Need 'n' Know: If you catch the smallest of mistakes, tell me. Please. I'm not a perfectionist, but whenever I reread this story, I catch mistakes all the time. Bad spelling. Missing quotes. Missing words. It's embarrassing, lol. Although, if the wording is weird and you don't like it, I'm sorry, but that's how I word stuff!

And can someone just give me a review... please? Puppy-dog eyes?

A Daisy's Fortune

Summary:
Louise Khoden (co-den) accepts a job as a house-sitter, not minding that she is still in school. What she doesn't know is, she has to baby-sit the spoiled son. And he's not going to make it easy for her.

Part I: A Cold Shoulder

It was a warm August day as Louise Khoden licked her chocolate ice cream. She was at the mall, figuring out what she would buy if she were someone else picking a present for her own upcoming birthday at the end of the month. Stopping in front of a window and sighing, she reminiscenced her mother's smile as she saw the yellow roses, her mother's favorite.

Louise stood up. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw three really annoying figures and cursed under her breath.

"Hey, Louise!" the one in the center called. A girl would think someone who had blond hair dyed black was crazy, wouldn't she?

She choked on her dessert and paced away from him, to get anywhere but here. It was supposed to be a carefree day. She wasn't supposed to run into anyone she knew, but to stare at unfamiliar faces she would probably never see again.

To her surprise, she was going toward a dead end at the railings, and the puddle of water didn't help one tiny bit. She slipped, sliding towards the edge, thought she was dreaming for a moment, and was about to fall over when she caught herself.

"Thank God," she whispered, although her guts hurt from the impact she took.

But was it really over? She gasped when her chocolate ice cream fell out of its waffle cone and landed—not on the floor, but on a head. Louise turned around and couldn't find the boys who were planning to talk to her, one of whom she at least respected. She twitched as she heard shouts and screams from below. Those people had seen her, and they were coming up to give her a piece of their mind.

The guy who had the scoop of chocolate ice cream on his head, which was already dripping off the ends of his hair, was boiling with anger, his eyes bloodshot, his knuckles crackling. Every step he took towards her was heavy and irate, and the girl following behind him was coaxing words into his ears. There were also two guys after them, and the four of them were tougher than the three bullies Louise didn't have to face.

Louise saw the empty cone in her hands and dropped it, the laughter emitting from her mouth nervous, untactful. The waffle landed at her right foot, rolling a little before settling and coming to a dead standstill. She gulped, dreading what would happen next.

"You bitch—" he spat within five feet of her. He was shaking under his black buttoned t-shirt. His black shoes had ice cream on them, and his black jeans were no different.

She winced, making contact with the railings. She wondered if he had made a trail from the ground floor to the stairs to her, and decided it was best not to think about that any further.

What a good day to wear black, Louise said mentally.

"—do you want to die?!"

"I—I'm really sorry," she tried to apologize. He was making her queasy by the simple death glare he was giving her with those black eyes.

"You—"

"Oh, baby," his girlfriend cajoled, "don't be so mad."

For a moment there, Louise was grateful she was being nice. But hearing her next statement, she knew the girl was no angel. And judging by her white tank top, black miniskirt, and black boots, she should've known.

"A person as stupid as that isn't worth it."

He was on the verge of murdering her. It was written all over his face, his hatred for her for his humiliation. Louise didn't think it was a big deal that he had ice cream on his face until she saw the people walking by notice it. She swallowed.

"I'm sorry," she said, steadily, but uncertainly. "Can I do anything for you?"

He growled and left.

"Honey, baby—wait!" the girl said. She scoffed at Louise and followed him. The two followers were no different, but they didn't scoff at her.

Knocking on her head, opening her umbrella, she murmured how unfortunate the day was. She was out of the mall and going to the bus stop. Her white skirt wasn't protecting her from the rain in any form, and her heels were getting ruined. She trembled from the cold and skipped over the next puddle, nursing her forehead. She didn't fall, but nearly lost her footing and drowned herself in the dirty water. Sighing, she carefully walked into the sidewalk.

"Stupid rain," she ranted. She lifted her head to look through her transparent umbrella at the gloomy sky, sparkling with light and rumbling a second or two afterward.

She waited for the signal to let her walk across the street. Seeing a silver car pull up at the stop light, she saw the sign allowed her to walk and went forward. The driver honked, but she didn't pay attention; she had the right of way. She only thought it was rude and impatient, and that he deserved to stop forever in that lane. Louise stepped onto the sidewalk. Her cell phone was ringing, and she dug into her purse to find it. What she didn't hear, however, was the same car speeding up next to the sidewalk she was on and splashing the rainwater on her.

Louise gasped. Drenched from head to toe, she saw the girlfriend from earlier, who was smirking at her through the seat next to the driver's.

"Oh, f—"

A rumble from the storm clouds cut off her words, and Louise gripped on to the handle of her umbrella. She muttered incoherent words, ignoring her cell, and made it to the bus stop. She found no point in sitting under the protection of a roof when she was totally wet at this point. The bus came two minutes later, and Louise got on. When her cell phone began again, she took it this time.

"Hello?"

"Louise? This is Mrs. Imbruglia. It's raining hard, dear. Would you like me to pick you up?"

"I'm on the bus, Mrs. Imbruglia. I'll be there. Don't worry."

The woman sighed tiredly. "I don't want you to catch a cold, dear."

Louise laughed easily, trying to comfort her. "I don't catch colds, Mrs. Imbruglia. I have to go now. We're going through a tunnel. Bye, Mrs. Imbruglia."

"Take care of yourself, now."

She hung up. The one sharing the seat with her didn't seem too keen on sharing the space with someone who was wet. So, when they were in a tunnel, she got up and went to the back.

Her bus stop was approximately half a mile from her destination. Louise got off, feeling itchy from her saturated clothes. She walked to the Imbruglia's residence and shook herself as dry as possible. Knowing the owners, she knew they wouldn't mind. She marched in, admiring the house as she made her way to the front door.

The house was laid in red brick. The driveway from the garage to the road went around at the back so the garage door wouldn't be seen from the front of the house. The river birch and maple trees at the front were green and lively. The healthy grass was edged neatly, and other evergreen and deciduous bushes and plants landscaped around the house. To add to that, they even had a lovely front veranda and a swinging chair.

"Why the fuck are there luggages all over the place?!" a voice boomed, cutting into Louise's thoughts. "I told you. We don't need a fuckin' house-sitter!"

That reminded her of the other guy earlier, the one who had wanted to kill her. What a day.

Louise had met the owners; she wasn't sure the voice belonged to either of them. She had visited their house one day last week for the interview, and they had called her, saying that she was accepted for the small job. She didn't know there was a third party involved.

"Young man, you do not talk that way in this house!" It was probably Mr. Imbruglia's voice, because his son, presumably, became quiet.

Mrs. Imbruglia said, "Allen, he's just mad."

"It's no way to treat a guest." To his son, he stated, "You will treat our house-sitter with respect. Do you hear me?"

Louise heard herself gulp as she pressed the doorbell. She couldn't make out what they were saying, but one of the tones were not benevolent. Mrs. Imbruglia came to greet her, smiling warmly.

"Oh, dear," she gasped, "what happened to you? You're all wet, Louise." She let her in. "I should've just picked you up at the mall."

"I'm okay, Mrs. Imbruglia," Louise assured, smiling. "I have clothes I can change into, and you'll get dizzy from driving in this weather." Her luggages were here, brought the same day she had gotten the call.

Mrs. Sani Imbruglia returned the smile. Her blonde-white hair and sapphire eyes examined Louise from head to toe, and she said, "I'll get a towel." As she walked to the other side of the house, she added, "Allen, our guest is here."

"Oh. Oh, excuse me," he said. Mr. Allen Imbruglia came to the front door and shook her hand diplomatically. "I apologize beforehand if my son causes you trouble." That statement was diplomatic, too. He was a man of business, apparently.

"Your son?" Louise blinked. "Yes…. It's fine, sir." She nodded, and he excused himself again.

Louise remained at the entrance, unsure of what to do and where to go. She looked around, awed by this beautiful, home-sweet-home she was going to look after when the family was gone. What would she do? Would she invite someone in here? Yes, she had the perfect person in mind.

Her eyes saw a random figure at the top of the stairs that was glaring down at her. He had black hair, un-gelled, and black eyes. He didn't button his black t-shirt, which was over a white tee. His black pants weren't baggy, and it fitted him perfectly. That was when Louise gawked.

"Oh… my… gosh…" she breathed.

First of all, he was wearing all black, which was totally redundant at this point. And second of all—

Scoffing, he leaned on the railings. "I can't believe this. You, of all people," he jeered.

It was the same guy at the mall! Louise imagined her worst dreams coming true as she saw him. She broke away from his stare and turned to his mother. Were they in the same family, for real?! But she was so nice, so gentle, whereas he swore the first thing that crossed his mind when they had met. And that wasn't even half a day ago. The father wasn't malicious, either.

"How did you get wet, Louise?" Mrs. Imbruglia brought up, helping her with the towels.

Louise could see the perpetrator smirk, and she answered. "You know kids these days. They're thoughtless and unaware of everyone's feelings." She was drying her hair and smiled underneath.

Seeing her son, Mrs. Imbruglia decided to introduce him. "Have you met my son Ethan yet?"

"He's your son?" Louise said.

"Yes, I am," he answered.

Mrs. Imbruglia frowned. "Ethan," she said, "get down here."

He didn't move.

"Oh, he came home grumpy with chocolate ice cream on his head today," his mother said, much to his disappointment.

Louise snorted under the towel, nodding.

"She's our house-sitter?" Ethan said, to change subjects. He was coming down the stairs with his hands in his pockets.

"Yes," Louise replied. She grinned at him, the cloth in her hands.

"Cool," he said, smiling mischievously at her. "I've met a lot of house-sitters before, and you're the youngest." He scanned her from top to bottom, which made her too self-conscious of herself. "Where are your luggages?"

At this, Louise knew something was up. She looked at him, but he had turned the corner and was coming back with two baggagess at a time for his parents. She knew he was planning something ghastly, and she doubted he was as nice as he seemed. As he passed by her, finishing up, Ethan smirked, and Louise bet on her life that he wasn't telling her something dire.

Mrs. Imbruglia had already taken the towel from her to put into the laundry room.

"We have to go now, Sani," Mr. Imbruglia said.

"Come, Louise, come," the woman told her.

Louise followed her to the garage. Ethan was behind her, but she ignored him. The parents were leaving in a black truck; the car that had splashed Louise was on the other side. Mr. Imbruglia was holding a cover for the back of his truck, and Ethan came to help him put it on. Meanwhile, Mrs. Imbruglia was giving Louise the phone numbers to call in case of emergencies.

"This is my cell, and this is his," she was saying. "Our neighbors will help you as well. If anyone gets hurt, call the family physician."

"Anyone"? But there'll be just me.

"Don't talk to strangers, and don't let anyone into the house. Our gardeners and maintenance workers won't come while we're away. You have all that, Louise?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Mr. Imbruglia started the car, giving Louise a smile. Mrs. Imbruglia, though, hugged Ethan, who looked quite embarrassed, and gave him a kiss, which made him turn red. At this, redness aside, Louise was curious. Wasn't the whole family going?

Mrs. Imbruglia got in the car and waved to them.

"We'll see you in a while," Mr. Imbruglia said.

"Take care, Louise."

"Bye, Mrs. Imbruglia."

"Take care, Ethan."

"Bye," Ethan said.

Louise twitched an eye, waving her hand robotically. Am I… am I dreaming? Yes, that must be it! "Ow!" she groaned as Ethan pinched her. Mrs. Imbruglia was too occupied with talking to her husband to see her son's impudence.

"You're not dreaming," Ethan confirmed, having identified the expression on her face. "Or were you thinking otherwise?"

The garage door was opened this whole time, and the car was put into reverse. The truck rounded the corner, going to the front, and the garage door was closed again. Louise gaped, standing there motionlessly, as she looked into total darkness, her past, present, and future.

"Hey, are you okay?" He snapped his fingers in front of her face.

"Weren't you going with them?" she asked, pulled out of her thoughts. "This wasn't in the job description!"

He tilted his head, but she wasn't looking at him. "No, it's not," he said, matter-of-factly. "They must've thought they'd already told you about me. Say, did you enjoy your morning bath?" he reminded. Ethan put a hand up next to her and leaned in.

Louise blinked, backing off. "Eww, no," she replied. "What about you?" she shot back. "Liked the chocolate ice cream in your hair?"

Ethan growled, the smile wiped off of his face. "I don't need a damn house-sitter, okay? So why don't you pack your bags and just leave?"

"Why," she said, dramatically, as if he was a child, "I'm your baby-sitter, too," and put a hand to her chest.

"Grr… you wish." He was inching too close for comfort, but Louise couldn't escape. "I can't guarantee that nothing will happen if you don't leave," he threatened.

She tried to duck, but he followed her, smirking. Ethan's arms were on either sides of her, and behind her was a wall. Louise widened her eyes as their faces barely touched.

"I'll be happy to help you with the transportation fee," he offered. He met her eyes in every direction she was trying to avert to.

Louise heard herself swallow, but she wasn't going to be harassed. She pushed him off and held her nose high. "Hell, no. Your parents left me here because they didn't trust you, and they want to know someone responsible is watching over you."

"Watching over me?"

"Yeah! Are you stupid?"

"Fine," Ethan said. "But this is your fault."

"How can it be my fault?!"

He ascended the stairs, leaving Louise in a state of frustration. She breathed and, counting from ten to one, wandered the house instead.

She smiled and checked the dinner room first. It was huge and spacious, and the chandelier hung above the table beautifully. The kitchen and dinner might not be separated by a solid door, but a white silk curtain was hung under the frame between them. She wondered if Mrs. Imbruglia ever bothered not to clean it, because there wasn't one speck of dirt anywhere on it that she could see. Her tour was disrupted when the phone began to ring.

"Hello, Imbruglia residence."

"You've made a greeting already, Louise?" Mrs. Imbruglia said. "Oh, I feel so honored to have you as my house-sitter."

"Don't say such things, Mrs. Imbruglia," she returned happily. "You've only been on the road for five minutes. Did you forget something?"

"Yes, I did, hun." She shuffled through some papers and said, "Ethan will be going back to school on September. He has everything prepared, and his own ride. He needs to wake up at seven in the morning and come home before four. Can you make sure he does that, dear?"

"Yes, ma'am. Anything else?"

"You've got your own ride, too, Louise? If you don't, Ethan can take you."

"I have my own ride, Mrs. Imbruglia," Louise affirmed. And I doubt he'll want me in his car, anyway. "Do you need anything else?"

"Um…. Oh, yes, I've always cooked Ethan breakfast, lunch, and dinner. His favorite foods are written on that notepad on the refrigerator. Do you see it?"

She saw it, but Ethan had obviously trifled with it and written his own little comments here and there. How and when he found the time to do all this, she didn't know.

"And don't feed him chocolate, Louise," Mrs. Imbruglia resumed.

"Why not?" She was making out the list of sweets that Ethan had crossed out and replaced with "dark chocolate." It was readable and pretty neat, and she was disheartened that she had made that compliment about him.

"He's a little allergic to it," the woman said with a brief laugh. Mr. Imbruglia joined in on the joke with a chuckle.

He's allergic to it? She remembered the incident this morning. "Do you have a cookbook around here, Mrs. Imbruglia?" Louise said.

"Why, yes, I do," she answered. "It should be in the cupboard closest to the refrigerator. I've even made post-its so you'd know what to cook for my Ethan," she squealed, much like a schoolgirl. "Remember to make him his school lunches, too."

"Oh, I see…." Her eyes were slits as she read the note Ethan had left for her: "No way in hell am I letting you cook for me."

Mrs. Imbruglia paused for a second and finished. "I know Ethan will be a little hard on you at first," she said, "but, please, Louise, have some patience. I know he's a good boy."

"I'm sure he is, ma'am," Louise agreed, feeling somewhat guilty for having said it sarcastically when she sensed the sincerity in the woman's voice.

"It was a last-minute detail, really. We were planning on taking him, but it's his senior year, and he didn't want to go. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you."

"It won't be a problem, Mrs. Imbruglia. I don't mind." She bit her lower lip for lying again. That was a bad habit, fibbing to such people.

"Thank you, Louise. Well, good-bye. Take care."

"If you think you've missed anything else, feel free to call, Mrs. Imbruglia."

She laughed wholeheartedly. "I will. Thank you."

"Bye, Mrs. Imbruglia." Louise placed the phone back into the receiver and read the list of chores that was also left for her.

"I'll do my own laundry, and you do yours." Ethan's arms were crossed as he rested on the wall adjacent from her.

"Hey, if you took the cookbook, how am I going to make your food for you?"

"I'll make it myself."

She raised an eyebrow. "You can cook?"

"Better than you."

Louise laughed. "Suits me just fine." She walked pass him, going to the dinner room.

"And, by the way," he said, "enjoy your time here."

"I will."

Louise stayed downstairs; Ethan had gone into the living room. She knew which room was reserved for her, because Mrs. Imbruglia had told her where it would be when she was hired for the job. It was the door across from the dinner room. She tried to turn the knob, but it wouldn't budge, and she knew it was locked.

"That guy and his so-called plans," she muttered, smiling as she took out the keys from her purse. "I'll show him."

She got the door to open and went in. Yet, to her shock, her luggages weren't in there! She paced around the room, corner to corner, wall to wall. The room was as desolate as the closet, and her bed wasn't in there, either! She growled, stomping to the living room, and found it deserted as well.

Louise rolled her fingers into a ball and turned off the television.

"Don't let it get to you, Louise," she said. "Don't let it get to you. He must've just misplaced them. Yeah, misplaced four luggages that aren't even his!"

"Why are you talking to yourself?" Ethan inquired from the second floor. His hands were on the banister, and he was smiling at her as though nothing was wrong.

"Where the hell did you put my stuff?" she spat.

He narrowed his eyes. "Did you search the whole house before asking?"

She clawed her way upstairs, but he didn't bother to evade her. He faced her daringly, and she brushed by, opening door after door. Finally, she was in the bathroom beside the master bedroom.

"I thought you'd fit better in a restroom," he informed over her shoulder. "And you need to change. You don't smell too good." He pretended to mouth "phew," and left.

Louise scoffed. "It's all your fault, in case you needed to know."

"Yeah, yeah." He waved it off and disappeared behind his room.

That son of a—!

—

Louise soaked comfortably in the bathtub. Her eyes closed, she raised her arm from under the soap bubbles, giggling at how it felt. The rain had yet to stop, and it was only getting darker. She combed the outside layers of her hair, sinking below the surface of the water. The lights buzzed, blinking on and off.

An hour ago, she had dragged her luggages from the bathroom to the guest room Mrs. Imbruglia had prepared for her. That was more work than she was prepared for, and she had to inwardly curse Ethan's masculine strength, able to lift all of it upstairs and to not help her take it all back down. Not like he would have done it politely, anyway.

Groaning, she returned to breathe when the light bulb completely ran out of electricity.

The doorknob turned. Louise was immobilized, and she shrieked when someone came in.

"Hey," Ethan hissed, "I'm here to get the flashlight. There's only one in this house, and this is where my father left it. Got it? And it's too dark to see anything." Under his breath, he added, "Not like I wanted to see anything."

"Hey! I heard that."

He opened the cupboard beneath the sink and got the flashlight. Louise was relieved as he turned his back to her. The soap bubbles were getting into her nose because she was so deep in the tub.

"And will you stop wasting water?" he requested. "Girls and their stupid baths…."

She growled, but he was gone.

Louise finished her bath in five minutes and changed. The lights hadn't come back on, and she crept into the hall, only to gasp and see how creepy it was: whenever the sky flashed, the long shadows and sudden brightness were all that she could see; it was gray and white, colorless, just like in the horror films.

She returned to her room. She gathered the dirty clothes into a basket to bring to the laundry room. She was downstairs, but maybe being upstairs would be safer. And yes, in movies, everything was short and blunt, like at this precise moment.

Gulping, Louise made her way to the laundry room.

Where the hell is Ethan? she wanted to know.

Fortunately, her room was close to the dinner room and the kitchen, where the laundry room was. She passed by the stairs and went into the laundry room. A soft, eerie "oooh," much like how she would imagine a ghost's, sounded and echoed in her ears. She shivered, telling herself that it really was just her imagination.

She tried the light switches, forgetting that they were having a blackout. A shadow passed. She distinctly heard it, but didn't dare look. It could be Ethan, which she hoped it was, or it could be her worst nightmare, which she hoped to God it wasn't. Regardless, she didn't want to find out. She feigned turning the washing machine on, and it made no sense because there was a blackout.

"Stupid," Ethan said, breathing down her neck.

Louise screamed and hit her head on the wall. She groaned, rubbing her new bruise.

"We have no electricity," he finished.

"So why are you going around scaring people?!" she snapped.

The laundry room was small, and the washing and drying machines took up most of the space. The narrow passage from the door to the wall was cramped with Louise's basket and herself. With Ethan blocking her way out, she felt stuck, on the edge of a cliff, or totally cornered. He grinned in the darkness and aimed the flashlight at her. Ethan inched towards her. Louise felt the washing machine behind her.

"Geez, Louise," he mocked, "because… it's fun."

"No, it's not!" Louise retorted. She was spitting into his face intentionally and forcing him away. "Why don't you do something productive, Ethan, like summer homework?"

"I have none." Simple as that, he clicked the flashlight off, leaving without a second glance.

Louise patted her chest and abandoned the basket there. She found her way to the front door, where she opened it a little to look outside. The rain didn't want to lift, as it was getting worse and worse beyond the porch steps. Turning back to the house, she swallowed. Being stuck in the same place as Ethan didn't seem like her idea of fun.

Twenty minutes later, she was in her room, unpacking her clothes. She hung up what needed to be hung and folded the rest. Other than that, she left some things in the luggages she would need in a few weeks.

"Hello, Emi," she said, answering her mobile. She closed the closet door and proceeded to the kitchen to make herself a snack. "Yes, it's a pretty house…. The electricity doesn't work, so I can't listen to the radio or the weather channel…. How bad is it?" She paused, rummaging through the cupboards. "It'd be nice if it would end now. A six-hour blackout would be hell…. Wait, hold on."

She heard something: the garage door was opening. She raced to the garage and saw Ethan backing his car.

Some blackout, that's working fine. "Hey!" she yelled above the storm. "What are you doing?"

He gave her a look, as if to say, "Like I'd tell you."

"Hey!"

She ran up next to the driver's seat and jumped back so she wouldn't get runned over. Ethan tilted his head at her, his way of telling her, "bye," and drove off.

"Hey!" she screamed. "Damn that imbecile!" She heard her friend call her and apologized. "Sorry, Emi, but I have to go."

Ethan stepped on the brakes at a red light and picked up his cell phone without looking at the caller ID.

"Hello?"

"Ethan Imbruglia, where the heck do you think you're going?! Hey, would you look at that—the lights are back on. I thought Emi said there would be a six-hour blackout. That girl is so unreliable."

"Congratulations about the lights and all, but who the hell is this?" he replied, vulgar in his tone.

"Who else? I'm responsible for you, so—"

"Oh, it's you," he stepped in, eyes narrowed.

Louise was on the other line. She sounded mad and keen on knowing his whereabouts, and he heard her screams clearly in the storm.

"Look," he said firmly. "You're not my dad, and you're definitely not my mom, so don't stick into my business. You're nothing but a house-sitter—"

"Do you want your parents to hear about this, then?" she tempted.

"Don't you fucking call them."

The lights were green, and Ethan pressed the gas. The tires rolled over the water on the road.

"Scared now?" Louise said triumphantly. "And if you block my calls, you'll hear from your mom. Where are you going?"

"None of your business," he answered.

"Fine. But do know, Ethan, that I've warned you, and maybe your parents will take away your money and that car of yours—"

"Damn it, shut up," he said. "Bitch," was what he grumbled next. "I'm going to a friend's. Got it? And how the hell did you get my cell phone number?"

She giggled. "Your mom gave it to me, of course. And does every sentence you utter have to contain a curse word?"

"Why doesn't yours?" he shot back.

Louise frowned. Mumbling something inaudible, she said, "Come home before nine, you know," and could almost see him roll his eyes.

"Do tell me I still have my freedom."

"Yes, you do. Of course, you do," she validated.

He hung up then, and Louise sighed. She wouldn't have gotten this job, but it was just so easy and so convenient. It was close to her school and the bus stop, and living in that so-called apartment with those stalkers of hers was driving her crazy. Plus, the money expanses weren't cheap. She was being ripped off for every month she was spending in that godforsaken place. Plus, she didn't want to use up the money her late mother left for her; it would be good for college or something. And now, at Ethan's home sweet home, she had everything she needed. Scratch that; she didn't have a bed, but having a sleeping bag wasn't horrendous.

Louise made dinner for herself. She smiled at her own creation, but found it dry to be eating alone. Then again, she didn't want to eat with the only other person who lived here. She stuck out her tongue at that thought and laughed. She'd always eaten alone before, not like it would be different now.

In her room, Louise got her sleeping bag ready for a good night's slumber. She had cleaned the dishes and utensils, turned on the walkway lights, and finally checked the alarm.

"Is this button it?" she had said, trying it out. "No, the instructions said… this button."

The alarm had beeped, and Louise had waited. She had scratched her head and left it there. It was ten.

"Does he stay out all night?" she asked, to nobody in particular, sitting on a stool at the kitchen table. "Geez, how do his parents handle him? Oh, I bet it's bad influences from friends."

She nodded at the assumption, drinking her cold water.

It was going to be a long semester.

Need 'n' Know:

Someone brought to my attention that I speak American English. Totally. "Recognizable, color, etc." It annoys me that everyone isn't using the same English, but whatever. I'll accept it. And don't say that, "Oh, so you think 'recognizable' is spelled only with a 'z'?" Please, because I know English is different in every country.

Only a few close friends (not even real-life, friends, (gasps)) know that Ethan and Louise (a.k.a. EE) are from my will-never-be-released story Soul Hunter. Um, 'cause I only got to the prologue, I find it too epic, and I don't know how to write it the way I want it to be written. Weird. And by releasing A Daisy's Fortune, all the secrets are gonna be revealed, spoilers, everything, the whole nine yards.

Thank you so much for reading, and I will give you a daisy if you review!

By the way, I'm sure a lot of you want to pronounce Ethan's last name, "Imbruglia," the correct way as it is pronounced in Australia. Except I sorta broke the rules and said "im-brug-lee-a" so much that it stuck and I gotta remain ignorant, sorry. However, you can pronounce it however you feel fit, but for the sake of being a rebel like me, go, "im-brug-lee-a"! Yes, I found out how you pronounce the name correctly when I looked up Natalie Imbruglia's name on Wikipedia, lol. Mahh, it's over and done with!

P.S. I will be updating depending on the timeline of the story. There are a few exceptions, just know it'll be about one, two, or three weeks before the next update. Wow, that means, in the least, seven days, and in the most, twenty-one days. But just put me on your Alerts List if you want to continue reading.