I?" She looked away, mouth firmly closed. His face softened. "Look, I know it hurts to have your area of expertise smashed. That's why I'm trying to wake you up. And trust me; this is a major improvement on how my friend made me smell the coffee."
Julia looked at him, putting aside her miffed-ness as she got whiff of a good story. "Explain. I want to hear this."
"I am really into hockey. I love it. I play floor, field, roller, and ice hockey. As I got more and more into books, I played and watched less hockey. I was a right wing. With my friend Ryan as left wing, we were nearly unstoppable. We knew each others moves and could make exact passes and set each other up for the perfect goals. So when I started missing practices, he was kinda mad. The only other right wing we had was Shane, who doesn't skate that well. On an ice hockey team, this isn't good. So after two months of missed practices, Ryan came over to my house to talk me back on the team." Dom paused and blushed slightly. "Ryan was never one to use words when an action would suffice. He brought his hockey stick with him, and while I had my legs propped up on the counter, he brought the blade down across my shins. . . It hurt like hell. After I got up off the floor, he yelled at me for about five full minutes, blaming their last three losses on me. I realized that I had let my team down and that I better damn well go play or Ryan might break my leg." He pulled up his pant leg to show a scar running across his left shin. "I already have a dent in the bone."
Julia laughed as Dom smiled, chagrined. "Anyways, that's the story of my rapid reentry into the real world." As he rolled his jeans back down, Julia sighed and leaned back, no longer on the defensive. Amusement ran through her voice as she asked, "And how do you propose to break me of my horrible habit of reading, Monsieur Hockey?"

**And that's enough for today! Great thing about words: you can make up the ones you want, like miffed-ness.**