In Piecing it All Together, Pt 1, we worked on drafting the beginning of our story, including the inciting incident, setup, and rising action. In this installment of the Crafting a Short Story Series, we’ll finish up and bring it home. So let’s get started on step three in the process, and finish this draft.

Step Three: Write the End

Once you’re done writing the meat of your story, take a break. Then come back and finish it up. Start at the crucial climax, and write out the resolution or falling action. Since X happened, what now? How does it end? You may already have these crucial plot points pegged down, or you may only have a general idea.

I tend to have general plot points for a short story during the pre-draft stage, and I allow specifics to come to me as I write it out. Use whatever method works for you, or play around with both. Don’t worry too much about your last lines at this point. We’ll work on those later on.

CLIMAX

A knot twisted in my stomach as I stared at my grammar test for Spanish. Red marks marred every single line where I’d failed to add an inverted punctuation mark. Each missed mark was worth half a point, bringing what should have been an easy A to an embarrassing B minus. With only a few weeks left between now and the voting, this was a devastating blow.

Sasha leaned over my shoulder and chuckled. “Oof, not your best work, huh?”

I clenched the paper in my fist and glared at her. But the other students in Study Hall were watching. I softened my gaze and stood. Confronting Sasha was a waste of time. I needed to speak with Ms. Gomez.

FALLING ACTION

“I’m sorry, Amy, but the grade stands.”

I stood in front of Ms. Gomez’s desk, test in hand, head lowered. “Senora Gomez, you know I know my Spanish grammar. I’ve done a dozen tests in this class, and I’ve never made this mistake before.”

“I understand your frustration, Amy, but you turned it in with those mistakes.” Senora Gomez offered me a smile. “And don’t worry, it’s just one test.”

“One test? If my average goes down, that means my GPA goes down. I can’t afford a B in this class. You have to change it.”

“Grades aren’t everything, Amy. And acknowledging our mistakes is more important than never making them.”

“But–”

“The grade is final.”

I swung open the door to Spanish 2 and stormed out – and right into Sasha. The door missed the bridge of her nose by a hair. Shame.

“Were you listening by the door?”

“Just passing by.” Sasha shrugged. “You look pretty tense, Amy. Is the pressure getting to you?”

I ignored her and headed to my next class. Calculus was a blur, and when Ms. Tiller called me up to finish the problems on the board, I couldn’t focus. None of my answers were right, and Ms. Tiller pulled me aside after class.

“Amy, is everything alright? I have a few minutes if you want to talk?”

Ms. Tiller knew about my dad disappearing, and if I hadn’t seen Sasha smirk as she passed in the hall, I might have taken her up on her offer. Instead, I shook my head and offered my brightest smile.

“Thanks, Ms. Tiller. But I’m good.”

I’m good. That’s what I told her. I told Mr. Franz the same thing after forgetting my lines during rehearsal. And when Mr. Edwards asked if I was okay after bloodying my nose on his glass door that afternoon, I told him the same thing, too.

But I wasn’t good. Far from it. And that week, I aced my Spanish test, but bombed Calculus and got a C on my English term paper. Mr. Franz gave my role to Candace opening night, because I still couldn’t get my lines right. Mr. Edwards and Mrs. Hubert came to the show because Mom told them I was the lead. Imagine their surprise when instead of playing “Belle” in Midley High’s production of Beauty and the Beast, I reprised the role of a barking footstool instead. It was the most humiliating moment of my life. The second night, I didn’t even bother showing up.

The day of the vote, I was a bundle of nerves. Everyone I passed on my way to the bus stop that morning gave me encouraging words and told me stories about how hard things were for black folks. They wished me well, and I smiled and thanked them, grateful they didn’t know that my GPA had dipped.

Mr. Franz was furious with me. I didn’t give him an explanation for why I didn’t show up for the show, and when I spotted him in the hall, I ran the other way.

And right into Sasha.

“We keep meeting like this.” Sasha smirked as I looked up from the floor.

All I saw was red.

RESOLUTION

The day I graduated from Mimley High was the most humiliating day of my life. I stared at the first chair in the first row, designated for the highest honor a student could receive: The Valedictorian’s Chair.

But it wasn’t my seat.

The first two rows were reserved for honors students and filled with expressions on faces I couldn’t see. Not from the second to last row.

Stuck between Jerry Vice and Alice Yates, I’d been stripped of all my honors. Forget Valedictorian, I was lucky to be graduating. Mimley high has a zero tolerance policy for violence.

I wanted to feel bitter, but honestly, I just felt really, really bad. It came as no consolation to me that Sasha lost her place in the running as well. Hearing Candice’s name, and the applause that followed as she gave an amazing Valedictory speech, was just salt in the wound.

Maybe I’ll remember this moment one day as the best thing that ever happened to me. Or maybe it will mark the beginning of the end of a promising life. I don’t know. All I know is that it hurt.

Congratulations, you’ve got a first draft. And yes, it’s probably trash, but that’s okay. The goal here is to write a complete story, and writing a story from beginning to end is no small undertaking. Take the “W” and celebrate a little, then come back for the Big Picture Edits.

That’s my Write or Die Advice. Happy Endings. Or not happy endings?