Jamie walked down the same staircase he'd entered a year or so ago, at the cliffhanger of book one, and true to his unfailingly solid character traits, groaned at the impending seven-floor ascent. His plastic-soled sneakers didn't produce any menacing, vibrating echoes, unlike his overactive imagination fueled by an innate flare for dramatism. No matter how dire the situation, Jamie would never fail to conjure up an accompaniment, as if teasing himself with the prospect of following his true calling, his ultimate purpose - music.

And so he travelled in semi-silence, partially conscious of the figment of his mind that was the atmosphere of utter dread that filled him even as he successfully completed his first major character arc. I'm sure you haven't forgotten that he made this monumental decision all by his lonesome, casting away all the prodding advice of his friends, enemies, acquaintances and family members with no small difficulty. The effects were plainly visible to more than just the security guard blearily staring at the general direction of the camera feed; the effects were action as opposed to inaction; drive as opposed to lethargy; determination as opposed to resignation. Visible on his pale, worry-stricken face even to a myope's naked eyes.

Deliberation followed Jamie, falling in step with him, though rather cheekily refusing to match the rhythm of his footfalls. And so, every step met Jamie with tremendous effort needed not only to bend another knee, but also to keep at bay the flood of doubts and fears that came neatly packaged up to the door of his mind, with the sender written neatly in indecipherable cursive: J. M. Overthinking.

Walking up that old staircase to his grandfather's apartment and envisioning telling him that had, in fact, never been interested in chess and playing more and more tournaments only made him miserable, he thought to himself, this is also going to make me miserable, isn't it?

And so begins another story, another character arc, another age of teenage struggle and life-altering altercations, so strap in, dear reader, for this prologue is over, and the time has come to enter apartment 703, where dwells a certain Hugh McCloughan.

~~ a few weeks after the events of book 1, whatever that was ~~

Groaning, I try to remember why I agreed to this. I hate school, but I agreed to attend this freaking Academy because... uh, why, again?

I pull up the photo on my phone, the one we took the day I enrolled. Right, that's why I stay: my friends, my girlfriend.

Something about the photo holds my eyes today, and instead of just closing it and shoving my phone back into my pocket like usual, I stare at it for a little longer. I haven't seen them in a while, and somehow the memory doesn't seem real. I need to burn the photos into my mind until there's no uncertainty left, but instead, I find myself getting lost in my girlfriend's eyes, remembering everything I love about her. The kindness in her green eyes, her gentle support, the softness of her black hair. The way her body moves, the way her mind works, the way she somehow manages to tolerate my crazy.

The photo makes the differences between us stand out even more than usual. There weren't any clouds that day, and the blazing sunlight made my strawberry-blond hair appear like fire next to hers. In the picture, my skin is already starting to redden, and hers is slightly golden from playing around in the first weeks of summer. Our eyes aren't even visible from squinting so hard, but I consider that a good thing. My stormy blue eyes always look so haunted next to hers. At least we remembered to take the photo on an uneven surface; otherwise, the height difference would be blatant. After all, she's a good six or seven inches taller than I am.

My eyes skim over our friends. Sera, with her absent-minded but perceptive advice. Julie, with her no-nonsense support and solid grasp of reality. Wren, with their complete acceptance of a person regardless of circumstance. Kyle, with his steadfast optimism. I miss them. Having dropped out of high school, I couldn't enroll directly into their grade, and my entire class year is currently taking field trip after field trip, mostly overnights. I haven't been able to see them in weeks.

Note: Obviously, I won't vote this post as the winner. What a cheater.

I only made these challenges to share tips I have so I can help other people be better writers, and get them thinking on how to stand out and avoid tropes or do them better.

The easiest method to tell a reader information is to show and not tell. There are other ways, however. The challenge is to find the other ones!

Thank you so much and amazing job those who posted one already. You did far better than I expected.

Tactic 1 - show and not tell (show through actions and dialog instead of telling through narration)

this is the difference between:

'Vernon Dersley, who was Harry's abusive and cruel uncle who treated him like a servant and never let him eat anything really tastey...'

vs.

'The door rattled as someone banged on it as though the house was on fire. 'Get up, boy!' came Vernon Dursley's growl through the door. Harry groaned and rolled over, but he had no choice.

As he blearily wandered out from under the stairs, Vernon thrust a frying pan into his hands. 'Get to it, boy, and don't burn the bacon!' he snapped in Harry's face. 'It's Dudly's birthday!'

Careful not to burn himself (his shirts had grease splatters already from cooking the Sunday lunches) Harry managed to cook it close to perfect. Sneaking a peak around the wall, he thought, 'good, she's is still fussing over that fat son of hers.' Laughing inside since his aunt never let him try the bacon, he sneaked a tiny crisp off into his mouth.

Vernon just then came through the kitchen door, just in time to see it. Harry knew he was dead even before the newspaper smacked him hard on the back of the head.

'Uncle!' he cried. 'I never get to try it!'

'Save it for your cousin!' Vernon roared.