A Fiery Start
.:.:Break her heart and I'll break your face:.:.
"I'm telling you, Droy! He is as perfect as man'll ever get." Sammy sighs, leaning her cheek on her hand, her elbow propped up on the arm of the ugly brown couch, "If only I could be sitting next to him."
I reframe from rolling my eyes, flipping to the next page of my newspaper, "You're like a love-sick puppy." I mutter, glancing at a Toyota ad, "Maybe you should just go talk to him."
"Are you crazy!?" She practically shrieks in a hushed tone, "Don't you watch any romance movies? The guy is supposed to notice the girl because she's different from the rest of the girls in school!"
"Is that why you "forgot" to wash your uniform?" I ask suspiciously, sending her a knowing smirk, "Did Samantha want the great Dacen Riddle to notice her?"
She shoots me a dry look and I chuckle, focusing once again on the paper.
We're sitting in the cafeteria with the rest of the Juniors and Seniors. The high-ceiling room is filled with over a hundred and fifty teenagers, talking and giggling amongst themselves. All of them are dressed in the required uniform Emerald High has assigned, only type of clothing differing between genders. We're only given three chances per semester to forget our uniforms, after that, it's detention for a week each time you forget it and after so many detentions, it's suspension.
Needless to say, Sammy's already "forgotten" her uniform twice, this being her third time.
Now, instead of the black and white attire, she's wearing tight-fitting jeans that hug hips and thighs in all the right places. The top of her black tank top is hidden under a light blue half shirt, which is meant for good luck or something like that. Her straight brown hair trails down to the middle of her back, the bright lights causing it to shine more blonde than brown thanks to her natural blonde highlights, and her dark brown eyes are hidden behind a pair of thick black sunglasses.
"You know, it's even more obvious that you're staring at him with those on." I comment, adding under my breath, "Just like the rest of the student body."
"Here he comes!" She squeals with excitement, moving to sit right in the cushion, "Quick! Act natural!"
To my amusement, she pretends like she's reading the paper with me.
"I thought you said natural, not like someone else." I snicker.
She smacks my arm, glaring, "How can you be so calm when he's looking like… that." She exaggerates, pausing once again to stare at him, "Just look at his amazing body!"
This time, I had to roll my eyes, "You act like he's superman or something." I mutter, "He's human, Sammy. There's nothing special about him."
Dacen Riddle: the king of Emerald High.
As sad as it sounds, it's true. Ever since he transferred his freshmen year, he's been ranked number one in academics for both the school and state, as well as number one on the popularity status quo. His parents are rumored to be filthy rich, though no one seems to know how they made their money, and it's said that he's dated almost every girl in the school. Aside from that, every guy in the school wants to be him and every girl wants to be with him.
The entire school is full of idiots, obviously. (And yes, that does include my best friend, Samantha Jones.)
Still, to satisfy Sammy, I look up from my paper.
As I half expect, he's dressed in the guys' summer uniform. The white short-sleeve shirt clings to his body, emphasizing his toned torso and showing off his lean muscled arms. His red silk tie is loose, hanging a little ways away from his neck, but it matches the red stitching along the shoulders and buttons of his shirt almost perfectly. The black pants trail down to his expensive, black alligator leather shoes (a nice token of his wealth) but only show the tips of the shiny shoe.
His natural jet-black hair is cut fairly short, his bangs long enough to cover one of his rare green eyes slightly, causing him to flip his hair every so often (an effect that had all the girls screaming and giggling like idiots, including Sammy). It strongly contrasts with the lightness of his skin, which is borderline pale.
He's… okay, I guess.
My worry is his personality, however. He doesn't talk to many people, but the few he does are complete and utter assholes that need to get over themselves.
"He's walking over to us!" Sammy squeaks in whispers, pulling me from my scrutinizing gaze, "Ohmigod! What am I supposed to do if he talks to me!? What do I say? Oh crap, does my hair look okay? Droy!?"
I chuckle at her stupidity, "Sammy, I seriously doubt he's coming over here."
The area where we're sitting isn't exactly a common hangout, which is exactly the way I like it. There're no tables around so there's nowhere for anyone with a trey of food to eat at, only the ugly brown loveseat that Sammy and I are sitting on and a black reclining chair on my right, next to me. There are, however, a few vending machines full of water and snacks diagonally across from us, but they're rarely used.
"But he is!" Sammy argues, "Look!"
I glance up.
Wouldn't you know? He's actually coming over to us.
To get a drink from the vending machine.
I erupt into hysterical laughter, covering my mouth as he sends me a fleeting glance.
"How sly of you." Sammy says accusingly, "Laughing like that just as he passes. Have you no shame?"
"I laughed because you're retarded." I snort, chuckling a little, "Getting your hopes up like that."
"It's not fair." She whines, crossing her arms in a childish pout, "One of these days, he's going to notice me."
"Mhm." I agree absently, tilting my head, "Hey, did you know there's a serial rapist on the loose?"
That catches her attention. If there's one way to get Sammy away from the freaky fantasies in her head, it's to bring out a realistic bad guy (although, sometimes that doesn't help either because she comes up with some "knight in shining armor" scenario).
"What?" She asks, scanning the paper.
"It says here," I point to the column with my right index finger, "that he's already raped six different girls without leaving any evidence." I blink, surprised, "How rare. We never have people like that in this area."
"Focus." She giggles, "What's his type?"
"Petite brunettes and blondes raging from high school to college." I look at her, "Looks like I'm walking you home today."
"Oh hush." She smacks my shoulder, "You're a high school girl too, you know."
"Yeah, but I'm not brunette or blonde. Plus, with your personality, you'd invite him back to your house for dinner." I explain with a teasing smile.
"You're so mean Droy." She huffs and sits back in the seat roughly, throwing a little tantrum, "No wonder you don't have any friends."
I laugh, folding up the paper.
The bell rings and people start piling out. I set the newspaper on the reclining chair after picking up my books and walk to my class, Sammy shortly behind me.
Classes at Emerald High are separated by grades. Top students, students with straight A's and annoying habits of analyzing every-freaking-thing, are in one of the two A-4 classes the school has to offer. There are plenty of benefits to being in the A-4 classes – longer lunches, longer study hall, and earlier release from school (which is rarely used because of their "precious" learning time) – but it's all in an attempt to get students to work harder so the school can benefit from it.
Students, who're neither Einsteins nor utter idiots, are put into a B-4 class. Because over half of all students (statistically speaking) are of average grades, there are more of these classes (about four or five). They too get longer lunches and extended study hall, but only by a half hour or so, and they don't get let out earlier.
Our class is C-4 however, the lowest of the low. Only the people that barely know their multiplication tables are in this class. There's only one classroom this year (the art room is usually used as another if needed) and there are no benefits (that the principal knows of). According to the rules, students placed in C-4 classes are supposed to stay behind after school hours for extra study and help from the high classes (A-4 students are offered extra credit if they help out with tutoring a C-4).
In order to raise our grades (at least, that's what we told Principal Andrews), our desks are grouped in thirds in two rows. Sammy and I sit in the back of the second row, the one closest to the window, with Allen, another friend.
Speak of the devil.
He's already in his seat, the end seat closest to the aisle, looking at us happily. He doesn't have any books or bags near/on his desk as usual, an arm slung on the top of his desk in an attempt to look cool while the other ran through his thick, short blonde hair. His uniform jacket is unbuttoned entirely, showing a black "I'm Sexy and I Know It" shirt, with the tie draped around his neck.
"Hello my gorgeous butterfly." He greets as Sammy takes her seat in between us and I take mine next to the window, "How are you today?"
"You really shouldn't speak so properly." I say, setting a black notebook on my desk while putting the rest under my desk, "It doesn't sound right with your appearance."
"You look good today too." He says, unaffected by my slight insult.
I sigh as Sammy giggles, "You should be happy you have someone like Allen." She sighs dreamily, going off into Samland, "I wish I had someone like him."
I raise an eyebrow, inviting her to explain.
"Come on, Droy! Allen's like the perfect package! Sweet, caring, cute, and devoted! He could totally be a prince charming." She puts a finger thoughtfully to her cheek, "Unless you like the teasing jerk with a secretively nice disposition."
"Disposition?" I repeat, mocking impressment, "That's a big word for you, Sammy. I'm proud."
She sticks her tongue out at me, "You're so not romantic."
I smile and shrug as if to say "Like I care".
"Droy?" Our teacher's voice says, causing me to look up at the front of the room and tilt my head a little.
Ms. Hudson isn't zipper thin, but she's not fat either. With slightly rounded cheeks that seem to always be flushed because of her makeup, she's actually really pretty. Her big eyes make up for her crooked nose, even if they are a boring grey color, and her naturally wavy red hair really brings them out, even if she does straighten it every morning.
Well, every morning that she's not too lazy to.
Like this morning.
"Principal Andrews would like to see you in his office." She says, scratching her head, "Don't ask me what he wants, though."
I sigh and stand up, resisting the urge to groan.
"Do you want me to come with you?" Sammy asks, looking up at me, "I can hide behind the corner and wait."
I shake my head, smiling, "No, there's no reason to; he probably just want to talk about my grades."
"He always wants to talk about your grades." Allen observes.
"I wonder why…" Sammy continues.
I shrug, "I guess they're so bad, he's thinking about opening a new class or something."
"That sucks." She cringes, "On the bright side, Allen and I'll be in that class with you."
"True that." Allen says.
I laugh before heading out of the door and into the long hallway.
The other perk to being in the C-4 class is that it's almost always the closest to the office. A few turns and I'm there, standing outside the office.
"Hey Droy." Mrs. Dorothy greets as I walk past her desk, "What is it about this time?"
"Not sure." I answer, smiling, "Probably my grades."
She tsks, "Droy, I thought you were going to try harder now that you and your brother are alone?"
"That might be the problem." I mutter, more to myself than her, and open the door.
The pudgy man is sitting in his chair, a serious expression permanently etched on his face as he eyes me, "Come in, Droy."
I nod and close the door behind me, taking a seat in the deep blue leather chair. I can tell by his expression that he's not happy about something (not that that's anything new). His thick eyebrows are drawn together, making his beady hazel eyes look much smaller, and his thin lips are set in a grim line of concentration.
"Something wrong, Mr. Andrews?" I ask, waiting.
He sighs, releasing the stiffness in his thick face, "Ms. Anderson, explain something to me." He starts, picking through piles of papers on his desk, "How is it that you get amazing scores, outstanding even, on tests in your class, but when it comes to the important stuff, like exams, you barely get one question right?"
"Maybe I'm not good under pressure." I reason, resting my hands on my lap.
He shakes his head, "You and I both know that's not true."
As if to prove his point, he picks up a sheet of paper and hands it to me. I scan it and curse my brother, who had made me take the exact same test a few days ago.
"You're scores are high." Mr. Andrews compliments, "Almost matching that of our number one prodigy. And that test is supposed to be harder than normal high school tests."
"But I didn't know it was serious." I half lie. While it's true that it wasn't supposed to be serious enough to turn into the Principal, Taylor had simply told me it was for his own closure that I wasn't failing because I didn't understand. "Taylor told me it was a joke."
"Just tell me the truth." He begs a little, pleading with his eyes, "Why won't you try on the exams? It doesn't hurt you. In fact, it could help you get into the A-4 classes, which will ultimately get you into a good college. Don't you want that? Don't you want to do your best?"
"What I want is to stay in C-4. I don't care about what others think and I don't care how it would help me. I like the people in my class and I don't want to be put in a class filled with know-it-alls without personalities." I stand up, shoving my hands in the pockets of my black blazer, "Face it, Mr. Andrews, I'm not going to transfer into a higher class. And if it bothers you that much, I'll stop passing the tests Ms. Hudson gives out."
He sighs in defeat, shaking his head, "Don't do that." He mumbles, "At least try for a decent college."
"We'll see." I say, stepping out
My fingers run along the white-bricked walls as I walk slowly back to class. In all honesty, he's right. If I simply tried, I could probably be the top student, directly behind the too-perfect Dacen, but that would mean transferring out of my class with Sammy and Allen and into the top class (a feat which has never been done) and that's definitely not happening.
The classroom's rowdy as always when I get back. Ms. Hudson is at her desk, chatting with another girl about her nails, while the others are grouped off in some area of the room. Sammy, Allen, and a few of Allen's friends are crowded around our desks, each talking and laughing.
"Hey Droy!" Sammy says happily, a red pen in her hand, "Allen gave me the perfect idea on how to get Dacen to notice me!"
Oh god. Allen gave her an idea.
I mentally cringe, taking a seat, "What kind of idea?" I ask easily.
She beams, grinning so wide I'm afraid she'll break her face, "I can give him a love letter!"
I blink, "That's a very… original idea." I say, looking at Allen, "Did you really come up with it?"
"Isn't it great?" Sammy chirps.
"But do people even still do that now-a-days?" I ask, "Isn't that why cellphones and Emails were invented?"
"I don't have his Email address or cellphone number – I don't even know if he has a cellphone. Plus, this way, I can tell him in person without actually telling him." She explains, pausing her writing to bite down on the lid of the pen, "But when should I give it to him?"
"Study Hall is the next class for the upper classes." I say, "He'll definitely be there."
"Good idea." She agrees, "That way you and Allen are there with me if anything happens."
"What if Ms. Hudson doesn't let you leave?" One of Allen's friends, Josh, asks, "It is supposed to be when our extra studies start."
I give him a you-do-know-who-you're-talking-about look, "Ms. Hudson would come with us if she was able." I say, "So there's nothing to worry about."
He nods and Sammy gets to work on her letter.
To "keep it mature" because "Dacen likes mature woman", she exchanges her red pen for a spare black one that I have in the breast pocket of my blazer and writes it on "official looking" lined paper (mainly because she wouldn't be able to write straight without lines). Allen, who decides to watch us aimlessly, tries to give us tips on what men like in a girl, but after "They also like girls who're busty with deep, dark blue eyes" we decide to ignore him.
Finally, when everything's as perfect as it can be and the announcements dismiss the top classes, Sammy, Allen, and I head to the library, standing at the entrance.
"What am I going to do if he says no?" She asks, looking at him through the windowed wall, "I mean do I even have a chance?"
"Of course." I say, smiling, "If he says no, then it's his loss."
"I don't know if I can do this after all." She mumbles, clenching the letter tighter in her hands, "Let's just go."
"Don't worry." I encourage, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder, "I'll be right here with you."
"You will?" She asks hopefully, borderline begging.
"Of course." I smile, "Besides, if you don't do it now, you'll kick yourself later."
"You're right!" She says, the determination setting back in her eyes, "I can do this!"
"Then go do it!" Allen says, pushing her through the library door with impatience.
I shoot him a quick glare before turning back to the inside of the library, watching.
Sammy walks nervously towards Dacen, who's talking with a few other people, "Um… D-Dacen…"
The guys he's talking to look at her and after a few moments, Dacen turns to her too.
I don't like the look in his eyes, however. It's like a mixture of amusement and annoyment.
"Yes?" He says, the amusement shining in his voice.
Quickly, she thrusts the letter out to him, her arms trembling, "T-T-This is f-f-f-for you." She stammers.
Allen smacks his forehead and I backhand him without taking my eyes away from the couple.
A smug expression passes across his face that worries me as he takes the letter, "You're Samantha Jones, correct?"
She starts playing with her fingers, not looking him in the eye at all, and nods her head meekly.
He opens the letter and scans it quickly with his eyes, smirking, "Are you the one who wrote this?" He asks incredulously, as if it's hard to believe, "Do you know how many mistakes are in this?" He asks, shoving the letter back in her shaking hands, "Sorry, but I don't date idiots."
I ball my hands into fists, biting my lip.
Stay calm, Droy. It's okay. She can handle it. Don't do anything stupid.
"Especially ones that can't even spell simple words like "definitely"."
A few girls near him snicker, looking at Sammy with great disgust, and I see Sammy's eyes well up with tears.
"Dear Dacen," He mocks, continuing with the torment, "I know you don't know me, but with time, that can change." He looks around, smirking at the obvious attention he's getting, "She didn't even spell change right. She put chance!"
They erupt into laughter and I storm into the library, ignoring Allen's protests. With a start, everyone looks up at the sound of the door hitting the wall, nearly smashing the glass.
I step in between her and Dacen, crossing my arms in an attempt to keep calm, "Apologize." I hiss.
He smirks, definitely amused, "For what? I'm just trying to give her a lesson on spelling like us higher-ups are supposed to."
"No you're not." I snap, glaring, "You're being a complete jackass and taking things too far! I personally went through that letter and I know that there aren't any mistakes."
His cocky grin didn't waver, "You checked it, huh?" He grabs the paper and shoves it in my face, "How cute. Is this your own secret confession? How about you write a better one and then give it me yourself?"
"That'd be interesting." A girl coos, smirking, "Droy Anderson, the loner girl secretly in love with the popular Dacen Riddle? How sickeningly cliché."
It's one of those things you don't plan, the one where all your emotions build up and you just sort of do it.
Plus, this douchebag's asking for it.
I brought back my fist and landed it right into Dacen's nose, my eyes growing darker with anger.
He stumbles back, staring at me with wide eyes as his nose bleeds.
"Listen here, genius." I bark, "Next time, make sure you read it correctly. There are no mistakes. What's the point in lying about it anyway? Did you just want to tear her down for having the courage to talk to you?" I fume, probably going on a rampage, but who cares? "And me? In love with you?" I snort, "Let me enlighten your oh-so-greatness, I may be in the lowest class with the lowest grades, but even I know that you're nothing more than worthless trash."
Everyone is gathered around him, some of the girls even dabbing at his nose, and I turn to Sammy, "Come on." I say, "Let's get out of here before the teachers show up."
She nods and wipes at her face.
I send Dacen one last glare and head out of the library with her and Allen.
"You should've seen it, Taylor! She was absolutely amazing back there!" Allen gushes, wrapping an arm around me, "I didn't know you could fight!"
"I can't fight." I say, taking his hand and unwrapping his arm from my neck, "I just have a good left hook."
Taylor sighs, running a hand through his dark hair, "Droy, you can't just go around hitting people." He says, "Especially in school."
"It's not like I meant to!" I argue, crossing my arms, "He just made me so mad!"
Sammy sniffs and rubs her eyes, "I'm so sorry, Droy!" She cries, covering her face with her hands, "Because of me, those people said some really mean things to you too." She mumbles, "You were right anyway: He isn't anything amazing."
Taylor looks at her and sighs again, this time in defeat, "I guess this one time it's okay." He says, "Only because he was cruel to you two for no reason."
He stands up and heads to the sink.
Unlike me, my older brother looks more like our dad. With broad shoulders, a straight nose, and short thick hair, he's actually the spitting image of him. His hair is dark brown (which is actually my natural hair color) and his eyes are the same deep, midnight blue as mine. At the moment, he's dressed in scrubs, waiting for a call from the hospital, with only a pair of matching white socks covering his feet.
I, however, inherited a mixture of the two. While I had dad's straight nose, I had mom's soft lips. My natural hair color was more of a dark auburn before I dyed it bright red (I have a thing for neon colors) like mom, but I had dad's midnight blue eyes like Taylor. Add thin eyebrows, one of which has a fairly noticeable crescent scar down the middle, and an Emerald High uniform and you had me.
"Lay back." Taylor orders Sammy gently, "This will help with the swelling."
She does as she's told and sprawls along the couch, laying her legs on my lap and her head on Allen's.
Taylor puts the hot washcloth over her eyes softly and sits down on a sliver of yellow couch next to Sammy's hip, "Now, I'm pretty sure I have to the hospital, so you'll be here alone tonight, Droy." He looks from Sammy to Allen before looking at me, "They can stay if they want to, which I have no doubt they will."
I smile, but Allen beats me to saying anything, "Of course!" He says, "I can't leave my poor Droy here alone at night! What if someone tries to kidnap her?"
"I'm glad she has protection." Taylor says with just a hint of sarcasm, kissing my forehead, "Make sure to hit him really hard if he harasses you, got it?"
I chuckle, "Got it."
He gives me a hug and heads into his room – the door across from the couch that only has a sheet covering it.
"Your brother's like a god." Sammy says, smiling a little.
"Yeah. He can be." I agree, pinching her leg, "But that doesn't give you the right to start flirting with him, understand? He's off limits."
"Hey! I'm going to! That's just wrong." She defends, but pauses for a second, "And strangely cliché and cute…" She sits up abruptly, the washcloth falling to her lap, "What an amazing story! In her time of need, her best friend's brother comes to comfort her and makes her feel whole again." She sighs dreamily, her head going back to Samland, "How cute…"
"Alright Alice, it's time to stop dreaming." I roll my eyes and push her back down by her chest, "Now be quiet and lay down. Even if your eyes are red, I'll still make you go to school tomorrow."
"How mean." She whines, sticking out her bottom lip in a pout, "You're supposed to let me skip tomorrow for my broken heart!"
I snort, "Hell no. If I'm going to be suspended for decking the King, then you're going to be there to support me."
"Thank you by the way." She smiles, "I know that it took a lot of frustration for you to actually put yourself in the middle of all those guys, so I really do appreciate you saving me like that."
"It's sort of my fault in the first place; I shouldn't have encouraged you." I say, lifting her legs up so I can get up, "Besides, what are friends for?"
"And everyone's missing out not having a friend like you." She says.
"Yeah, yeah, don't get all mushy on me." I say, causing her smile to widen further, "What do you two want to eat? Sandwiches or eggs?"
"PB&J!" Sammy shouts automatically.
"Of course." I chuckle, "Okay. I think I can handle that. Is that okay with you, Allen?"
"Sure." He agrees, "Do you need my help?"
"It's only sandwiches, Al." I say, "I'm sure I can handle it."
He beams, happy to be called by his nickname that I rarely used.
"Droy?" Taylor suddenly says, coming out of his room and joining us in the kitchen slash living room, "I'll see you after school tomorrow, okay?"
"Yeah." I call back, "I'll be okay – Sammy and Allen are staying – so have a nice night at work."
"Because that'll happen." He mutters, closing the door behind him.
I smile a little and finish the sandwiches up, "Bon appetite!" I sing, joining them next to the couch.
"Awesome!" Sammy shouts with excitement, springing to life, "Did you-"
"-cut the crust?" I finish for her, smirking, "Yeah, I did. I wouldn't want you to throw a tantrum again."
"Wha- I did not throw a tantrum! I simply explained that I don't like crust very loudly; serious difference." She grumbles, shoving a bite in her mouth.
"Of course." I say innocently, handing Allen the other sandwich, "Now each before I change my mind about you two staying."
"Always so cold." Allen sobs, taking a bite, "You're only nice when it involves Sammy."
"That's because I'm awesome." Sammy smirks, sticking her tongue out.
I laugh and take my seat next to her, eating.
"Awww!" Sammy suddenly cries, "What are we going to do when we graduate at the end of this year? What if we can't get into the same college? What if… What if we can't get into college at all!? I'm gonna die as a worker at McDonald's!"
"Really?" I ask, "We still have the entire year. You're worrying for no rea-" I breathe in the smell of burning wood, "Wait. Do you guys smell that?"
Sammy sniffs and nods, "Did you turn on the stove or something?"
"I made sandwiches. There's no need for the stove." I say, furrowing my eyebrows, "I'll go check it out. Hold on."
I stand up and head over to the kitchen, which isn't really separated by anything but a small half wall protruding from the left. Near the back, the wooden door is ablaze with flames, thick grey smoke erupting from the bottom of the door.
"-the hell?" I cough, covering my mouth with my hand.
"Is that you, Droy Anderson?" A voice calls out.
I cough some more, but don't say anything.
"It's time pathetic excuses for girls like yourself learns your place." It spats, seemingly unaffected by the raging smoke engulfing the room by the second, "You need to learn who's trash and who's treasure."
"What are-" more coughs, "-you even talking about?"
"Dacen is worth more than your house and life combines!" It hisses venomously, "And it's time you started realizing it!"
I laugh, but because of the lack of clear air, it's a gasping laugh, clouded by dry coughs, "Obsessed, aren't we?" I wheeze, "Hate to tell you sweetheart, but Dacen is worth less than the ashes of my house. Maybe it's time you realized that."
The person growls, who I'm almost certain is a girl (or a very devoted guy friend with a high-pitched voice), "Fine. Act all high and mighty."
The smell of gasoline fills my nose and suddenly the door is engulfed in hot flames, burning up the door in mere seconds flat, faster than I can process what to do. With little air, I turn on my heel and run into the living room, where Allen and Sammy are both coughing, the smoke already filling the small room with it's overpowering stench.
"We've got to get out of here!" I shout, trying to sound over the flickering flames, "Now!"
They stare at me as the second tick by, as if they don't understand what my mouth is saying, "WE NEED TO GET OUT OF THE HOUSE NOW!"
My harsh and frantic tone snaps them out of it and we dart to the front door, each heading down the sidewalk faster than we've ever run before.
As we each gasp in breaths, taking in the fresh air, Allen start fumbling with his cellphone, trying his best to click the right buttons in his shaken state.
I snatch it from his hands, coughing a few time in an attempt to clear my lungs, and dial 911, waiting for an answer.
Someone picked up on the first ring, "911, what is your emergency?"
"My house-" cough "-is on fire." More coughs.
"What is your name, ma'am?"
"Droy Anderson." I say, trying my best to keep from snapping at the woman.
"Alright Droy, I need you to stay calm. Police are on their way to help. Just stay on the phone with me until they arrive."
More body-racking coughs shake my body and I'm forced to make Allen talk to the woman while I try to breathe right.
"Droy, are you okay?" Sammy asks, laying a hand on my back as I bend over and dry heave.
No, no I'm not okay. Some obsessed psychopath just burned down my house.
And for what!? An asshole that would probably never know they exist either way!
And here's the "remix" (or simply the edited version) of I Hate You. I added in more details, explained things better, and even hinted at Droy's weakness because I feel like I didn't do that very well in the first version. Anyway, I'll work on this one and Smiling Secrets and before you know it, I'll be back up and writing.
Please tell me what you think of this one, even if you've already reviewed on the first story and added it to your favorites, you might wanna do the same thing with this one because this will probably be my main one until the end.
Hope you like it~