This is a story I wrote pieces of a while ago. I have come to the understanding with myself that I rather like the pieces the way they are. So here is the first piece. I hope you like it. This little story amuses me, though like my other stories, I have very little substantial stuff written. It's not the same as my other stories, in the sense it's just moments in time and not a full, flowing story. So without further ado, I present to you:
A BASEBALL STORY
Because I haven't named it anything else...
xoxo ~ Misty!
In Which We Meet Our Players...
"You bastard!" Emma Felton yelled.
"You would know," taunted the bane of her existence. "Your father's the king of them!"
"You don't know shit about my father," swore Emma dangerously. "And I'm warning you, Yates, if you don't give me back that book right now, I will spill your blood."
"You wouldn't dare." The boy narrowed his eyes at her.
She narrowed hers in response. "Oh yes I would. Don't even think about pulling the daddy card either, Jason. You and I both know your daddy likes me better!"
"Sure he does, Emma," snorted Jason Yates. "I don't know what crack you're on, but he definitely likes me better."
"Well, I'm sure you don't want to stick around and find out who's right—because I'm always right, you know," she replied sweetly. "So I suggest you make like a frigging tree and leave before I kick your annoying arse out of here!"
"Arse?" He repeated amused. "Been watching a little too much Harry Potter, I think, love."
"Don't call me 'love,'" she snapped. "I'm not your anything let alone your love." She turned with a huff and stalked off leaving a very bewildered Yates behind.
"How the hell does she do that?" he muttered, shaking his head as he let himself out of the opulent house.
Safely up in her room, door shut nice and tight, Emma slumped into her beanbag chair. "How the hell does he do that?" she moaned. How could he make her lose her carefully maintained control in a mere matter of minutes? He was just so infuriating. Every little thing he did, he did to annoy her. That much was obvious. She got along with everyone else but him. It's like he had a personal vendetta against her, but for no feasible reason. She was the type of person people just naturally loved and she got along swimmingly with them in return. Sure, she was a bitch, but not just to him. She had given him loads of fair chances and opportunities to change and make their relationship better, but he refused to do so! It was maddening!
Her head lolled back. There was a knock on her door. "What?" she hollered at the door.
"Dinner's ready, Em," said her dad through the door. "Vita made your favorite."
"Yay," said Emma without much enthusiasm.
"Can I come in?" her dad asked. She pulled open the door before turning to her closet and rummaging around inside, looking for her slippers. "What's wrong, sweet pea?"
"Nothing," she said. "Have you seen my-"
"Right here, sweetheart," he held up the missing slippers. "Anything else on your big brain?"
"No." she answered shortly. Emma followed her dad down the hall toward the stair. "Fudge muffins!" she exclaimed suddenly. She swore violently. She had never gotten her book back. "That bloody bastard!"
"Not again," she heard her dad sigh. "What did he do this time?"
"He stole my book from me and wouldn't give it back!" she yelled.
Mike Felton regarded his daughter with tired amusement. "What was the book called?"
"Um… I don't know! It was for school! The point is, he took it and he wouldn't give it back! That bastard!" she shouted again.
"Miss Emma, you should stop shouting at Mister Michael," their housekeeper Vita scolded her gently.
"Sorry, Vita," she muttered at the Indian woman. "It's just, he makes me so mad."
"I know, Miss Emma," said Vita very sympathetically as she served the food. "But he really is such a nice boy."
"Nice," Emma snorted. "More like a snobby little git with a stick up his arse!"
"Perhaps you ought to cut back on the Potter talk, darling," said Draiole [Dray-oh-lee] Austrein to her niece as she swept into the dining room with her little dog scurrying along in her wake. "It's just so uncouth to hear mangled British coming from your mouth, dear. So unrefined." Before Emma could open her mouth to defend herself, Aunt Draiole kept talking on. "You must realize, my dear, how very uncivilized you seem when you argue in public with that poor boy. It's quite embarrassing to the family. We raised you better than that."
"Aunt Drai [Dray]," said Emma through her gritted teeth with forced calm. "There is nothing poor about that boy. He's richer than Bill Gates and he is a prig. We were not in public this time and I try to avoid him when we are in public so I don't start fighting with him. And I am sick of people commenting on my 'Potter talk'!"
In her rage, Emma failed to notice her aunt's lips were growing increasingly thin and her nostrils were beginning to flare warningly. "Emmalise Leigh Ann Felton. We are at the dinner table trying to have a nice family meal. That is enough."
Emma stopped ranting and managed to look sheepish. She glanced around the room. Vita was in the kitchen. She looked over at her father at the head of the slightly rectangular dining room table. He refused to meet her gaze, choosing to stare awkwardly at his plate instead. "Sorry," Emma muttered. "He just-"
"'Makes me so mad!'" Her father, her Aunt Draiole and Vita chorused.
The little misfit family burst into laughter, all the tension released from the room and sat down to their dinner.
Soooo, tell mee. What did ya tink?