Scene 16¶
Scene 16¶
✨ First Rung ✨¶
[Publish]
“First Rung” (Celeste POV)
Scene 16 ✨ First Rung ✨ [Celeste]
Mara didn’t look up.
“First rung.”
And Charlie lifted his arms. Nothing dramatic happened. That was the point.
The mock-up shifted, settled, revealed stubborn little facts along the side seam: a crease that wanted to become a habit, a boning channel that behaved until it didn’t. Mara watched like a machinist. Lauren watched like a woman who had lived inside garments that asked too much and gave too little back.
Sarah watched like someone waiting to see whether the room would flinch.
Charlie lowered his arms and looked to the ledger as if it might tell him what to do next. Mara spoke first.
“Write it.”
He did. His pen moved faster than his face could manage. Lauren leaned in just enough to read the headings, not the youth. She didn’t touch the page; she didn’t take over. She simply existed beside the work in a way that made it feel less lonely.
When Charlie finished, Mara nodded.
“All right,” Mara said. “That’s the garment. Now the rung.”
Charlie stilled. “The... rung?”
Mara set the mock-up aside and pinned a strip of tape to the floor in a straight line, like a boundary.
“This line,” she said, “is the edge of hiding. On this side, you can hover. On that side, you’re working while people see you.”
Sarah gave a short laugh. “You’re joking.”
“No,” Mara said. “It’s training.”
Charlie stared at the tape as if it were a trap. Mara pointed to the cutting table.
“Your job is to cross that line, do one real task while we watch, and come back. No explaining. No apologising. Just the task.”
“And... that’s it?”
“That’s it,” Mara said. “Small, repeatable. Until it’s boring.”
Lauren’s voice came in warmer, without softening the standard. “Pick a task you already know,” she said. “Something clean, like a waistline mark or a grainline check. Anything your hands can do while your brain is noisy.”
Charlie blinked at her. The warmth helped; it didn’t replace the difficulty.
“The waistline mark,” he said quietly.
“Good,” Mara replied. “On my count.”
Sarah folded her arms. “If he trips, I’m laughing.”
Lauren turned her head toward Sarah, still pleasant. “If you laugh, you’ll be sorting grommets for a week. Quietly.”
Sarah shut her mouth. Mara didn’t react. She didn’t need to.
“Three,” Mara said.
Charlie tightened his grip on the chalk.
“Two.”
His shoulders tried to rise.
“Drop them,” Mara said, flat.
“One.”
Charlie stepped over the tape.
Nothing exploded. No one gasped. The room didn’t change, except that Charlie was now on the side where he could be seen. He walked to the cutting table and did the job: found the notch, marked the waistline, set the chalk down properly. His hand shook once, then steadied.
Mara nodded. “Back.”
Charlie blinked.
“Back over the line,” Mara said. “Then forward again. You’ll do it until your body stops treating being watched like danger.”
Charlie swallowed, then stepped back over the tape. Then forward again. By the third crossing, his breath slowed.
By the fifth, his hands stopped shaking. Sarah was no longer watching him. She was watching the method.
Mara wrote in the ledger:
EXPOSURE TRAINING — rung completed: crossed line while observed; task performed; no retreat.
Lauren’s voice came in warm at his shoulder as he turned.
“This is what aerobics feels like,” she said lightly. “First day you think everyone’s watching. Third day you realise everyone’s too busy trying not to die.”
Charlie startled — an involuntary laugh trying to exist and not quite making it out. Mara was already stripping the tape from the floor, efficient as ever.
“Second rung tomorrow,” she said, as if she were announcing the next seam to sew. “Someone speaks to you while you work. You keep your hands.”
Sarah scoffed, but there was less bite in it now.
“And if I speak to him?”
Mara looked at her.
“Then you’ll speak like a colleague,” Mara said. “Not like a spectator.”
Sarah held Mara’s gaze, then nodded with a look of slight resignation. Charlie looked down at the ledger again, at the new heading. His pen moved. Under Mara’s line, he added, neat as a vow:
NOTES: did not collapse. did not apologise. hands steadied after third crossing.
He underlined did not apologise once. Then he picked up his chalk.
“Again?” he asked, quietly.
Lauren smiled. “Again.”
Mara didn’t smile. But then, she never did. And, she didn’t need to.
She’d built a ladder.
This is very publishable, Robyn. It’s clear, it reads smoothly, and the mechanics now land cleanly. Your edits also preserve the tonal triangle beautifully: Mara = structure, Lauren = warmth-with-standards, Sarah = abrasive honesty that gets reshaped into professionalism.
I’d only do micro changes: a couple of punctuation/flow tweaks, one consistency tweak (your ledger line formatting), and two tiny rhythm trims so it snaps shut a bit harder at the end.
What I’d change (all minor)¶
- Title line punctuation: Drop the em dash before the title, or make it consistent (either “Scene 16 — ‘First Rung’” or “Scene 16: ‘First Rung’”).
- Ellipsis spacing: “The... rung?” → “The... rung?” (you already use the ellipsis character elsewhere; keep it consistent).
- Ledger entry formatting: Put Mara’s ledger line in bold or caps like previous scenes, or set it off as a block so it reads as an entry, not narration.
-
A couple of cadence tweaks:
-
“Charlie lowered his arms and looked to the ledger...” → “Charlie lowered his arms and looked to the ledger...” is fine, but you can shave “as if it might tell him what to do next” (it’s implied by the “Write it.”)
- “Mara spoke first.” can be merged with the dialogue tag for cleaner flow.
- Final button: Your last two lines are already strong. I’d keep them, but tighten the last sentence to land harder.
Here’s the copy-edited publish version with only those micro adjustments, keeping your voice intact:
Scene 16¶
✨ First Rung ✨¶
(Celeste POV)
Mara didn’t look up.
“First rung.”
Charlie lifted his arms. Nothing dramatic happened. That was the point. The mock-up shifted, settled, revealed its stubborn little truths along the side seam — a crease that wanted to become a habit, a boning channel that behaved until it didn’t. Mara watched like a machinist. Lauren watched like a woman who had lived inside garments that asked too much and gave too little back.
Sarah watched like someone waiting to see whether the room would flinch.
Charlie lowered his arms and looked to the ledger. Mara spoke first.
“Write it.”
He wrote. His pen moved faster than his face could manage. Lauren leaned in just enough to read the headings, not the boy. She didn’t touch the page; she didn’t take over. She simply existed beside the work in a way that made it feel less lonely. When Charlie finished, Mara nodded once — the whole of her praise.
“All right,” Mara said. “That’s the garment. Now the rung.”
Charlie stilled. “The... rung?”
Mara set the mock-up aside and pinned a strip of tape to the floor in a straight line, like a boundary.
“This line,” she said, “is the edge of hiding. On this side, you can hover. On that side, you’re working while people see you.”
Sarah gave a short laugh. “You’re joking.”
“No,” Mara said. “It’s training.”
Charlie stared at the tape as if it were a trap. Mara pointed to the cutting table.
“Your job is to cross that line, do one real task while we watch, and come back. No explaining. No apologising. Just the task.”
“And... that’s it?”
“That’s it,” Mara said. “Small, repeatable. Until it’s boring.”
Lauren’s voice came in warmer, without softening the standard. “Pick a task you already know,” she said. “Something clean. Waistline mark. Grainline check. Anything your hands can do while your brain is noisy.”
Charlie blinked at her. The warmth helped; it didn’t replace the difficulty.
“The waistline mark.”
“Good,” Mara replied. “On my count.”
Sarah folded her arms. “If he trips, I’m laughing.”
Lauren turned her head toward Sarah, still pleasant. “If you laugh, you’ll be sorting grommets for a week. Quietly.”
Sarah shut her mouth. Mara didn’t react. She didn’t need to.
“Three,” Mara said.
Charlie tightened his grip on the chalk.
“Two.”
His shoulders tried to rise.
“Drop them,” Mara said, flat.
“One.”
Charlie stepped over the tape.
Nothing exploded. No one gasped. The room didn’t change, except that Charlie was now on the side where he could be seen. He walked to the cutting table and did the job: found the notch, marked the waistline, set the chalk down properly. His hand shook once, then steadied.
Mara nodded. “Back.”
Charlie blinked. “Back?”
“Back over the line,” Mara said. “Then forward again. You’ll do it until your body stops treating being watched like danger.”
Charlie swallowed. He stepped back over the tape, then forward again. By the third crossing, his breath slowed.
By the fifth, his hands stopped shaking.
Sarah was no longer watching him. She was watching the method.
Mara wrote in the ledger:
EXPOSURE TRAINING — rung completed: crossed line while observed; task performed; no retreat.
Lauren’s voice came in warm at his shoulder as he turned.
“This is what aerobics feels like,” she said lightly, as if she were naming a weather pattern. “First day you think everyone’s watching. Third day you realise everyone’s too busy trying not to die.”
Charlie startled — an involuntary laugh trying to exist and not quite making it out. Mara was already stripping the tape from the floor, efficient as ever.
“Second rung tomorrow,” she said, as if she were announcing the next seam to sew. “Someone speaks to you while you work. You keep your hands.”
Sarah scoffed, but there was less bite in it now.
“And if I speak to him?” she asked.
Mara looked at her.
“Then you’ll speak like a colleague,” Mara said. “Not like a spectator.”
Sarah held Mara’s gaze, then nodded — irritated, but compliant. Charlie looked down at the ledger again, at the new heading. His pen moved. Under Mara’s line, he added, neat as a vow:
NOTES: did not collapse. did not apologise. hands steadied after third crossing.
He underlined did not apologise once. He picked up his chalk.
“Again?” he asked, quietly.
Lauren smiled. “Again.”
Mara didn’t smile at all. She didn’t need to.
She’d built a ladder.
If you want to keep leaning into Lauren’s warmth-as-competence, Scene 17 can give her a tiny “coach” moment where she teaches Charlie a short phrase for rung two (a calm, non-combative reply that keeps his hands moving).