Confessions of a Chatterbox Read online

  Confessions Of A Chatterbox

  First Edition.

  Copyright © 2018 Abigail Davies.

  All rights reserved.

  Published: Abigail Davies 2018

  * * *

  No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form without written consent from the author. Except in the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a piece of fiction. Any names, characters, businesses, places or events are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, events or locations is purely coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and have not purchased it for your use only, then you should return it to your favorite book retailer and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  * * *

  Editing:

  Jennifer Roberts-Hall

  Proofreading:

  Judy’s Proofreading

  Cover Design:

  Abigail Davies at Pink Elephant Designs

  Formatting:

  Abigail Davies at Pink Elephant Designs

  Contents

  Blurb

  Note from the author

  Confessions Series

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Thank You!

  Be In The Know

  About Abigail

  Acknowledgments

  Blurb

  Confession One: I was a self-confessed chatterbox.

  Words were my best friend.

  They loved me almost as much as I loved my pajamas and unwashed hair.

  * * *

  Confession Two: I hated outside people.

  I was happiest sitting on my sofa, my favorite show in the background, and my laptop open while I worked.

  Being my own boss was freaking awesome.

  So why the heck had I accepted this new teaching job on campus?

  * * *

  Going back to the sunny state was the last thing I wanted to do.

  It was only meant to be for one day—one talk.

  But life had a funny way at throwing you for a loop.

  * * *

  Confession Three: I was the best secret keeper.

  It was ironic considering I never stopped talking.

  But I’d do anything for my best friend.

  Until him.

  * * *

  Confession Four: I’d never met anyone like him.

  He was different, but not in the way that everyone else viewed him.

  He made my heart stutter and my breath catch.

  But worst of all, he made my words disappear.

  Note from the author

  Writing a character who has autism has been a huge blessing. One of the things I’ve found over the years is that no two people on the spectrum are the same.

  My daughter is on the autism spectrum, and my husband and I are strong in our beliefs of teaching her that autism doesn’t define her. It’s a part of who she is but that’s all…just a part.

  If you as a reader have personal experience with autism, please bear in mind that your experience is different from the person’s twenty miles away. There may be quirks that the character in this book has that you’ve never seen, or quirks you’ve seen that don’t appear. I’ve done this for a reason: to show a different side to autism.

  Thank you for listening to me ramble! I hope you love this story as much as I did writing it.

  Confessions Series

  Although all of the books in the confessions series are standalones, to get the full “experience” read in the following order:

  * * *

  Confessions of a Klutz

  Confessions of a Chatterbox

  Confessions of a Frat Girl

  To my oldest daughter, Grace.

  Autism is only a part of who you are, the rest of you is a Power Ranger, and I’m okay with that.

  Chapter 1

  Confessions #15: My safe word is waffles.

  I sighed and took a deep breath. It smelled like teenage dreams, smelly socks, and old men.

  I’d missed these halls.

  I was back in the sunny state especially for this talk. I had to admit, I’d missed the constant sunshine of LA. Not the feet though. Jeez, why did people have their feet out all the time? I couldn’t not look at them when they were out. It was an obsession that I hated. I was a foot-judger. I was to feet what Simon Cowell was to singers.

  It was only four years ago that I was walking through these halls and attending my college classes. Now I was here again, but this time standing outside one of the lecture halls waiting to talk to a room full of seniors getting ready to start their own lives.

  I gripped my laptop tighter against my chest and paced outside the door, going over and over my introduction in my head. Talking was what I liked to do best, so when my old college lecturer called and asked if I’d come and do a presentation about starting your own freelance business, I was all for it. Right up until this point where I realized I’d have to talk to a room full of strangers.

  Crapola.

  My head snapped up at the creak of the door opening. Mrs. Lang’s face and straight black hair—cut into a sharp bob that accentuated her sharp cheekbones—greeted me. She smiled brightly and waved her arm to signal me forward.

  “You ready, Ella?”

  I swallowed and stumbled toward her as I tried my hardest to get myself together. Chill out, El. It’s just for a few minutes, and then you’ll never have to do anything like this again.

  “Ready,” I whispered and stepped past her through the doorway. I kept my gaze locked on my Converse that were squeaking along the wood floors. One of my laces was undone, so I placed my laptop on the floor next to me and bent down.

  I could feel all of the students’ eyes on me, burning a path over my skin and my faded blue hair. I knew what they were thinking, “Who the hell is this chick?” Well, I was about to tell them exactly what—I meant who—I was.

  I counted to three and stood, picked my laptop up, and ambled over to the podium Mrs. Lang was standing in front of.

  “You have one semester left after spring break, and then you’ll all be out in the real world.” She used air quotes as she said real world and I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Some of you may have a clear plan going forward, and some may have no clue what you want to do.” She moved to the side and waved her arm at me. “Ella graduated from here four years ago, and I’ve kept a close eye on her journey. She’s built a successful freelance online business, so I asked if she’d come and give a talk to show you one of your options.”

  Mrs. Lang smiled at me and moved over to her desk that was against the far wall.

  I placed my laptop on the podium and pushed in the cord to connect it to the whiteboard that covered most of the back wall. I cringed at the silence emanating in the room, making every little move I made ricochet around us.

  Closing my eyes briefly, I took a deep breath and pressed the space bar. “Hi, my name is Ella Magpie, and I—”

  Loud laughter vibrated around me. Were they serious right now? So my last name was that of an awesome black and white bird, but it wasn’t that funn
y.

  “Ella?”

  I flicked my gaze over to Mrs. Lang who was staring at the screen behind me with wide eyes, and when I turned around, I swore to god I puked in my own mouth.

  What the freaking hell?

  I spun back around to face my laptop and exited the picture of me obviously drunk with one of my boobs hanging out. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my boobs, especially my left one. There was just something about that one that made it my favorite. It was plumper, rounder, and the nipple was perfectly placed, but it did not belong on a screen in front of a room full of college students.

  “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” I scrambled to get to the next slide, but all that came up was another image of me half naked—

  Chad.

  I was going to kill him. Slowly.

  I laughed and pushed my hand through my hair. “As you can see…” I waved my hand to the screen behind me. “I still like to party like I’m in college.”

  That got me a few more chuckles, but I wasn’t quite sure whether they were laughing at what I’d said or the fact that my head was halfway down the toilet bowl in the picture.

  Making a mental note to buy a pair of nipple clamps to attach to Chad’s balls as soon as I got home to New York, I finally managed to get to my first proper slide.

  What a dickface.

  “As I was saying, my name is Ella Magpie, and I’m a freelance graphic designer.” I plucked the clicker device off the podium and moved from behind it. “I was sitting where you are four years ago, and I had no idea what I wanted to do when I graduated. The one thing that I was sure of was that I didn’t want anyone telling me what to do.” I shrugged and walked to the left of the room as I clicked the button a second time. The slide showed the name of my freelance business. “I started to do a little freelance designing my last year in college, and when I left, I decided to try and expand myself into a business.”

  I paced up the steps that lined each side of the lecture hall and smiled to myself. Every single person was paying attention to the screen. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.

  “I focused on getting all my social media profiles in tip-top shape and created a brand that would set me apart from everyone else. Then I got one of my first repeat clients.” The screen changed again, and the first book cover I designed flashed on the screen. “That was the stage where I realized I loved being given full creative control and I ran with it.” I paused as I moved back to the front. “When you think of graphic design, you think of marketing and advertising, especially here in LA. But that’s not the be-all and end-all. You can design whatever and whoever you like.”

  I glanced over at Mrs. Lang who was smiling ear to ear.

  “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not all about design. You need to know how to run a business, at least the basics anyway, and it’s hard work. Really hard work.” I pressed the button again to bring up my last slide and gasps echoed, batting off the walls. “You may recognize that movie poster.” I turned to look at it and grinned at the poster I’d designed for the latest Hollywood blockbuster. “That was my latest project.”

  I gripped the sides of the podium and stared out at all the faces that seemed to blur together. “I’ve always kept my options open. I dip my toes into a little of everything because keeping in one lane isn’t just detrimental to your business, but it’s also boring. Being freelance isn’t easy, but if you put your mind to it, you can gain heights that you’d never be able to if you went into a city building. Plus, I get to wear my pajamas to work.” I grinned.

  I stared down at my baggy jeans that were rolled up to just above my ankles and plucked at my Def Leppard T-shirt I’d cut the arms and part of the torso off. Obviously, I’d paired it with a white tank underneath because unlike that picture that started this talk, I wasn’t keen on having my boobs popping out for all to see.

  “I can do my work from anywhere, and right now that’s New York, but if I wanted to move to Timbuktu, I could, because all I need is this.” I patted my laptop and closed it at the same time. “So, if you’re undecided on what you want to be when you leave college, then this is an awesome path to go down.” I bit down on my bottom lip and stood there awkwardly, not really knowing how to end my talk, so I bowed and grinned wide.

  Mrs. Lang started to clap, and a few of the students followed suit. “Wow. That’s amazing, Ella. I’m so proud of all you’ve achieved.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Meet for coffee later?” she asked, her voice lower now so that only I could hear her.

  I picked up my laptop and hooked it under my arm. “Sure. The Coffee Hut?”

  “At four?”

  I nodded in reply and started to walk out of the room just as someone shouted, “Nice boobs.”

  I huffed out a breath and turned back to face the room, making sure Mrs. Lang wasn’t looking my way.

  She glanced down at the watch on her wrist, turned to face the students, and clapped her hands. “Your assignments are due in three days. Anything handed in after spring break will be late and marked accordingly so make sure you get them to me before you leave campus.”

  I managed to find the person who’d shouted it, winked at him, and gave him a coy grin. He raised his brows, leaned forward, and did that stupid head nod that all the guys did to look cool. But he looked like a dick, quite literally. He had a bald head and a line down the middle of his forehead. He was a literal dickhead.

  It took all my strength not to burst out laughing as I extended my middle finger, flipped him off, and sashayed out of the room.

  When I went to college here, I spent more time in The Coffee Hut than my dorm room. It wasn’t just because coffee was on tap, but I loved being able to watch everyone as they came in and out. That, and I could talk to the most random people.

  I was the kind of person who would say hello to you while walking down the street to be polite and not because I knew you. Most people stared at me like I was crazy. I mean, who would just say hi to people without knowing them?

  Me. That’s who.

  In forty years’ time, I’d be the old woman sitting on the front porch as head of the neighborhood watch and telling all the teens off for walking on people’s front lawns. It was the perfect way to spend my last years on this earth. In my mind anyway.

  The bell over the door rang out, and I looked up. Mrs. Lang searched the room and spotted me toward the back when I waved my arm in the air like a lunatic. Her small smile got bigger the closer she got, and when she finally sat down, it had overtaken her face.

  “You did so well in there, Ella.”

  I flicked my gaze down to the table and back up to her. “Thanks. I’m sorry about the slides.” I could feel my cheeks heating as I thought back to presenting my boob to the whole class. “My boy…friend was trying to—”

  She waved her hand in the air and leaned back in her seat. “Don’t worry about it, my first day teaching was a nightmare from start to finish.” Her dark eyes zoned in on me. “I have something I want to talk to you about.”

  I sat up straight at her serious tone. “Okay.”

  Mrs. Lang stared at me for a couple of seconds, and I cataloged every one of her features. She was the most put together woman I knew. Not a single hair was out of place, and the eyeliner on her hooded eyes was perfectly flicked. She exuded confidence from every pore. I wanted to be her when I grew up.

  “We’re adding extra business classes in September, but I told the dean that we needed something different and fresh. Something that was relatable in this day and age.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “That was part of the reason I asked you to give the talk. I wanted to see how you’d fare in front of a room full of students.”

  I frowned. “Right… And how did I fare?”

  “You did so well. Better than I could have imagined. Every single one of the students was listening to you, so that’s why this makes this even easier.” Her chest moved as she took a deep breath. “I want you to run a trial freel
ance business class.”

  I pointed at my chest. “Me? You want me to teach a class?” I snorted. “Are you sure you’re talking to the right person?”

  She placed her hand over mine, the cold of her palm seeping into my skin. “Yes, I’m sure. Your passion for your business shines through, and that’s exactly what the students need to see. They need you to show them what it’s like but not just the good things. They need to witness the amount of hard work and dedication it takes.”

  I stayed silent, not sure on what to say. This was only meant to be one talk, and then I’d head right on back to my life in New York, but now she was asking me if I wanted to stay. Did I want to stay? I wasn’t sure how it would work, but the thought of passing this up had a knot forming in my stomach.

  “When?” I croaked out. “When does it start?”

  “Well, I was thinking we could do a trial run after spring break to see how it goes? And then, if it does well, we can do the full year from September.” She glanced down at the silver watch adorning her wrist and stood. “I have to get back to my office but think about it and let me know. Take a few days to mull it over.”

  I opened my mouth to say something, but she was gone before I got the chance. Did that really just happen? Had I been offered a teaching job at the college I attended a few years ago?