Peg Cheng

After my fear of writing Chapter 6 and then finally getting it done, this chapter didn’t seem so hard. I procrastinated less and wrote it just two days after the last one.

I find it pretty easy to get into Sahar’s head. While I haven’t lived Sahar’s life, I do know what it’s like to be stuck between a rock and a hard place. And I know what it feels like to be alone. Really alone. I’m rooting for her all the way.

SEVEN DUDES

A novel by Peg Cheng, Draft 1

Chapter 7: Rat Man

The carpet smelled like a thousand dying cats. Though her body was stiff from riding the bus for over 14 hours, and her knees wobbled from hunger, Sahar strode across the dilapidated lobby as if it were the Seattle Hilton instead of the Seattle Supersonic Hostel.

A man with a rat-like face spun around in his high chair and leaned his elbows on the counter. His eyes darted up and down her body, and he sniffed the air. “Can I help you?”

Sahar fought the overwhelming urge to turn and run. Instead, she pictured the Snickers Man’s fearful face when he got off the bus, and fixed the Rat Man with a steely gaze. “I’d like a room.”

“Ain’t got private rooms, just dorms with beds.”

“Fine. I’d like a bed.”

“How many nights?”

Sahar hesitated. She didn’t want to stay here any longer than she had to, but she had nowhere else to go. “Is there a discount if I stay for more nights?”

“We got a fall special going on.” Rat Man took a pack of gum out of his pocket and popped a piece in his mouth. Grape Bubblicious. He chewed with his mouth slightly open, and offered her a piece, but she shook her head no. “Book three nights, get the fourth one free.”

“How much a night?”

“Fifteen bucks.”

“Is breakfast included?”

“Yep.” He waved an arm towards the lounge behind her. “All the cereal you can eat.” He grinned at her with his pointy teeth.

Sahar could inhale a whole box of cereal right now but she acted like she could care less. She pulled out her wallet and pretended to count her money. She knew exactly how much money she had–fifty in her wallet, twenty in her left sock and twenty in her right sock–but she was buying time, trying to forecast how long she could stand to stay at this roach motel until she found a job.

While she did her calculations, Rat Man blew a bubble and retracted it. Something about the way he sucked the deflated bubble back into his mouth turned Sahar’s stomach. She glanced at her watch–it was just past 10:00pm. Her stomach ached to eat something, anything. The cereal wouldn’t be put out until the morning but she could at least take a hot shower.

“Ya want a bed or not?”

“Yes, I want one.”

“You want the coed dorm?” Rat Man’s eyes darted from her to the fish bowl on the counter filled with a rainbow of individually-wrapped condoms. It had a sign taped to it that said, No Glove. No Love.

Sahar’s face flushed. “No. I want the women’s dorm.”

“You sure?” He blew another bubble, retracted it with a loud slurp, and gave her a sly smile. “Pretty lady like you deserves some company.”

Her hands started shaking. She dropped her duffle bag on the carpet and slipped one hand in her coat pocket. As she felt the blade’s smooth mother-of-pearl handle, her hand itched to whip it out, press the button, and hold the tip right under the Rat Man’s chin.

How easy it would have been to make him take back what he had just said. But then where would she stay for the night? She couldn’t afford a real hotel and the streets were too dangerous.

She took fifteen dollars out of her wallet and smacked the bills down on the counter. “One night. That’s it.”

Peg Cheng is the author of The Contenders, a middle-grade novel centered on the question, can enemies become friends? She is currently writing another novel that is a re-imagining of the Snow White fairy tale set in 1980s Seattle. Peg is also the founder of Prelaw Guru, a law school application consulting company, and the author of The No B.S. Guides for prelaw students.

Painting of The Dance of the Rats by unknown Flemish Master of the 17th Century

I dreaded writing Chapter 6 more than any other chapter. I needed to introduce all six of the dudes (Doc’s housemates) in this scene in an engaging way, and the thought of that was so intimidating that I didn’t even want to try.

My first go was so wooden, boring, and terrible that it scared me from rewriting for days. I trashed it and spent the next couple of weeks jotting down notes about what Doc needed to do in this scene and everyone’s reaction to him. Then, finally, I wrote the chapter from scratch in two and a half hours of fervent writing. Felt great. Hope you enjoy it.

SEVEN DUDES

A novel by Peg Cheng, Draft 1

Chapter 6: The Dudes

Doc closed the front door behind him as quietly as possible. His face lit up when he saw that the living room was empty. From how their voices carried, he could tell his housemates were in the dining room. If he could make it to the stairs without anyone noticing, he could sprint the rest of the way to his room.

“Doc! That you?” The voice was British and youthful.

How did Krishna know it was him? Doc didn’t stop, just kept going for the stairs.

“What are you doing home so early?” This time the voice was lower, more gravelly, and with a hint of concern. Frank knew it was him. He always knew.

Doc sighed. He turned around and came back down the stairs. He moved like a snail to the doorway of the dining room and slouched against it. “What up?”

A young East Indian man was seated at the table with a small pile of snap peas in front of him. He gave Doc a wide grin. His teeth were speckled with bright green bits. “Hey, Doc.”

“Hey, Krishna.” Doc lifted his chin at him. “How’d you know it was me?”

“Well, you weren’t running off your mouth like Jimmy. You weren’t whistling like Gary. And you weren’t stomping around like Walt.” Krishna shrugged. “I figured it was you.”

Doc couldn’t help but smile. The kid was smarter than he looked.

An elderly Japanese gentleman sitting at the head of the table looked up from his large pile of snap peas and motioned at him. “Doc, come, come. Sit down. I need your help.”

Doc slid into the seat next to him. Frank pushed half of his peas towards Doc. “These need deveining. You know how to do that?”

“Yeah, Frank, I know.” Doc lowered his voice. “I’ve done it a million times.”

Frank gave him a slide glance. It was the kind of glance that shut you up and fast. Doc picked up a pea and snapped off the end, pulling it away so that the vein came off the top. Snap. Pull. Drop.

Krishna crunched into a snap pea. “Better wash your hands or Sanchez is going to get you.”

“He’s going to get you if you don’t stop eating all of them.” Doc got up and gave Krishna a whap on the head on his way to the kitchen. Krishna yowled and clutched his head. Krishna looked at Frank, but he just shook his head. Krishna popped another pea in his mouth and continued deveining.

WHACK! A heavy cleaver came down on a large slab of beef. Wielding the cleaver was an elderly Mexican man wearing an oil cloth apron printed with bright hibiscus flowers. “Doc! You here to help me with dinner?”

“Hey, Sanchez.” Doc washed his hands at the kitchen sink. “Frank’s got me doing peas, but you need help in here?”

“No, no. I’m good. Cleo’s helping me.” Doc and Sanchez were alone in the kitchen. Sanchez leaned towards Doc and whispered. “She thinks she’s a better cook than me.” Sanchez winked at him and went back to hacking the beef into smaller pieces.

Doc smiled and nodded. As he dried his hands on a towel, Sanchez glanced over. “Should I even ask why you’re home early?”

Doc shook his head and mouthed, “No,” and headed back to the dining room.

After he left, Sanchez shook his head. “Aye, miyo’s gone and done it again, Cleo.” He lifts both hands heavenward. “God help him.”

Krishna’s pile of peas was almost gone by the time Doc sat down again. He reached over towards Doc’s pile but Doc slapped his hand. Hard. Frank tried not to smile. “Krishna, why don’t you see if Sanchez needs some help?”

Krishna got up, cradling his hand like an injured animal. He slapped Doc on the back of the head and ran out of the room before he had a chance to retaliate. Doc shook his head and muttered, “Kids.”

Frank’s brow furrowed. “You have something to tell me?”

Doc kept his eyes on his peas. “Nope.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll find out sooner or later, you know.”

BAM! The front door slammed shut and seconds later, two men appeared in the dining room doorway: one tall, thin, and lean with an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, and one short, very short–he was a dwarf, in fact–holding a large lavender box stamped with Dub’s Donuts on top.

Doc ignored them but Frank smiled and motioned at them. “Jimmy, Walt, come in. Sit down.”

Jimmy took the cigarette out of his mouth and stuck it behind his ear. He plopped down in the chair by Doc and rubbed his hands together. “What’s for dinner?”

Walt kneeled on one of the chairs and placed the box on the table. “Well, we know what’s for dessert.” He lifted off the top to reveal seven beautiful round donuts glazed with a coral-colored frosting. “Special of the week. Guava passion fruit jelly.”

Frank’s eyes lit up. “Sanchez loves guava.” He craned his neck towards the kitchen door. “Sanchez! Come out here!”

Doc eyed the doorway and deveined his peas as fast as he can. Snap! Pull! Drop!

Sanchez and Krishna came through the kitchen door. Sanchez’s eyes got wide. “Are those guava donuts?”

Walt puffed out his chest. “Not just guava. Guava passion fruit.”

Sanchez smiled and called out to the kitchen. “Cleo! Come see what Walt brought us!” He pushed open the swinging door between the dining room and the kitchen, waited a minute, and then let it swing closed. No one walked through but Sanchez was beaming.

Jimmy grabbed a freshly deveined pea from Doc’s finished pile and cocked his head. “What’re you doing home so early?”

Snap! Pull! Drop! Finished with his last pea, Doc got up so quickly he nearly knocked over his chair. “Got to go water my trees.”

Before Doc could make it out of the room, Jimmy’s voice rang out loud and clear. “You got fired again, didn’t you?”

Doc stopped cold in the doorway.

“Admit it.” Jimmy crunched into another pea. “You got canned.”

Everyone is silent. Walt and Jimmy exchanged glances. After a minute, Doc nodded without turning around.

Jimmy crowed and held his palm out to Walt. “Pay up.”

“Damn.” Walt reached into his wallet and slapped down a twenty-dollar bill. “Thought for sure he’d last three months this time.”

“You thought wrong, my friend.” Jimmy snapped the bill in front of Walt’s face. “You thought wrong.”

Frank got up from his chair. “Okay, okay.” He waved his hands like he was shooing cats. “Everyone move along.”

Sanchez and Krishna edged slowly back towards the kitchen, their eyes still on Doc. Jimmy and Walt laughed as they scraped their chairs back and got up. Doc turned around.

“I didn’t like that job anyway. My boss was an asshole.”

Frank nodded. “It’s okay, Doc.”

“No, it’s not okay.” The vein on his neck pulsed. “It’s not okay.”

As Jimmy moved past Doc, he patted him on the shoulder. “Better luck next time, buddy.”

WHAM! Doc turned and socked Jimmy right in the jaw.

Jimmy fell back against the wall, and without a word, came at Doc with a fast jab right to the stomach. Doc’s breath came out with a OOF! and he doubled over.

Just then, the front door slammed and a tall black man appeared in the doorway. He looked quickly at Doc doubled over in paid, Jimmy rubbing his jaw, and the rest of his housemates standing and staring. He threw up both hands. “Damn, I always miss the good stuff!”

Peg Cheng is the author of The Contenders, a middle-grade novel centered on the question, can enemies become friends? She is currently writing another novel that is a re-imagining of the Snow White fairy tale set in 1980s Seattle. Peg is also the founder of Prelaw Guru, a law school application consulting company, and the author of The No B.S. Guides for prelaw students.

Photo of snap peas by Forest & Kim Starr

On we go with Chapter 5 of my work-in-progress, SEVEN DUDES. This chapter was almost as fun as writing the last one with Doc and Joe the cat.

SEVEN DUDES

A novel by Peg Cheng, Draft 1

Chapter 5: Snickers Man

The salty, oily aroma of french fries smacked Sahar in the face as she pushed open the door of the women’s bathroom and stepped out into the crowded Burger King. Her stomach growled but she ignored it and headed outside. Though it was mid-October, the air in Redding, California was hot and dry. Sahar was grateful that in a little over two hours they’d be in Oregon, where she had heard there were Christmas-like trees everywhere.

Groups of passengers stood near the bus, smoking, chatting, and eating greasy fries straight out of the bag. Sahar eyed the bags as she passed by, making sure not to make eye contact with any of their owners. She glanced at the open bus door but the thought of getting back on made her legs ache even more. She walked to a part of the parking lot where there were less people, but where she could still hear the driver calling out boarding time.

She lifted one leg behind her, grabbed her foot with one hand and stretched it back until pain coursed through the front of her thigh. She did not wince, just held her position for a few minutes, then repeated with the other side. Next, she stood with her feet close together and placed her purse on top of them. She stretched both arms up as far as they could go and closed her eyes.

“Smoke?”

Sahar dropped her arms hastily and straightened out her open coat. It was the Snickers Man, holding out a pack of cigarettes. She shook her head no and stretched her arms straight out in front of her rather than above.

Snickers Man put away the pack and lit the cigarette in his mouth. Long inhale and even longer exhale. “So, where you headed?”

Sahar kept her face a calm mask but her eyes scanned the immediate area. Plenty of people around. No need to panic.

Snickers Man smiled. “Silent type, eh?” He blew a puff of smoke away from her. “How’d you like that candy bar?”

Sahar resisted answering back but she was raised to be polite. She mumbled, “It was good…thank you.”

“I got another one–”

She shook her head.

“You sure? It’s just in my pack. I can get it right now–” Snickers Man made like he was going back toward the bus.

“No.” Sahar softened her voice. “No, thank you.”

“Where you from?” He motioned in the air with his cigarette. “I hear an accent.”

“Sacramento.”

“No, I mean where are you really from?”

Sahar avoided his gaze. “Sac–Sacramento.”

Snickers Man laughed. “Now, you’re just shitting me.” He playfully swiped the air near her. “C’mon, tell me.”

Several people walked by and Sahar tried to make eye contact with them. They just kept walking. Snickers Man opened both arms wide. “Hey, why don’t you answer me?”

Sahar spied the bus driver climbing the steps onto the bus. She reached down for her purse. As she did, the ring around her neck came loose from under her collar and dangled in front.

“Nice rock. You married?” He took a long drag on his cigarette and blew out. “Or divorced?”

Sahar walked away without answering, pulling her purse close to her body. Snickers Man called after her, “Hey! Hey, c’mon.”

After she got on the bus, the driver leaned out the door and yelled, “Five minutes, everyone!”

Sahar sat down in her old seat by the window and placed her purse on the seat next to her. She tucked in her necklace and buttoned her coat all the way up. Her hand reached into her coat pocket and stayed there. Passengers straggled slowly onto the bus. Her heart started beating faster and faster. She looked out the window, scanning the line of passengers.

“Hey.” Snickers Man grabbed her purse and sat down next to her. Too close. He dropped her purse onto the floor and leaned in. He placed his hand on her knee. “You never answered my question–”

Quick as a flash, Sahar flipped out a switchblade from her coat pocket and pushed the tip of the knife against the man’s side right above the waist. The blade was only five inches but it was sharp enough to do some serious damage. Sahar’s blood pounded so hard in her ears that she thought she was going to have a heart attack.

“What the–?” The man jolted up. He shoved his way back towards his original seat, saying loud enough for everyone to hear, “Psycho bitch.”

Sahar face flushed as she closed the blade and slipped it back into her pocket. Passengers turned to look at her. The men filed away in their brains: don’t hit on that one. The women gave her a knowing look: been there, sister.

It took a good hour for her breathing to return to normal. It took another four hours for her to stop worrying. But when Snickers Man finally disembarked in Portland, he glanced back at her with a strange look. It took a minute for her to register what it was. Fear. Dear God, it was fear. When the bus took off again, she smiled to herself, settled back in her seat, and stroked the switchblade in her pocket as if it were a pet mouse.

Peg Cheng is the author of The Contenders, a middle-grade novel centered on the question, can enemies become friends? She is currently writing another novel that is a re-imagining of the Snow White fairy tale set in 1980s Seattle. Peg is also the founder of Prelaw Guru, a law school application consulting company, and the author of The No B.S. Guides for prelaw students.

Photo of Snickers by Evan-Amos

Here we go with Chapter 4 of my work-in-progress, SEVEN DUDES. This was the most fun chapter to write so far.

The original version of this chapter had lyrics from the song “Would I Lie to You?” by The Eurythmics, but I changed it to “Let’s Go Crazy” by Prince after the Royal Purple One’s untimely death on April 21. I’m still mourning. I think the change works a lot better. But then, isn’t everything better with Prince?

SEVEN DUDES

A novel by Peg Cheng, Draft 1

Chapter 4: Joe

With leaden feet, Doc stepped off the crowded bus onto 15th Avenue and trudged up the hill, weaving through hordes of University of Washington students as he made his way up to 45th Street. Damn students. Why did they all have to look so cheery? His hands itched to smack one of them and tell him there was nothing to smile about. Nothing at all.

He turned right at the intersection, crossed the street, and then turned left at the gargantuan brick house with the concrete lions out front. Some idiot had painted the lions in purple and gold. Doc wanted to spit on them but there were too many frat boys around. Another time.

The leaves on the giant trees that lined the middle of 17th Street had turned into deep shades of red and gold but Doc did not notice them. He shuffled down the street known as Greek Row with stately fraternity and sorority houses flanking both sides. Music blasted from one of the houses.

So when you call up that shrink in Beverly Hills
You know the one, Dr. Everything’ll Be Alright
Instead of asking him how much of your time is left
Ask him how much of your mind, baby
‘Cause in this life
Things are much harder than in the afterworld
In this life
You’re on your own

That’s right. You’re on your own. Doc jammed his fists in his jean pockets and trudged on. His mouth formed a thin line and the vein on his neck pulsed like a tiny snake making its way through the tall grass. Prickly horse chestnuts dotted his path like woodsy sea urchins. He kicked one with a resounding thump and it skittered a good twenty feet.

“Meow.”

A brown tabby cat bounded up to Doc, and his face did a 180, going from dark to light in a split second.

“Whatcha doing, Joe? Huh, buddy? Whatcha doing?”

Doc crouched down and ruffled the fur around Joe’s face, then rubbed down his sides and back. He then patted down the cat’s sides hard like he was fluffing a pillow. Joe purred loudly. After a while, Doc stood and continued walking. Joe walked beside him.

“Meow?”

“Shitty day, Joe. Real shitty.”

“Meow? Meow?”

“Got fired.”

Joe stopped suddenly.

Doc looked back at him and waved for him to follow but Joe did not budge. “Okay, okay.” Doc backtracked, crouched down, and rubbed down Joe’s sides again.

Joe cocked his head. “Meow?”

“Don’t look at me like that. You think I wanted to be fired? I liked that job.” Doc stood up and continued down the sidewalk. Joe followed, meowing loudly over and over.

“I know that. You think I don’t know? It’s just–” Doc’s hands tried to grab something in the air. “Sometimes I say things and I don’t even know where they’re coming from. I just blurt some stupid shit out and then I’m screwed.” He shook his head. “And I had that dream again.”

Doc’s shoulders slumped as he walked on. Joe padded beside him in silence. When they got to a large house painted red with white trim, Doc crouched down once again and gave the cat another set of good, hard pats. “Thanks for the talk, buddy.” Joe purred and twined through Doc’s legs.

Joe watched as Doc made his way to the front door of the house. Unlike other houses on the block that simply sported a lawn, this yard was a hodgepodge of plant and vegetable patches, separated by a path made of empty hazelnut shells. As Doc walked, his steps made a crunch-crunch sound. He slowly trailed his fingers on the edges of hosta leaves and collard greens and walked even slower up the short flight of stairs and onto the porch filled with an assortment of rickety chairs; eight, to be exact. Some were rockers and they swayed back and forth in the cool October breeze.

Male voices floated out from inside the house.

Doc sighed and reached his hand around the doorknob. He turned his head to see Joe sitting on the sidewalk, watching. Doc gave a half-hearted wave and stepped inside.

Peg Cheng is the author of The Contenders, a middle-grade novel centered on the question, can enemies become friends? She is currently writing another novel that is a re-imagining of the Snow White fairy tale set in 1980s Seattle. Peg is also the founder of Prelaw Guru, a law school application consulting company, and the author of The No B.S. Guides for prelaw students.

Photo of brown tabby cat by Alvesgaspar

I hope you’re enjoying my work-in-progress, SEVEN DUDES. It makes me nervous to put my first draft out there for you to read, but at the same time, I know it can all change. This isn’t the final version. Posting my chapters is more about the challenge to “show your work,” as Austin Kleon says. (Fantastic book, by the way.) So, here I go again, showing my work!

SEVEN DUDES

A novel by Peg Cheng, Draft 1

Chapter 3: Sahar

Sunlight streamed through the dusty window and onto Sahar’s face. The bus rumbled on and filled the air with a dull, lulling sound. They passed a highway sign that said: Medford 162 miles.

Sahar pushed her sunglasses–large, round ones that covered half of her face–farther up her nose and pulled her floppy hat closer around her face. A diamond ring strung on a necklace bounced against her chest, and she tucked the ring in under her open collar.

Fields and fields of low trees stretched as far as her eyes could see. Almonds? No, pistachios. Definitely pistachios. Her eyes gleamed. As a child in Iran, she had spent hours cracking piles and piles of the delicious nut, getting them ready for cooking into rice, soup, with chicken, and her favorite, into the flaky pastry baklava. There were no pistachios as good as Persian pistachios.

Sahar didn’t need to look at her watch to know that it was lunchtime. Her stomach growled but no one could hear it above the din of chip bags being ripped open and the rustle of paper sacks opening up and revealing all kinds of things both savory and sweet.

Seated in front of her, a teen boy with a face like a minefield, tore open a gigantic bag of Doritos with his teeth. The boy next to him glugged Coke from a liter bottle. They dug their hands into the bag, grabbed mounds of flourescent orange triangles, and popped them in their mouths, crunching loudly. From the corner of her eye, Sahar watched the girl across the aisle pull gummy worms from a bag and dangle them into her mouth, sucking the sweet and sour coating off before chomping down. Behind her shoulder, she caught the smell of tangy dressing wafting from the humongous hoagie the large man behind her was dispatching down his gullet.

Everywhere on the bus, mouths chewed, throats swallowed, and lips smacked. Sahar resisted the overwhelming urge to clap both palms over her ears. She leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes.

“Hey.” A hand nudged her shoulder. She opened her eyes to see a handsome man leaning over the side of her seat. He held out a candy bar, a Snickers. “You want it?”

Sahar’s eyes narrowed behind her sunglasses and she shook her head no.

“I’m not going to eat it.” The man wagged the Snickers bar at her. “C’mon, take it.”

“No, thank you,” Sahar said.

The man tossed the bar at Sahar. It landed in her lap. He headed back down the aisle to his seat near the front of the bus. He glanced back at her and smiled before he sat down.

Sahar waited a good three minutes after the man turned back around. When she was sure he wasn’t going to look back at her, she picked up the bar and tore open the wrapper. Her fingers trembled as she brought the bar up to her face and sniffed it, breathing in the mixture of sweet chocolate and salty peanuts. Finally, she took a little bite and forced herself to chew slowly, like a grandmother with only half her teeth.

Every once in a while, she paused and gazed out the window or looked around the bus. Then she’d take another mouse-like bite.

It takes twenty minutes of chewing to signal to your brain that it’s full. Her husband had told her that and for some reason, she never forgot it. The candy bar didn’t last twenty minutes but it was close.

When she finished, she rolled up the wrapper into a tiny tube shape and put it in her pants pocket. She then pulled her hat a little tighter around her face, and leaned her head against the window, wondering what the stranger would want in return for his kindness.

Peg Cheng is the author of The Contenders, a middle-grade novel centered on the question, can enemies become friends? She is currently writing another novel that is a re-imagining of the Snow White fairy tale set in 1980s Seattle. Peg is also the founder of Prelaw Guru, a law school application consulting company, and the author of The No B.S. Guides for prelaw students.

Photo of Dina Shihabi from IMDb