Word: Schlep

schlep

[shlep] / ʃlɛp /

Also schlepp sometimes shlep,

verb (used with object)

Slang.

schlepped, schlepping

1. to carry; lug.

   to schlep an umbrella on a sunny day.

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                Why was everything so heavy? Nick was not thinking that on a conscious level, but some part of him certainly was. His conscious mind was too busy spouting out complaints to think about anything else.

                “Oh, stop complaining. It’s not that heavy.” Jill said from the landing.

                Nick plopped the large box he was lugging around. It was not a stable setting, but he needed to rest. His arms felt like Jello. The very thought of carrying more of them brought him to the edge of despair.

                “Easy for you to say.” He said through deep breaths. “I can’t bench twice my own body weight like some people.”

                “Twice? You need to update your info. I’m up to triple.” Jill said with obvious pride.

                “Okay, that just makes the fact that you’re not helping so much worse.”

                “What’re you talking about? I am helping. I’m handling the lighter stuff, while you, the big strong man, handle the big heavy stuff.” Jill said in an overly mocking voice.

                Nick groaned. Jill was great in a lot of ways, but damn did she hold a grudge.

                “You’re still on about that? It was last week, and I was drunk when I said it.”

                Jill crossed her arms over her chest. “Uh-huh. And you say that like it should matter.”

                “It does, yes. And you know it does. I mean, come on. How much of what you say when your drunk do you mean the next day?”

                Jill looked like she was about to say something, but did not. Instead, she found a sudden interest in the railing. He did not say anything either.

                “Okay, maybe you have a point about that.” She admitted. Nick could tell it was a reluctant admission, but he would take it. “But it still hurt you know. I worked really hard to get where I am. And then to hear my own boyfriend compare me to some…some She-Hulk—”

                “Wait, hold on. That’s what you’re mad about?”

                “Well, yeah. Shouldn’t I be?”

                “Jill, you haven’t watched any of those Marvel shows when they were on, have you?”

                “No. I don’t really like all that superhero stuff.”

                “So you don’t know who She-Hulk is?”

                “It’s a character? Not, like, a monster or something?”

                Nick pulled out his phone and did a quick search. He groaned slightly as he climbed the few steps to her. Then he showed her the image.

                “That’s…”

                “That’s She-Hulk. The superhero.”

                “So…you were comparing me to…her?”

                “Yup.”

                She worked her jaw for a moment, looking at the image on the screen. “So…you don’t think that I’m some big ugly thing and that only men should have muscles?”

                “No, of course not. Why would you think that?”

                “I just…the name, you know? It sounds like some big horrible bulky monster, so I just kind of assumed.”

                “There’s no way I would ever think something like that. Especially about you.”

                “Ah. So, uh, I…I’m just going to go help move some boxes now. And, uh, sorry about…all that.”

                Nick sighed in relief as he watched her go down and lift the box that he had struggled with like it was nothing. He was glad this was an easy issue to resolve. Now he just needed to make sure not to make her mad about anything that was not fixable with a  quick online search.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

Word: billet-doux

billet-doux

American  

[bil-ey-doo, bil-ee-, bee-yey-doo] / ˈbɪl eɪˈdu, ˈbɪl i-, bi yeɪˈdu /

noun

billets-doux

1. a love letter.

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                Jake trudged through the hallway. His stomach and side hurt from the fists that had been buried in them before school started. It was almost comical, really. In the modern day and age, where digital bullying was more common, he got stuck with the old school kind. The kind that loved to do their bullying with fists and aggression than with nasty comments and rumors.

                And what made it worse was that nobody cared. Everyone knew what was going on. They were not smart enough to hide their deeds. But nobody cared for one reason or another. The staff gave a token effort to deal with the problem, but nothing actually happened.

                He reached his locker and winced slightly as he opened it. Jake was about to get the books inside when he paused. There was an envelope there. It was resting on top of his things. Likely slipped through the grates in the locker door. It was likely either a prank or meant for someone else. He took it to see if there was a name on it. There was. It was his. And by running his hands along it he found that it probably had nothing but paper inside.

                Probably just some jerk writing out a bunch of insults for him. Well, he would find out when he got the chance. He did not have time right now, but maybe during lunch. He slipped it into a pocket, got his things and went to class.

                When it was finally lunch time, Jake slipped out and went to a bathroom. There was no point in actually eating in the cafeteria. He would just get his food taken by one of his bullies. Either that, or it would end up on his clothes for the same reason. He entered a stall, sat and pulled out the note.

                Inside was not a string of insults. It was a note. Practically a letter. Handwritten, too. He did not recognize the handwriting, but then again, he did not go around studying his classmate’s penmanship. He sighed and started to read.

                Dear Jake,

                I know it’s hard for you. I see what happens to you. I hear about it all the time. I wish I could do more to help. I’ve tried to do something to help you, but nobody pays attention. Not even to me. But just because some people are jerks towards you, doesn’t mean nobody likes you. I like you. I really like you. I think I may even love you. It’s hard to tell right now. I’m sure it seems weird to you, and you’re probably thinking this is some prank by a bunch of jerks. I can’t offer you any proof, not in a letter like this. But I promise it’s not a prank. I love you, Jake. At least, I’m pretty sure I do. And I’ll find a way to help you. I don’t know how yet, but I will. Somehow. But for now, just know you’re not as alone as you think you are.

                                                                                                Love,

                                                                                                L

                Jake read and reread the letter. His hands shook as he read. He was not sure if he believed the words written there. After all, who could love him? And he had no idea who it could be. It was not like a single letter signature told him much.

                He knew it had to be a joke. A prank of some kind. He had no idea what the angle was yet, but there was one. He just knew it. And yet…

                Deep down, Jake wondered. Wondered if this could be real. If there was someone out there who loved him. He knew it was probably not real. But he wanted it to be. He gripped the single sheet of paper like it would solve all his problems. It may have been a false hope, but it was more than he had.

                Jake kept reading the letter, right up until his tears started staining the paper.  

               

Word: Lateral

lateral

American  

[lat-er-uhl] / ˈlæt ər əl /

adjective

1. of or relating to the side; situated at, proceeding from, or directed to a side.

   a lateral view.

2. pertaining to or entailing a position, office, etc., that is different but equivalent or roughly equivalent in status, as distinguished from a promotion or demotion.

   a lateral move.

3. Phonetics. articulated so that the breath passes on either or both sides of the tongue, as l.

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                The Fae had some very strange games. Walter was finding that out very well. He had played many games in his time. While he could not say he had played every game humanity had created, he had a good foundation. Which is why he could say with certainty that this game was very odd.

                The board had spaces that moved. The pieces could change based on a dozen different factors. Even the rules themselves seemed to be fluid. Or at least, Walter could not understand them. For all he knew, his opponent was simply cheating constantly by making up rules that suited him. If he was, then Walter had no chance of catching any cheats, simply because he had no idea what was cheating and what wasn’t.

                All he knew was that he was losing.

                “Come on, friend. Make your move.” Walter’s opponent said.

Walter had no idea what the Fae’s name was, which was by design. The opposite was also true. It was one of the cardinal rules of dealing with Fae to never exchange names. But that was not something Walter was worried about right now.

“Make your move.” The Fae said with a too wide grin using a mouth that was wider than any human’s. “Forward or backward. Advance or retreat. Which is your choice?”

“I’m thinking. You’ll have to forgive my slow moves. I am, as you know, new to this game.”

Walter never took his eyes off the board, even while speaking. He had four pieces left, while the Fae had seven. And all four of his pieces were under threat. Walter had to move one of them, but doing so would likely cause him to lose another. The problem was how the pieces would change. Moving one forward would strengthen that piece; while moving it backward weakened it. The problem was that the weaker piece would be able to protect move of his remaining pieces in the short term, while the opposite was true of the stronger piece. Short term loss versus long term gain. And both would likely lead to a worse board state.

“Of course, of course.” The Fae replied. “I just wish to make sure you are really thinking about that game. I can be so hard to know with you humans.”

Walter did not respond. He put his entire focus on the game. Should he move forward and put his hopes on a single strong piece, or try and use several weaker pieces? And of course, there was the board movement to consider. Whatever that was.

He huffed. There was no way of knowing what the best move was. Not with his lack of experience and knowledge. So, he would just have to move and see what happened. He reached out and touched a piece.

                “Ah, you have selected? Wonderful! What shall it be? Strength or weakness? Forward or back? I cannot wait to see.” The Fae said cheerfully.

                Walter was about to move his piece forward when he paused. Something dawned on him. Why was the Fae so insistent that he only had two choices? The Fae’s words had put that idea in his head, but was it really correct? No. No, there was a third option. He could move his piece laterally. That would keep its power the same, but change the nature of that power. But what would that do?

                Walter looked at his opponent. He knew there was a trick somewhere in this move. But what was it? Was it forward? Backward? Or the one left unsaid? He took a deep breath and moved his piece.

                The Fae’s mouth twitched. The smile faded for a brief moment at the sight of Walter’s move.

                “A side move.” The Fae said. “How bold of you.”

                The board spaces began to shift and change. And suddenly, none of Walter’s pieces were under threat. In fact, several of the Fae’s pieces were now being targeted by his. It was not a complete shift, and Walter knew he was still in danger, but at least he had a turn or two to think.

                “Yes, I do try and be a bit unusual from time to time.” Walter said.

                “Let us find out if that was the right play, friend.”

                Walter nodded. He had bought himself some time. Now he just needed to make the most of it.