Jack sat at in the back corner of the post office behind his plastic barrier that mirrored the ones in jails, but no one seemed to notice that. With seniority came freedom to chose your own desk, and Jack figured the back corner away from what little commotion was left for a post office was the best bet. The clock on Jack’s computer flicked to 4:30. Only thirty more minutes to freedom, he decided to keep himself entertained. Spinning his chair Jack threw his legs up onto his desk, careful to avoid the ancient monitor that took up most of the space. Once comfortable Jack grabbed the Rubix cube off his desk and began to spin its puzzling parts. Within five minutes he was bored and tossed the multicolored mess back onto his desk. Jack pulled his phone out of the deep pockets of his black uniform pants. He flicked it on and immediately got lost in the glow of the mini-monitor he held in his hand. Out of his peripheral Jack saw one of his superiors walking by and quickly slid his phone back into his pocket, straightened up his posture, and sat at the computer diligently typing away. What he typed, though, his boss couldn’t see. Which was lucky for Jack. Solitaire still worked on this archaic machines and passed the time perfectly, and Jack knew all the keyboard shortcuts by heart. As Jack worked through his second game of solitaire the clock stuck 5:00pm and he sat up. Time to go, the best time of the day. With a few quick clicks the game was closed, the computer shut down, and Jack stood up, gathered his things, and walked out of his cubicle.

On his way out of the office Jack passed the computer where he signed out. The process was simple, type in your name, the time, click enter, hold shift, type your employee code… okay, maybe simple isn’t the best word – but after working there for so long Jack had it down to such an art it took him mere minutes. Correctly signed out, with his jacked slung over his arm and briefcase in hand Jack walked out the door. The south Florida Post Office location Jack worked at was centrally located enough for him to be able to walk home, even if it meant walking by a few homeless folk, the convenience was immeasurable. Before he began his walk, Jack stopped by the bench in front of the post office to get himself situated. Regardless of the weather, he threw his jacket on simply so he wouldn’t have the burden of carrying it, and with it on he grabbed headphones to connect his head directly to his cell phone. After picking his briefcase back up, and straightening up his jacket and pants, Jack began his walk.

The pace of the music matched his walk perfectly which always seemed to happen, as if his direct connection to the phone let it control him, as opposed to the norm of those roles reversed. On his walk Jack skirted by the man he referred to as Crazy Man with Beard. He knew if he walked too close the bum would ask for money, or help, or food – just something that gave Jack a headache honestly didn’t want to deal with. After his interpretive dance down the sidewalk Jack crossed the corner or Cypress Road and 70th street, the street was as rather quiet one but Jack knew under the overpass lay the next landmine: Crazy man without beard took refuge from the chaotic Florida weather under the minor overpass, which was really impressive, especially for a homeless guy. After ignoring Without Beards attempts at freebies, Jack was on the home stretch.

The walk in total took around fifteen minutes which Jack enjoyed: daily exercise before getting home to walk Legolas, hop a shower, and cook dinner. Once he hopped up the three flights of stairs Jack pulled his keys out of his jacket pocket. The metal key slid into the lock, spun, and the deadbolt slipped back into its home – like a turtle withdrawing into its shell. Jack pulled the door open and quickly greeted by Legolas, his Siberian husky. Most people shot Jack snide looks when he walked Legolas, especially during the summer, but they failed to understand that the dog adapted himself to whatever his environment was, or at least that’s what Jack convinced himself.

“Oh calm down boy, calm down,” Jack said as he rubbed his dogs head, “time for a walk?” Legolas’s tail flicked a mile a minute and if Jack hadn’t braced himself he would have fallen over because Legolas began to push his head into Jack’s legs, easing him toward the door. “Oh hold on boy, lemme get your collar.” Jack lifted the collar from the table in the entrance hallway of the apartment and slipped it around Lego’s neck. After Legolas got adjusted to the collar Jack opened the door and set on out his walk. Legolas pulled Jack down the flight of stairs, which was partially understandable since it had been a few hours since he last experienced the wonder of the outdoors. Now, the wonder and amazement of the outdoors excited Legolas a lot, but once he and Jack made it to the landing and he spotted the grass – Legolas lost control (or whatever control domestic dogs still had). Jack stood about 5 ’9, a relatively bulky guy, but certainly not obese, but regardless of he grounding or weight, Legolas pulled him toward the luscious green grass without warning. In mid drag toward the grass the man-dog pair tumbled passed Apartment 103, where Courtney lived. Even after the three months of living so close Jack never developed a solid friendship with Court. Courtney worked as an elementary school teacher while she struggled to keep her passion alive – she simply loved art. Jack knew little of Courtney’s artistic prowess, not due to apathy, but simply because the two individuals had yet to truly get to know one another. Courtney worked in all mediums but above all else she loved painting (acrylics generally) on anything, of anything. As Legloas continued his assault on Jack’s arm the pair ended up in the grass the bordered the parking lot. Doing what dogs do, Legolas sniffed around the grass attempting to find the one blade that smelt sweeter than all the others – that is, until he heard a car pulling into the parking lot. Legolas’s ears shot toward the noise and his head perked up. Courtney’s blue sedan pulled into the parking lot and she maneuvered in into her assigned parking space. Regardless of the appeal Legolas found in the grass when Courtney finally opened her door and stepped out Lego darted over to her. Unlike his owner, Legolas was quiet the social creature.

“Hey there Jack,” Courtney said as she braced herself for impact of the massive husky heading her way.

“Hey Courtney,” Jack returned the pleasantries, “Ah, sorry about Lego.” The husky began to sniff all around Courtney and press his muzzle into her leg just begging to be pet.

“Ah, ha, no need he’s fine,” Courtney said as she bent down and gave the dog all the attention he so greedily required. She cocked her head back up toward Jack and said, “How have things been? Good day at work?”

“Well, can’t say it was a bad day, but it wasn’t good either. There really aren’t too many good days,” Jack mumbled, “it is the post office after all, the advent of the computer pretty much made us obsolete. How bout you, have a decent day?”

While she furiously rubbed Lego’s belly she replied, “Arts and crafts day! Which, while I love art, is an experience for many, tiny, little, children, but overall it was a good day. There wasn’t too much paint on the walls, or glue eaten, or crayons stolen.” Court giggled after she finished her story. She was light-hearted, Jack found it refreshing. “So, after you walk the mutt you have any plans for the rest of the evening?”

Jack was rather taken aback by her question, the two had never delved deeper than simple “how was your days” but he found her personality appealing and saw no harm in continuing their chat. “Well, I have yet to have dinner since this beast had to go out so bad,” Jack lifted the leash in his grasp though Courtney knew what he referred to, “and other then that, I have no plans.”

“Oh come on its Friday! You should go to a bar or go out or something!” Courtney laughed as soon as her advice left her lips. “I sound like I’m still in college don’t I, eh, it’s fine by me.”

A bar! Jack mulled over the idea, and while he didn’t detest it, he couldn’t help but poke fun at Courtney when she made it so easy, “Come on Court! We are adults! A bar, pa-shaw!”

Courtney simply rolled her eyes as she brushed the wrinkles out of her dress. Jack’s sarcasm was palpable and Courtney was intelligent enough to grasp it. “Well, I haven’t eaten either, so…”

Jack finally began to understand Courtney’s underlying intention, she wanted to make plans with him! “Well, I am making steak, and there’s plenty for two people if you’d like to join me.” Jack hesitantly made plans still not fully believing the intentions of the woman he spoke with. Working at the post office sure made him dense – nearly robot-like.

“Well thank you ever so kindly for the invite, it’s so unexpected!” Courtney sarcastically replied in a heavy southern accent as she bated her eye lashes in Jacks general direction. “Ha, I don’t mean to impose really, I just figure we’ve lived rather close for quiet sometime and have yet to really get to know one another.” Courtney admitted, quickly accompanied with a nervous laugh, as her, Jack, and Legolas made their way back to the apartment building.

“No, no, it’s fine. No skin of my back, plus I like to cook so having someone besides myself and the mutt to feed, it is a pleasure.”

“Ya see! I never knew you liked to cook!” Courtney gesticulated wildly as the trio walked up the sidewalk. “Well, I have to jump in my house for a bit, just to put my stuff down and what not. Mind if I meet you at your place in about 20 minutes?”

“Naw that’s fine,” Jack said, still semi-shocked about the situation. “I gotta finish walking Lego anyway since we got all caught up he really didn’t get his walk. See ya in 20 then.”

“Later gator,” Courtney said as she unlocked her door and stepped inside.

Jack walked Legolas around the rest of the neighborhood all while his mind sorted out what just happened. What. The. Hell. The poor guy was so confused as he left his dog sniff around in the grass. Boyfriend troubles? Family issues? Did she just want company? All these thoughts flew in and out of Jack’s head yet he couldn’t settle on any of them. Nothing he thought really made perfect sense. Actually, what made the most sense, was that it was just about damn time the two people exchange their life stories. Jack played the part of the loner pretty well, never had he done this before, he mastered the art of avoiding not confrontation – but human interaction. Especially annoying human interaction, hence his dance around the homeless every day after work, but Courtney wasn’t annoying – actually she was very appealing, so he calmed himself down and was cooled off as he when he walked back into his house with ten minutes to spare.

The smell of spray paint filled the air. The hand danced from side to side. The can held firmly. Plastic top pushed in ever so slightly. The jet black mist hitting concrete. Click-Click-Click-SHhhhh. The only noise. Silence. Arms in a dance. Cans moving back and forth. Under the cover of twilight. The grand finale. Arm up and whipped down. A conductor of the silent orchestra. Work is done. Time to move. Drop the can. Pick up the back. Grab the sign. Leave.

A patter of light taps on the door, then three hard knocks, three more, then one, silence. Jack stepped out of his bedroom, just having hopped a quick shower and slipped into some more causal clothes. He could have swore if he waited any longer to get the door she would have cursed at him in Morse code. For all he knew, she already did. Jack opened the door, letting Courtney in. For a single guy with a dog, Jack’s place was impeccable, though he still worried Courtney would critique it. Then again, Jack worried about a lot of things. But Courtney strolled in very casually, with an air to her step, as if she walked on clouds while mere mortals were punished and held to the solid earth by the laws of gravity. She broke those laws.

“Really nice place you have here,” Court said with an overwhelming sound of unintentional sarcasm.

“Uh, thanks,” Jack said as he motioned around, “Shall I give you the grand tour?”

“Oh, if you would be so kind.” So Jack led Courtney from one room to the other in his small one bedroom apartment. “This, is the entrance way, living room, kitchen, dining room area,” Jack said with a laugh as he realized how short this tour would really be. Jack opened door to his bedroom and stood in the threshold, “and this is my bedroom.”

“Of course you’d show me the bedroom,” Court rolled her eyes and gently shoved Jack out of the way and walked into his bedroom.

“Hey!” Jack reacted. He really didn’t know what else to say. The tour certainly wasn’t going as planned.

“Hmm, you know what’s fun?!” Court said as she slipped off her sandles and began to crawl onto Jack’s bed. Then she jumped up and down. Jack just watched in awe. “Oh come on, it’s fun! You cannot tell me this doesn’t look appealing,” Court said as she jump and tucked her legs under her body so she landed sitting on Jack’s bed, laughing hysterically.

“I think hanging with all those kids is rubbing off on your Courtney,” Jack’s face held a caustic mix of terror, humor, and admiration for a spirit as innocent as free as that of the girl standing up from his bed, “hungry?”

“I thought you’d never ask, I am starved. You know, doctors say jumping around in bed burns 872 calories,” Courtney remarked as the pair walked back toward the kitchen.

“Really? Really Court?” Jack walked into the kitchen as Court sat in the dining room table. The bar between the dining room and kitchen made their conversation continue without falter.

“No, of course not, but it was fun. On a more serious note though, steak for dinner, but what else? Side dishes?”

“Calm yourself woman,” Jack knew the danger in his chauvinistic joke, but he risked it anyway. Judging from Courtney’s previous antics she wouldn’t take offense to it.

“Oh, yes masta,” Courtney replied. “No but really, salad? I can make a mean vinaigrette.”

“Hmm, that actually sounds cool. Team work!” Jack said as he cut open the package of two chuck eye steaks, their marbling matching that of his counter top.

“Sounds good to me, do you have, well, salad stuff?” Court asked as she stood up from her seat and walked into the kitchen.

“Ya, ya, there should be a bag of salad in the bottom drawer and vinegrette stuff in the cabinet next to the fridge.” While Jack spoke he placed a cast iron pan on the stove to let it heat up, “How do you like your steak?”

Court gathered all of her ingredients and ripped open the sack of salad to pour it into a large wooden bowl. “Hmm,” She seemed hesitant to answer, that or she was too lost in salad creation to notice the question. “How do you like yous?”

“Oh no, no, no. None of this bull.” Jack responded, his tone laced with mock anger, “I asked the question now just gimme an answer.” He certainly was not up for a debate, for steak – is serious business. He threw salt and cracked pepper onto the steak as he awaited her reply.

“Medium-W…”

Before she finished her thought Jack let out a sigh, “ Phew, medium is acceptable. But honestly, rare is the best. Good thing you didn’t ask for it well done or I would have had to banish you from my home.” Jack laughed as he finished his premature remark.

Court giggled and rolled her eyes. She never got upset, she took everything quiet lightly, “Mind if I turn on the news, just for some terrible background noise?” The evening news was on and while Courtney’s request slightly confused Jack, he nodded in agreement as he dropped the steaks into the pan. Jack enjoyed keeping up with current events, which he knew played a part in his cynicism. So, when Courtney asked to turn the news on, it struck him as odd – she seemed to innocent to live in the same world as he.

The rest of the cooking (which involved flipping steaks and tossing salad) flew by and while the steaks rested the pair of previous strangers set the table. They finished setting the table, sat down. Their small talk continued until the television interrupted with the cacophony of breaking news.

“Vandals tag landmark in community park

stay tuned while we keep you up to date

here at Channel 6 News.”

Jack rolled his deep brown eyes, and picked up his fork, “that’s all. God, anything passes as breaking news doesn’t it? ‘Boy spills milk! Then cries! More details at eleven!’” Jack mocked, “Graffiti is graffiti is graffiti, it they report they are just expediting the problem.” Before Courtney commented she took the first bite of steak – it was far more on the rare side then she preferred but she didn’t want to offend the chef. While she chewed the bite her face lite up with delight.

“This is really lovely Jack, it really is!” she obviously enjoyed which pleased Jack immensely since this was one elongated first impression. “Have you tried my salad yet?”Jack shook his head and Courtney shot him a puppy-dog stare that begged for his culinary approval. As Jack tasted the salad Courtney weighted in on the vandalism situation, “I think it’s fascinating. One artist adding to previously finished (or as finished as art can be) piece, as long as it’s nothing obscene or offensive I see nothing wrong with a little graffiti.”

Jack nodded along, understanding though not agreeing. “Your dressing is fantastic little lady. Ha, actually…”

“Oh, no no no, I don’t want any tips or culinary advice from you Mr. Uncooked Cow. My dressing is damn good!”

“Touche, but no, actually, I was going to say it tastes similar to the dressing my mom used to make. She always refused to give me the recipe, but you unknowingly hit it spot on.”

“Hey! Don’t think you can butter me up and get the recipe out of me that easily.” Courtney stuck her tongue out at Jack before the two fell into a relative silence as they ate the rest of their meals.

The park sat dark. Silence covered it. Like a fresh coat of paint. The disguise reset, as if it left. The word spread. As intended. The homeless man on the bench smiled. Rolled over. Asleep. Snug and Safe. Plotting, planning, dreaming.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be over to pick you up later. Like have fun and stuff!” With a smile plastered to her face Kourt wondered just how deep Tom saw. How far past the make up and designer clothes. To interrupt her introversion she rolled up the window and backed out of Aiden’s driveway. The drive to Paul’s didn’t take too long since Aiden’s neighborhood lay between Kourtney’s and Paul’s. Though it did stick out rather obviously. Most neighborhoods in the area Kourtney frequented, between school, her home, and her friends — stood large and daunting, on many acres of land. Aiden’s neighborhood, though, was one of the first and on the smaller side. Unlike all the others, it sat on no land, nesteled right between neighbors, and held only enough rooms for a family to live with nothing to spare. It gave Kourt chills. She didn’t like the small neighborhood she just left, it caved in on her, making her feel nauseous and claustrophobic.

She sat at the red light before turning into Paul’s neighborhood, using her time wisely she reapplied make up and checked her texts. Two messages, from Lauren and Paul respectively. She clicked Lauren’s first:

Hey. We should hang. School tmrw, I don’t wanna go. Skip? Idk. Text me when you done with Paulie, have fun. ;p

She figured she’d reply once done with her lovely night with Paulie, but skipping seemed possible. She mulled it over. Before she read the text from Paul the lighted flicked from red to green and she tossed her phone onto the passenger seat. It didn’t bother her too much, she knew she’d see him soon, and would just talk to him them. Kourt drove down the main road abiding by all traffic laws she felt made sense (of which, few existed) and little time passed until she turned down Paul’s street. Sometime after dropping her brother off and the present she had turned the radio on. The sound system in her car worked wonders mainly because her dad paid for an upgrade. Kourtney’s body, as well as the metal framework of the car shook violently as the bass assaulted the structural integrity with earthquake level shock waves. Much like the lyrics of the music assaulted the ears of any poor innocent children in cards within a five mile radius.

She slowed down, and her hand jerked toward the volume knob – not in aim to silence the assault but so the security guard she approached could hear her. Her call pulled to a stop and she lowered her window, her gaze focusing on the burly guard that made his way toward her car.

“186 North Lake,” Kourt said with a sigh as she handed over her ID. Most of the security guards in Paul’s neighborhood knew her and just waved her through but she noticed this guy must be knew and hated that she had to stop. The guard nodded and headed back to his post to call Paul’s house, while he placed the call, Kourt used the time to read the text from earlier. With phone in hand she opened her unread message.

Hey babe. Get here soon. I got a surprize. I promse itll rock ur world. ;]

Her expectations wiggled in her toes and her stomach sank to follow suit. Her mind didn’t have much tme to wonder as the security guard came back, handed her the ID, and waved her through. Her car gently accelerated through the open gate. Kourt didn’t adjust the radio. She heard the gate crash behind her. Her stomach churned and Kourt grew dizzy with no idea what to expect she tried to find a bright side. She tried to ignore it all. Tried to make it go away. One of her attempts helped. She pulled into Paul’s driveway and eased her way out of the car. She quickly thought of feigning illness (which wouldn’t be difficult since she actually felt terrible). As if his words she read were a parasite that spread through her body, infecting her. Kourt’s hand moved from the steering wheel to the key that rested in the ignition. She spun it. The car died. Sitting inside she debated. Fought against herself. Kourt eyed her reflection in the rear view. Tear stains ruined her make up and smears covered her face. Focusing on fixing it, she did just that. A quick touch up here, a bit more mascara there, she looked as good as new. With her stomach in knots, she opened the car door, took a deep breath to regain composure, and walked up Paul’s driveway.

I luv u. So hard. I need u babe, I wish u could just cum ovr 2nite. But tmrw will be fun, guess what ?!

Kourt felt the blood drop from face. She felt it slide down, out of her skin, onto the bed, reddening the perfect comforter, and sheets, and pillow top, and mattress. She shook it off. Quickly, with blood back in her fingers, she typed out the general reply, though she assumed what Paul’s little surprise was.

What? What!?

Within seconds, he must have typed the answer just awaiting her question – since he already set the trapped he waited for her to fall in and knew his exact move executing it with stealthy grace.

My parents r out tmrw, so its just u n me. :]

Kourt’s assumption proved correct, she snapped her phone shut after reading the text. While her mind fought with current and old feelings, not knowing what was correct. She had done it once, doing it again couldn’t hurt (especially not anymore then it did before). Plus, Paul was a lovely and even more so stunningly masculine man, and her man. She began to feel obligated to fill his need. The other half of her still attempted to fight though it lost. It felt wrong. He hurt her. She didn’t want this. Did she? Kourt shook her head not understanding anything that was going on in her own life she tossed her hands up and in doing so realized she typed out, and sent, a reply to her lovely hunk of a boyfriend.

Sounds hot. I cnt wait. I luv u. shwr time, wish u were here.

A bystander in her own life Kourt no longer knew what to feel and this fight got harder and harder as the days passed. She threw her phone onto the bed, and stood up. She shook her head, the blond hair flowing back and forth, beautiful really, if it weren’t for the pulsating headache she held, or the mask she wore. In aim for honesty, and hopefully to rid herself of the headache she felt through her whole body, Kourt made her way into the bathroom for yet another shower. She never learned, she assumed the heat and steam and water would burn or overwhelm, or drown her self doubt and grant her the will to continue, but it never did. She refused to face herself. She flushed the masked down the drain in the shower, and never looked back. Falling onto her bed into a deadly sleep – she would have preferred to not wake up.

The morning came too soon. Kourt woke up groggy, with gravity defying hair since she fell asleep while it was still wet. Luckily, she, nor anyone else, saw her while in such a state. She quickly primped herself up, making herself presentable while undergoing all of her normal morning activities except this morning at a much slower pace because it was a weekend and she felt enjoyed the more zen like nature of her actions. Plus, she had no where to be until mid afternoon.

While Kourt got ready, Tom snored loudly in his bedroom. Their parents were both downstairs, in a blend of cliché and abnormality Jeff read the paper while the maid prepared breakfast which left Andrea free to lay on the sofa in the entertainment room reading a juicy romance novel. Actually, it was the popular romance teen melodrama, though this one involved werewolves so no one noticed its poor writing or common-place themes. Andrea held little responsibility, with the maid cooking and sweeping and dusting all weekend, so other then waking the kids and helping her husband with his work she usually just sat around and read. Since breakfast was almost ready Andrea put her book down and hopped off the couch. She made her way upstairs to wake up Tom and Kourtney, getting them downstairs for breakfast. Her pace was slow and peaceful, she seemed to enjoy the free time she had. The walk up stairs didn’t take her too long though, and once she stepped of the landing, she yelled,

“Tom, Kourtney, time for breakfast!” she smiled and felt accomplished getting her lovely children ready and awake for the first day of their beautiful weekend. Once the last words left her mouth, she walked back down the stairs, relishing in the glory of her job well done.

“Gah,” Tom groaned as he rolled over in his bed. His mother’s lovely wake up call ripped Tom from his deep sleep. It wasn’t too early, and breakfast sounded appealing, but much like a dog going for a walk – theoretically the walk is the most exciting thing in the world, but putting the collar around its neck is a hellish nightmare. Tom struggled against himself as he swung his legs off his beg, stumbled into clothes, and made his way toward the stairs. On his way past Kourtney’s room he knocked on her just barely closed door. He knew she already finished her shower, was probably already dressed, and more then likely dismissed her mom. Just like his sister Tom knew a lot of the time either of their parents spoke he simply turned off his hearing and nodded along, assuming his sister did the same, but also figuring she would like breakfast.

“I’ll be out in a second, thanks Tom.” Kourtney replied from just beyond her door. She figured it was her brother since she had already heard her mom, and knew enough time had passed. She assumed her mom was back downstairs, lying on the sofa, book in hand – done with her duty for the mid-morning. Kourt pulled her skinny jeans up over her hips, pulled her Mikey Mouse screen tee on, and quickly fussed with her hair before she headed out, downstairs, for breakfast. By the time she opened her door, her brother sat at the table, resisting the urge to fall asleep so Kourt made her way down with haste.

Kourt walked into the kitchen as the maid put the plates of food on the table. Tom already sat, slowly, sleepily, sipping on his cup of orange juice, and both of her parents made their way into the room and took their places at the table. Jeff folded up the paper he held and tossed it to the floor next to him and Andrea picked up her cup of coffee and began to drink. Kourt took her seat across from her brother at the large kitchen table. The plate in front of her overflowed with scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, and two perfect pieces of light-brown toast. Also, a glass of orange juice and mug of coffee sat in front of her. She reached for the sugar and creamer the maid placed on the table while setting it and Kourt drowned the poor cup of coffee in front of her. She drop scoop after scoop of sugar into the dark liquid, then, once the aftershock from the bomb dropping subsided, she filled the mug with cream. The black coffee turned white, then off white, moving into an off white gray haze no longer resembling coffee or cream but a horrible love child of the two. After stirring the cup she brought it up to her lips and took a sip – not satisfied with her attack she put the cup down – scooping more sugar into it.

“So,” Tom broke the silence of eating that blanketed the table, “Hey Kourt, do you mind taking me to Aiden’s house today?”

Kourt placed her mug back on the table, finally satisfied with the terror she created, “Uh, like, sure. I mean I am going to Paul’s this afternoon anyway so I’ll just drop you off on the way.”

Neither Kourtney nor Tom asked their parents if the plans they made were okay, but neither cared. They assumed it was their weekend and they never asked for permission – the family barely spoke, let alone act like a cohesive unit. “Um, you too seem the have quite the day ahead of you!” Andrea said between bites, inviting herself into the conversation. “Have you both finished you homework for the weekend?” Playing the part of concerned parent, Andrea took changed and asked the question she felt obligated to.

“I finished most of mine,” Tom said while his sister enjoyed a bit of her eggs.

“Oh, ya, and I am pretty much like all done too.”

“Okay, well, Jeff, do you think it’s okay if they go out?” Andrea asked her loving husband who had been to busy eating to listen to the conversation at hand. When he heard his name he looked up and grabbed his cup of juice for a drink before his debut for the morning conversation. Almost an act of building suspense he slowly gulped the juice in his mouth, seemingly pondering his response.

After swallowing Jeff said, “What?” Completely lost in his own world he required even more time to think. “Oh, going out! Well, they both said they did their work, I don’t see why not. Works for me.” Jeff replied after fully digesting the question posed to him.

“Okay kids, you heard your dad, you can go out. Make sure you are home before too long.” Andrea said, fulfilling the role of perfect parent, while also giving her husband (no matter how distracted he seemed) the same high clout she held.

“Hurray!” Both Kourtney and Tom said as they rolled their eyes, both knowing they would have gone out permission or not. Though, neither doubted they would be denied the right to flee from their lovely home.

Breakfast was finished with little more chatter between the family members. They all finished their eggs, and bacon, and toast, stood up, and left their places at the table. Once the coast was clear, and the family went their separate ways, the maid came back in and cleaned up behind everyone. She didn’t seem to mind. Well, she didn’t seem to enjoy it either, but the expression on her face – always the same static express, was a plastered smile. And she never complied, as a matter of fact, she barely made noise – let alone open her mouth to speak. The family never talked to her, and she never talked to them – though, it is hard to say who actually got the better end of that bargain.

Kourt made her way up to her bedroom, finishing the last bits of her morning ordeal so she looked presentable for Paul. Back in the bathroom, her favorite place, she fixed up her hair and put on, more, make up. Of course, after she got out of her shower she but on the first coat of make up, but she required a touch up after eating since she smeared some and the base layer needed time to set anyway. Or that’s what Kourt convinced herself. She made her self look beautiful and fancy and once she was done she sat on her bed. Her phone lay on the end table by the head of her bed, and she grabbed it to check the time, to her surprise it was already around noon. With this in mind, and not wanting to make Paul or Tom wait, she stood up from her bed and walked over to his room.

“Hey, Tommy boy, you like ready?” Kourt asked, patronizing her brother due to his age, a normal action taken between a normal girl and her abnormal younger brother.

“Ya, I have been. I am not the one who spend the last thirty minutes getting ready. I mean really, come on Kourt, I swear there are clowns that take less time getting ready for work then you take before you leave.” Tom remarked while he spun around his computer chair and walked toward the doorway where is sister stood. The pair walked out and down their stairs toward the front door. Kourt grabbed the nub, spun, and pulled the door in toward herself and her younger brother. Tom took the door, from the top corner, gripping the cold oak. and held it open for his sister while she stepped out and thanked her tiny little gentleman. He followed his sister out of the house and pulled the door shut behind him. The wind whipped by chilling Kourtney while Tom walked to her car snuggly in his large brown hoodie. “Where’s your jacket sis?” Tom asked as he made his way to the passenger side door.

When they got in, Tom saw the answer to his question. Tom took his seat while Kourtney grabbed her pink jacket from the back seat. She zipped it on before buckling her beat and nodded to her brother. “All seat, like, totally dumb of me to leave it in here. It really is getting cold out.” Tom shook his head in response and his sister pulled out of the driveway. “You have like everything right?” Again Tom shook his head in response.

“Ya, Ya thanks mom.” Tom joked with his sister. He looked around her car, running his finger across the ebony wood interior lining and the leather seats. “So, why in hell’s name are you going to Paul’s again. I still think he is a dick. Not to be blunt.” Tom peered out the window midway through his statement, “Oh wait, no, blunt is fine.”

“Eh, shut it Tommy. Like, Paul is a nice guy really, you need to give him another change, I know I am. It’s like, not that bad.” Kourt attempted to answer her younger brother’s question while she pulled onto the main road, not only fighting with other drivers but also with herself. She agreed. But still, dismissed it. Even, maybe especially, since her younger brother (with a disorder nevertheless) thought Paul was a bad guy.

“I didn’t want to bring it up with mom and dad around, since I am sure you haven’t said anything to them, and they are totally oblivious, but this seems to be an issue. I don’t know sis it just seems like he is changing you.” Still gazing out the window Tom eyed the scenery rushing by. He clasped his hands within the front pocket of his hoodie.

“We will be to Aiden’s soon, I think you should like, drop this topic Tommy.” Kourt said bobbing in and out of traffic. “Did you take your medicine this morning?” Kourt asked, at face value showing concern for her brother but in reality taking advantage of his well known weakness. Again, she just wanted to pull the strings of the conversation. Controlling the emotions and events that occurred, even for mere more, she loved the control.

“Nope.” With one word he dismissed her question and her power vanished. Tom felt anger well up inside of him, but he fought it. He knew playing into his sister’s little game was just want she wanted. He didn’t want to give her that so he controlled himself. Not to his surprise, he succeeded in such control, medicine or not. He knew his mind quite well. Sometimes, to his disadvantage.

The trees outside flew by. The bushes and shrubs followed suit and when Kourt rounded the corner into Aiden’s neighborhood the few kids that were playing outside didn’t stay in view too long. Aiden lived in a middle class family, their house looked nice: enough bedrooms, bathrooms, and some what of a yard, but nothing in comparison to the mansion Kourtney and Tom called home. Tom enjoyed Aiden’s house. To him the size acted as a benefit more then anything, the family communicated, they saw one another throughout the day, the house felt warm and “homey.” Kourtney, on the contrary, grew used to her home. The size, the massive rooms and acre large yard – too her it felt peaceful and private. She enjoyed the alone time, not seeing or dealing with any of her family members – putting up with any of their nonsense, or being told what to do.

Luckily, Kourt was not getting out at Aiden’s so she didn’t have to deal with his tiny house. Tom jumped out of the car and said goodbye to his sister. Before making his way up to Aiden’s door he walked over to Kourtney’s window. She rolled it down and Tom said “Hey sis, I’ll call you when I need a ride home, or call me when you leave Paul’s. If you need me just call Kourt.” Tom finished taking and his last comment seemed both sarcastic and caring. Talking as if he were her parent, Tom just showed his sister he cared – she understood but returned the favor in a cliché older sibling way.

She grabbed his head through the open window and ran her knuckles across his skull. “Thanks little bro.”

“Eh, honestly, I have like no idea,” Kourt said, playing with her hair in one hand and grabbing her phone from her bag with the other. She remembered Paul’s text, and their plans, a slight chill danced down her spine. “All I know,” Kourt said, stopping the game she played with her hair, and throwing her phone into her bag, “I’m done with guys for now. Like, let’s go shop and stuff! Back to Victoria’s Secret Lor?” Kourt gesticulated wildly, her now free hands acting as conduits for her thoughts, and doing slowly flawlessly. It was as if her mind overflowed so much with thought her hands caught up the overflow and further proved whatever she spoke of.

“Oh like definitely, I need to pick up some things, hehe.” Lauren giggled her response as her and her bestie walked back toward the store they had left an hour or two ago. On their walk back to the store there was no delay or intrusion, unlike the walk to the food court. The went back into Victoria’s Secret. The PINK clothes section had it’s own entrance, though the whole store was connected on the inside. Walking around the store again, it was as if they had never been there before. They looked everywhere, flipping through all the racks, examining all the panties on display tables – their own personal heaven (except the pearly gates were security sensors.)

Kourt, with the same outfit her friend held earlier, in her hand, asked, “So you going to like buy this, it’s totally adorable.” She liked the outfit she held, honestly trying to help out her friend. This time, no game, not pulling strings she acted genuine and helpful.

“Oh, like, thanks K. Totally! It’s so cute!” Lauren said as she walked over to her friend and grabbed the pastel yellow outfit from her hand. “And oh my god it’s on sale!” Lauren said as she caught the sign behind her friend, “It’s twenty percent off!”

“Ha, sale, hey Lor it’s not like it matters, it’s not like they cost much anyway, whatever. Plus, your daddy will just put whatever money you like spend back on your card.” Kourt said as she walked over to the display table and looked through the box of technicolor PINK panties.

“Like, haha, you are right K,” Lauren replied, outfit in hand, as she walked behind her friend toward the counter to pay. She looked over her shoulder and asked, “You gonna pick anything up Kourt?”

“Ya, I need some of these,” She replied, lifted a pair up out of the display box to show her friend, “I just totally like can’t decide which.”

“Well, what’s Paul’s favorite color?” Lauren asked with a smirk as she stepped into the line by the cashier. Kourt just rolled her eyes, she kept Paul out of her mind since they got into the store but Lauren had to bring him up. And just like that Kourt’s mood turned sour. She knew Paul’s favorite color, blue, but with her sour mood, she rummaged through the wicker display box, ignoring everything blue. She grabbed two pairs, a green pair with PINK in all caps written across the rear, and a polka-dot pink and white thong, with the tiny dog logo on the small amount of fabric the back. Then she made her way behind her friend in line. “I didn’t see any blue,” she lied, flatly.

“Oh, well, that’s like fine, at least you decided! I totally love those green ones! Oh my god, and that thong is so cute!” Lauren told her friend as she handed the sweat pant out fit to the employee behind the counter.

“$25.50,” the blond employee behind the counter told Lauren so unassertively it came out a question. Lauren handed the employee her card, and quickly finished her transaction, not bothering to grab a receipt.

Kourt didn’t take too long to ring out after her friend and soon enough both girls walked out of the store bags in hand. Lauren eyed her phone as the girls walked through the mall, and turned to Kourtney, “the mall will close in like an hour, wanna go run by the shoe store?”

“Sure thing, sounds like perfect to me!” full of mock enthusiasm with her upward inflection aiding in making her tone appear convincing.

On the walk to the shoe store, which of course sat on the opposite side of the mall as Victoria’s Secret (though luckily the same side the girl’s parked) Kourt pulled her phone from her bag and flicked through the contacts. She then reread the text from Paul.

Hey luv. I cnt wait 2 c u either. 2Mrw will be fun! Love U Paulie!

Kourt felt her self type the text, one hand methodically typing out the letters while the other held her bag to her arm. She saw each word as it appear on her screen. Heard the clicking of the buttons, as well the the distant sound of Lauren blabbering on and on. Send. Kourt felt so far from control, but began to grow used to it. She shook the bad feeling and began to look forward to seeing Paul. Maybe this time will be better, just maybe.

“So, like, the flats that I wanted before Kristy totally already got so like I said I like don’t think I am going to get those. But there are these boots, my god they are the most adorable things ever.” Lauren had been talking the whole time but Kourt figured she grasped enough of what she said to reply . “Ya, plus, like, it’s getting colder so boots would be nice. And those other boots you have are so old, totally last winter. They are cute and all but like everyone saw them last year. These new ones probably look so much hotter.” Kourtney jumped into the conversation flawlessly, like a ballerina preforming her solo dance she personified grace, beauty, elegance. The oddity of this dance and this ballerina was she hadn’t practiced at all, just a natural, using her gift.

While still in mid conversation the girls made their way into the shoe store. About the size of one of their closets the store displayed very little. Shoes perched here and their on the walls, a few display stands in the scattered around the store showing off certain fall fashions, including the boots Lauren spoke of earlier. The girls split up and wondered around the store, Lauren found an employee (obviously the cutest boy in the store) to help her find the boots her size. While Lauren flirted her time away, asking the poor employee to size her foot, since she just “like, totally forgot her size for boots,” Kourt picked up different heals, and sneakers from the plastic stands that adorned the walls. Nothing appealing to her too much Kourt decided against buying new shoes this trip, as shocking as that was, and she walked over to her friend who sat at a bench in the middle of the store awaiting the return of the cute employee who walked to the back to find the boots she needed so desperately.

“Did they like, have your size Lor?” Kourt asked as she sat down.

“Luckily, they did, and that boy helping me, my god he is the like the cutest thing ever. Such a hunk,” Lauren giggled and spun her hair in her fingers, as she told her friend all the news. Soon enough, the employee walked back from the back, with the box of boots in his hand and walk up to the girls.

“Try ‘em on!” He insisted.

“Mkay, hehe” Lauren giggled, adoring the attention. She pulled the boots on to her feet, stood up from the bench and strutted around the store. A model running the cat walk she showed off all of her assets and the male employee couldn’t help but gawk. To anyone watching though, it looked as if Lauren just walked around with a guy staring at her ass. After her debut as a model, Lauren pulled off the boots, paid for them, grabbed her receipt (with the guys number scribbled on the back) and made her way out of the store with Kourtney.

“Attention all mall patrons, the mall will be closing in fifteen minutes.” The PA announcement echoed through the pathways of the two mile mall. After hearing the announcement, and growing shocked at the amount of time they spent in the shoe store, the girls wandered out of the mall, and headed toward the car in the parking lot. They stepped out of the exit, Kourtney held the door for Lauren who struggled with her purse, the bag with her boots, and her back from Victoria’s Secret all hung haphazardly from her arms. After Lauren walked out Kourt followed, she dug into her bag and pulled out her phone, Paul had yet to her reply. Kourt felt a mix of relief and disappointment, she began to need Paul, want his reply, even go so far as too feel bad for thinking he had taken it too far at their other encounters. The girl’s eventually made their way to the valet station, and waiting as a valet went to pull up the car for them.

While the girl’s waited, Tom diligently read through his book laying on his bed. His parents arrived home about an hour earlier, around when he came back home from his walk. They had already eaten, Tom assumed, since he heard no talk of dinner from them as they walked into the house. And now they sat in their separate room, mom in her office, and dad in his own room, tucked up on the third floor – the room only he entered. Every one in the family wondered lay beyond that door, Tom the most curious naturally. But, regardless of his dead-cat like nature, he never dare step beyond that threshold. He always wanted to though.

Tom closed the book. The portrait of Poe on the front, chilling and cold, harshly contrasting his poem to Anabel Lee, the last thing Tom’s mind digested before shutting the book – his stomach growled. He swung his legs off his bed while throwing the book toward the foot of it, once his feel made contact with the tight carpet floor in his bedroom his body stood. He began to walk. Tom failed to realize, due to how engrossed he was in the novel, the extent of his hunger. Body standing his mind went dim – food, at this point, a necessity.

He stumbled down stairs in an attempt of a run but a miserably failure at that. He acted the family fawn, to young and weak to hold up his own body, he misstepped. His body weight controlling his movement more so then his strength, or lack their of. Once on the landing of the staircase, Tom managed to walk into the kitchen without falling over. His mom sat just beyond the kitchen, tucked in her office, typing fervently. She must not have heard her son walk down the stairs because she failed to acknowledge his presence in the kitchen. Tom swung open the refrigerator door, and rummaged for food. He required sustenance and knew it. Luckily, on the top shelf Tom stopped a plate, mummified in clear cellophane, and he pulled it out of its cold tomb. The maid’s often made dinner regardless of who was home and they must have done so again, not knowing Tom was home, and just placed it in the fridge to keep until the family was ready to eat. Now, Tom was ready. His mouth a fountain over his dinner he examined the treasure he found.

Under the cellophane he saw golden, crispy, fried chicken, chunky home style mashed potatoes near perfect creamy white except for the lovely specs of dark black pepper, and luscious fresh green beans, vibrant and fresh – the perfect counterpoint to the greasy heavy meal. Tom ripped off the cellophane. With shreds still clinging to the sides of the plate, Tom reached for the perfectly cooked chicken leg. Ravenously, he pulled the meat from the bone and enjoyed the spoils of his prize. The once weak fawn, transformed directly into the predatory lion – vicious and hungry for flesh. As the food made its way through Tom’s system he felt rejuvenated, full of life yet again.

From the threshold between the kitchen and the threshold between the hallway and the kitchen, Andrea cleared her throat. Tom looked up, snapped out of his carnivorous state, and saw his mom leaning against the door frame. “Hey Tommy, I heard you going to town in here. How long have you been home? You weren’t here when your father and I got home were you?”

Tom, who had grabbed a fork that sat so conveniently on the table for him, finished and swallowed the last green beans and mashed potatoes in his mouth before answering his mom, “I have been home since school. I mean, I went for a walk but that was before you and dad got home,” Tom grabbed the chicken leg again, and gesticulated with it in hand, “I heard you two come in, even heard dad go up to his room, but I figured you were busy with working and stuff,”Chicken leg swinging through the air Tom was a conductor for the The Carnivore Orchestra, “I was just laying on my bed reading.” And as the last words slipped from his mouth the crescendo, he bit the chicken leg baton he held. The crowd roared.

“Oh I am so sorry sweetie, your dad and I went to dinner. I swore you went to one of your friends house.” Andrea ran her fingers through her hair, she resembled Kourtney, but aged. Through, she lacked the Tom and near white-blond hair, her facial features, thin natural face, smooth and even, and personality, bubbly but often agitated, even if not outright. “Well, I am glad you are enjoying dinner, I do have to get back to work. Your dad needed me to help him type some stuff and file a few things away, oh the things I do for love.” Her melodrama sat in the air so strong it almost had a taste, luckily for Tom, it was easily ignored with another bite of dinner from his plate. “But please, take a seat and get a napkin, you are not an animal.”

As Tom walked around to the island he stood at in his kitchen, he let out a low, primal, animal growl – just to toy with his mom’s statement. And, as she walked back toward the office, she heard him. She looked over his shoulder and roller her eyes at her son as she pulled up a chair a took a seat, enjoying the rest of his meal.

Once seated, already with half his meal nestedly cozy in his stomach, the rest of his dinner didn’t take too long. He finished, and stood up from his seat. With plate and utensils in hand, he stepped over the the sink and washed them off. However nerdy and technical Tom was, he loathed the dishwasher, especially when it came to just his own dishes. Tom reasoned, he could wash his dishes faster then the machine, certainly if the machine required him to rinse the dishes off first anyway. Tom quickly scrubbed the last bits of food of his plate and with soapy sponge in hand, he cleaned all he used. It didn’t take long, as Tom expected, and once finished he headed back toward the stairwell and his room. On his way out of the kitchen he reached back into the cool fridge for a can of soda. Sweet, delicious, carbonated wonder – he popped the snap-top lid and enjoyed the crisp sound, and just as crisp sugary liquid that poured down his throat.

Freshly cracked can of soda in hand Tom made his way back up to his room, careful to not spill his drink on the run up the stairs. He made it too his bedroom with no snags or issues and decided against going immediately back into his book. He booted up his computer, which took a chillingly long amount of time compared to all of the other technology around, but Tom spun around in his desk chair to make up for the wait. Once it was on Tom noticed the time, not too late around 9:30pm, he figured his sister would stumble in soon. With the monitor on and flashing Tom ran the instant messaging program and decided to see if he could make plans for at least one day this weekend. While Tom held a strong distaste for purposeless social activity, he did enjoy hanging out with his friends, even if it was just to play video games or cards. With computer up and running Tom was lost for the rest of the night, there was little hope for him opening that book back up again. As always, the computer sucked in all of Tom’s attention, and his eyes flicked back and forth across the screen as he opened and closed windows, talked to some friends, and generally – acted in this newfangled social interaction with a machine simply in the way.

Luckily for Tom, his friend Aiden was not only online, but also free the following day, so the two struck up a chat. With inside, and simply nerdy, jokes thrown back and forth the eighth-graders decided to hang out and play some video games the following day. With plans made, Tom’s mind was still not settled, he sat at his desk, still talking with Aiden, and playing random flash-based simple video games, the screen fully engulfed him. But he wore a smile on his face, wiping it off with his sleeve after each sip of his soda, the night ahead of Tom – an exciting tango between him and the monitor.

He opened a new browser and jumped onto Facebook. He loathed the social networking site, even the title – social networking site – rubbed him the wrong way. But, much like all of his peers, he had one, and hopped on it time to time. While on it he noticed he was tagged in a photo. He clicked the link to check out what picture he was in, since he did not remember anyone taking a picture of him recently. Though, once he saw it, he remembered. This was eighth-grade, so all of his “friends” (he considered most of those people mere acquaintances) posted, or re posted, old pictures from sixth grade to reminisce. The picture he saw was from lunch in sixth grade, he sat with most of the kids from home room, and his bus (some of which overlapped) he saw Aiden, kid-in-a-red-shirt who he swore lived in or around his neighborhood and had a mohawk at one point in time, girl in way too tight t-shirt that accentuated her slight overweight build, and Chelsea – his attention pulled immediately to her once he saw the angelic face. He remembered that day at lunch. A cool fall day (much like today actually) before Tom started taking his medicine (and therefore before Chelsea even knew his name, or for that matter suspected he was a jerk). She sat in the picture, on the opposite side of Tom, all of their friends separating them. She wore skinny-jeans and a orange t-shirt. So simple, and while most people wouldn’t be able to pull of such an outfit, but with her just-longer-then shoulder length brown hair, gentle face, and smile. She was the poster child for flawed perfection. Tom felt chills slide down his spine as he lay eyes on the girl from years past. He wondered how she was, what she looked like (since he had only caught glimpses of her on the bus to and from school) and if her smile still held that unwavering human beauty.

When Kourtney walked in, Tom failed to notice due his dancing partner of a flickering monitor. He did want to ask Kourtney if she could drop him off at Aiden’s the following afternoon, but he pushed the thought back into his mind as he typed and clicked away at his computer. Kourtney walked into the house, purse around her arm and bag clenched in her hand, and if not for the touch up while waiting for the valet to fetch the car – should would have looked warn and tired. But the make up, the mask, she wore so proudly held her perfection beyond reality even into the dead of night. She failed to see any oddity in putting make-up on before going home, to her, it was all habit – a smoker lighting up whenever he woke up, or got into a car, or after he ate – or after sex. She just kept herself made up. Kourt walked up the stairs, passing her mom who still sat tucked working diligently, and headed up to her room. She threw hung her purse on a hook on the inside of her door and through the bag from Victoria’s Secret onto the floor by her bed. After dropping the bag she turned and faced her closed door, the hook where her purse hung stood just about eye level, and Kourt reached into her tiny purse and took out her phone. With phone in hand she fell backward onto her pillow-topped, high thread counted, beautifully made (by the maid, naturally) bed. For a full minute Kourt just lay there, thinking everyone and nothing oddly at once her mind raced. She needed the night that took place, but it effected her more negativity then she realized. After spending so much time with Lauren, and talking, and flirting, with the other boys, and textually communicating and making plans with Paul she convinced herself – he did nothing wrong. Paul was an innocent bystander. A man, she was sure, simply slowly growing overcome with primal needs. And, much like before, she felt required to – fill them.

The lights of his old friend Chelsea’s house shinned brightly. He met Chelsea in sixth grade, quite some time back, and to Tom they had grown apart and simply were no longer friends. At least, that is all the thinking he wanted to do. When sixth grade started Tom walked into class, over sized backpack on his bag like all of his peers, creating the turtle shell conundrum whenever he fell onto his back, he saw her. At this point, still not knowing her name, the young – then innocent, child (no diseases or disorders) – called her beautiful, in his head of course. He laid eyes upon a girl, similing like all the rest on the first day at at brand new school, but her smile felt real. It felt warm. It felt as if her open mouth were the sun and her cheeks pulled apart and lips went taunt simply for to release the warmth pressed behind them. Tom felt it. Quickly, young Tom eyed the floor. Uncomfortable with not only situation but himself, he lacked reason. Though, and notably so, this lack of reason, this innocence he held – made he smile back. Tom hadn’t smiled much lately. He kept his pace walking the streets, blank stare on his face. He wasn’t sad, certainly not. Lost in thought perhaps. On the day he met her, he wanted to know more. Wanted to know why she smiled so big, not for her motive, not for interrogaiton, but because he too wanted to feel this warmth – and he wanted to feel it constantly. Tom was a hopeless romantic child in full swing. The weeks and months passed and he never spoke to her. Reaching into his gut for the never but always coming up empty, as if the nerve he seeked slip through his fingers tips as sand, the work never ended. He tried. And tried. And tried.

Toward the end of his sixth grade year, there was a dance. Tom wanted to ask her. He felt ready, to talk to this girl. It was this afternoon when the doctor’s got more serious and he parents grew more worried. The next morning was the first Tom took his medicine. He lacked the whimsy he once held so dear. That whim to look up, reconnect with that girl, and speak. To his utter amazement though, that day, she approached him.

“My name is Chelsea,” She said, extending her hand for a polite hand shake and seemingly holding back a curtsey that no one her age could have possibly known. “Are you okay?” She asked him, the silence after her introduction still in the air, Tom’s face, plastered to his work finishing the assignment at hand.

“Mhmm, I’m fine.” Tom responded, a full five seconds later. He looked up. Beginning to notice the smile slowly smearing from the beauty’s face. “My name is Tom.” He reached for her hand, held it, shook it. She giggled.

“Well, ya, you normally look happy all the time, at least when I see you, and I don’t know I was just wondering because today you looked a little less happy and…” Chelsea blabbered on. Obviously attracted to little Tom, he was unaware. His mind uneasy due to the new imbalance of his chemical levels, he faltered.

“Nope, I am fine.” Tom replied once she finished talking, “But thank you for asking. Gah, haha, you are unreasonably nice.” Tom heard it. He heard himself say that when he wanted to ask if she planned to go to the dance. But his mind couldn’t catch up. As if that sand he always grabbed for, that ran through his fingers so slowly, that sand he began to conquer, sped up. Or, the speed of his grasp slowed down.

Tom stopped walking. His pace had subtlety slowed. He stood. Right outside of Chelsea’s house, he looked at the black pavement beneath his feet. He smiled, a real smile, the warm smile given to him those days back by that beautiful girl when he was young. When he felt normal.

They didn’t end up going to the dance together, Tom and Chelsea, and for all its worth the budding relationship that could have started stopped that day – with his laugh. And unthought remark. Tom hates it. To this day, after adjusting to his new self, the new balance of chemicals he contains – he wants to apologize and ask her to that dance, tell her she was why he smiled, and thank her. She still rode his bus, since sixth grade Tom has known she sits just a few rows back. Unlike the majority, she hasn’t changed much. More acceptable them Tom, because she was accepting, she was social, friendly, a lovely person with an angelic voice. But unlike some that she spoke with in those rows not far back, she was still real. That girl, that smile, did not succumb to the pressure of peers but instead acted upon it. Using such pressure to press herself into exactly who she wanted to be. She, worked herself with the grain, never losing touch with either – a master juggler. Tom, lacked that skill. Failing to multitask, though knowing his importance, he became the eight-grade loner. Well read and quite cynical.

Tom turned around. It took a lot of effort on his part to not walk up to her door and knock, but he reasoned even if he did so, he would not know what to say – and God forbid he make another mistake. If this need for social connection was still great on Monday, then, he would act. Until then, he walked back home, in his head mulling over what to say. Words and phrases ringing with perfection in his head: I’m sorry, and thank you. Tom’s head moved quick. His feet matched this pace, and do to such a phenomenon he arrived home in record time. His house still empty. He went upstairs, this time, to read.

“Oh, like totally. We may look thin but we, like, still eat!” Lor replied, already having received the silent okay from Kourtney.

“Yup, time for food.” Kourt added while running her fingers through her hair, brushing it back behind her ear, giving it a ruffled look, and a quiet giggle escaping her mouth.

“Mind if we tag along?” The other guy asked, obviously reacting to Kourtney’s giggle, but attempting to hide it. The girls noticed. They always do.

“I’m Chase,” the first boy guy introduced himself. Failing to extend his hand in a formal hand shake. The same formal hand shake so normal over previous years grew disgusting, a joke, never necessary. A simple introduction, name, then name in response, was enough for Kourtney and Lauren. Then the relationship moved straight into friendship, if not more. The time for hugs and simple, polite, completely innocent kisses-on-the-cheek, if the attraction was great enough at least.

“And I am Kyle,” the other guy said. “What are your ladies names?”

This time Kourt spoke for the two of them, “I am Kourtney, and my friend here is Lauren.” Kourt said, the foursome still in motion, as she gestured her hand toward her best friend. Lauren nodded her head and eyed her best friend, then eyed the boys. Chase wore a tight black t-shirt, showing off his muscular, out of proportion, chest, and dark blue designer jeans, full of pre-cut holes and awe-inspiring. Jet black sunglasses sat propped on top of his head, on his full head of hair brushed backed behind his ears. His jaw line, beginning to jut from where his raggedly, manicured hair ended – he, much like Paul, was stone. Kyle, who walked on the on the opposite end of the girls, was a bit harder for Lauren to judge, but she managed. He wore a white hoodie, zipped up the near the top with a blue Hollister shirt underneath – only the “OLLIS” of the billboard shirt he wore visible from under his sweater. He too wore designer jeans, white washed and dark blue. Kyle’s hair was a brown-blond, a short crew cut, gel styled but not rock hard atop his hair. Unlike his friend, he held softer features, but still looked masculine.

Lauren finished judging the two guys, her best friend/partner in crime keeping small talk so the boys never noticed, and she decided these two were definitely up to par and should be graced by their company. The group walked to the a table in the middle of the food court, a home base of sorts to mull over and decide what they should all eat. As well as a place to get to know one another. The sat on each side of the square table, the girl’s sat across from one another, one boy on either side, smiles plastered to their faces.

With conversation in full swing, Lauren leading it, with talk of habits and fun times, and of course – parties. The whole group loved partying. Kourt, who held her phone in her hand, wondering if she received a reply, saw exactly what she dreaded – a text from Paul.

Hi hun Sat works 4 me what time tho, thanks sweetie (ill c ya soon)

“Hey Blondie, put that phone away, it’s impolite!” Kyle said as he leaned across the corner of the table, snapping her phone shut, pushing the answer farther back giving Kourt a rush of relief she so required. So much relief in fact that she failed to see the hypocrisy in the blond guy calling her blondie. “Stop talking to whoever that loser on the other end if, and I assume he is a loser because he isn’t here keeping you company, and talk to me. Introduce yourself, I want to know everything about you”

Kourt began her small talk, with the phone in her purse and Paul, pushed to the back of her mind, “Well, as you know, like my name is Kourtney,” she eyed the food around her, and lifted her head up as she sniffed the warm, fast-food air, “wanna grab some food?”

“Sounds like a plan Blondie,” Kyle said as he got up and extended his hand to Kourtney, helping her from her chair. The two walked from the table at which they sat to the restaurants along the perimeter of the food court. Burger King, Queso Queso, Footsies, and Panda Express all mixing in the air, the aroma exciting all of the individuals in the room. Kyle began to salivate as they walked along, though the food was not totally to blame.”So, what do you want to eat?” Kyle said, matching slow pace with Kourt, eying the food establishments around.

“Hm, how about a foot long?” Kourt said, fluttering her eye lashes at Kyle and biting her lower lip, beginning to play the game with Kyle that she already won with her best friend Lauren. Kourtney wanted control.

While Kyle pondered the perfect answer, his move in Kourtney’s little game, Lauren and Chase also decided to leave the table and catch up with the other pair. From behind Kourtney, Lauren said, “Did I hear something about foot longs? Kourtney! You, like, naughty girl!”

“Hey, hey girls calm down, I’m actually in the mood for Chinese so I’m going to head over to Panda. Kyle, what about you?” Chase asked his buddy as the group stood, still, at a loss of what to eat, minds full of sexual innuendo.

“Sounds good man, I do love me some Panda.” Kyle responded, immediately realizing his choice of words and going flush in embarrassment. “Well, not actual Panda, but like, the food from there.” Kyle said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“We gotcha Kyle, well, go grab your Panda boys, well meet you at the table.” Lauren said.

“Ya, all jokes aside I do totally feel like a sub.” Kourt added to her friends statement.

“Alrighty, see ya soon girls.” Chase said as he walked acorss the middle of the food court to the Panda Express on the other end. Kourt and Lauren headed down the path they were on to the Footsies in the back corner of the room.

“So, like, what do you think of ‘em?” Lor asked Kourt with a delightful intrigue in her voice, accompanying her normal upward inflection.

“Eh, nothing special, good to look at but Kyle is a bit to shy for me, plus Chase totally seems like an intrusive dick.” The pair finally made their way up to the counter, and Kourt placed her order to the employee behind the counter. “Hm, turkey with cheese, lettuce, tomato, and salt and pepper.”

“Ya, I totally agree. I mean, like, both of them are totally hot. But Chase never shuts the hell up. I mean, if I knew him better I’d rather him just kiss me then keep talking like a fool.” Lor said to her best friend before beginning to place her own order for lunch.

The only reply from Kourtney was a nod while while she said, “No, a six inch is fine. Ya, chips and a drink sounds perfect, like, diet coke okay?” Lauren finished her order soon after Kourt and they began to walk away subs in hand. “So, wanna like, ditch em? We could even grab their numbers if you want to make this game, like, more fun.”

“Sounds like perfect to me.” Lauren’s reply came while the pair got to the table, pulled out their seats, and sat down. They knew all well it would not be for too long. By the time the girls unwrapped their subs the boys made their way back to the table and sat down with large trays, topped with steaming overly soy sauced, fast food faux Asian concoctions.

“I hope your ladies time without wasn’t too terrible.” Chase attempted at a joke, but simply pushed forward the urge to leave that flooded the girls’ minds.

“Actually boys,” Lauren said between bites “looks like we have to get going early, but, I like know myself and my bestie would love to have your numbers. Ya know, like, keep in touch and stuff.” Lauren said while Kourt chewed her bite. Both girls fluttered their eye lashes, playing that game. The same game they competed for high scores against all the other girls. Attempting to lead the boys on the longest, get all that they wanted, all they needed, all the attention – then either leave, or settle down, depending strictly on their mood of course. Now, the boys were no better, falling for this silly game since their physical attraction to the female players was so great they let themselves fall. They let themselves get played. Under the general assumption these guys were good at games, becoming a player, even if on the losing end, just pushed forward that truth. A tricky though common occurrence between any and all human beings.

The group exchanged numbers, Chase of course asked “Why leave so suddenly girls, just want to break my heart?” His melodramatics failing to appeal as much as he expected.

“Oh, just gotta get the last bit of our shopping in before like we have to go. Which sadly, is way too soon. But we will talk later guys, don’t sweat it.” Kourt said to ease the situation. Set the trap. While putting her phone away, two new numbers stored as contacts, she thought of Paul, and his effect on her, and these two guys, seemingly so innocent, but doubting it all. Then doubting herself. “Let’s get going Lor,” Kourt said as she shook the uneasiness for the time and hood her arm in Lauren’s. The best friends made their way out of the food court, back into the massive mall, for shopping. To continue girl’s night guyless, loving the attention, ending it for now, and knowing for this – they pulled the strings.

Tom paced the street in his neighborhood. He sat in his room for so long, he grew stir crazy playing games for so long in his room. Glancing at his clock at the start of his game, the next he knew, hours passed, the sun set, seasons changed, animals went extinct and people were flying by wearing jet packs out side of his window. He knew fresh air would cure his temporary insanity. The wind whipped by, brisk and biting, a cold just enjoyable where anymore proved harsh and painful. Tom basked in it. He loved the feel of being outside, being with nature. This thought, this love, played in his mind while he strolled the paved streets, passing the white washed homes, with fake grass, beautifully cut. He rolled his eyes at the blasphemy of reality he lived in. The microcosm of made-up beauty.

As the best friends walked through the interior of the mall, tonight just planning to shop at the normal stores, buying a few pairs of jeans and of course shoes. They made their way through the food court toward the side of the mall with all of their favorite shops. These shops, Kourt and Lor considered lower end, but convenient, since they received their purchase right away. Hollister, Abecrombie and Fitch, and Victoria’s Secret – all of the shops that sold clothes plastered with names and logos. The headed into Victoria’s Secret first, a store once known for skimpy lingerie, still known for skimpy lingerie but now also selling its PINK line of clothing. Ranging from sweatpants and sweaters to the classic thongs or boy shorts the PINK line still contained little fabric, but was more acceptable to wear in public.

They perused the racks of clothing, “Hey Kourt, how about this?” Lauren asked as she held up a sweater and sweat pant combo.

“Looks good, I have that in blue actually!” Kourt replied with amazement. The outfit, a common on from the store, hung on the hanger held from Lauren’s hand in a pastel yellow. The sweater hung rather simple, the PINK line dog logo on the right breast, PINK written in all caps along the left sleeve, and a shinny zipper to hold it all together. The sweat pants looked plain, with PINK written down the left leg, and along back. Neither Kourt, nor Lauren, nor anyone else who shopped in this this store or any of the other stores similar to it seemed to notice or care of their billboard-like qualities while dressed in these outfits. Also, the shoppers of these stores failed to care that there rear ends (or chests in some cases) acted as part of the billboard to be read. Odd as it was, no one that wore the clothes seemed to notice until an innocent male would be caught behind them simply reading the advertisement they so proudly wore, and then the female, wearing her purchase so proudly just mintues before, would scold the man.

“Eh, maybe I’ll like get it, I don’t know yet.” Lor said as she slide the clothing back onto the rack. The girls continued their walk through the store, politely ignoring the offers of help from the workers standing behind the counters or walking around the store.

“Hey, Lor, wanna grab some food and come back here after? I’m like getting totally starved.” Kourt threw out the idea to her friend as she looked through the rainbow of underwear on display in front of her. Each garment either branded with “PINK”, or if too skimpy then simply the small dog logo in a pure white contrasting the bright pinks and greens and yellows (not all on the same garment of course). Kourt rolled her eyes, knowing she should pick some up, but the growl of her stomach held more importance then anything else as she began to step away from the display.

“Sounds good,” Lauren replied as she walked around the rack she stood at and met with Kourtney as they made their way out of the store. The walk to the food court should not have taken long, since it sat nestled snugly in the middle of the way, just a two minute walk away, but a minor distracted stopped the girls before they arrived. A full minute into their walk, conversation in full blast, the best friends attracted some expected company. Two guys, probably college age, began to walk next to Kourt and Lauren, matching their pace on their way to the food court.

“Going to grab some grub ladies?” One of the guys asked as he strolled along side of them.

Tom walked down the road toward his lovely home. Each home in his neighborhood, though it was more of a street then any neighborhood, sat on acres of crisp green grass. Normally, a general assumption is that grass dies at some point, but in this neighborhood everyone kept their grass perfectly manicured. Even in fall the grass that lay around all the homes kept its unnatural emerald hue. The walk took far too long, but Tom grew used to it. He made the walk every morning and afternoon each day since sixth grade. Actually, Tom liked the walk. It gave him time to think, and enjoy the weather and ridiculous cookie-cutter neighborhood that he lived in. The scenery, same too-green grass, manicured lawn, three acre home with the large, imposing windows in the front, the minimum three car garage (always filled to the brim) – got old to many that walked the neighborhood (the main reason few people walked the streets in this overly safe gated community. The keeping up with the neighbors disease got so intense and spread so quick that the uniformity drove people nuts. Not Tom. Tom used this constant view, nothing changing as he walked, to his advantage. Maybe he already passed beyond the threshold of insanity, but Tom relished in the over similarity and flat out boring nature of all the houses (and few people he passed). He used each walk to remind himself how much he wanted out, and how he loathed what he grew up in.

By the time Tom got to the door, the sun sat just above the tall trees in the horizon. It got dark quick, since it was fall. Tom reached his hand down into his jean pocket and pulled out his key ring, from it shined a single silver key. He pushed the key into the lock and spun, letting himself in. Once inside the house Tom walked through the entrance way that was adorned with paintings and statues that no one in his family recognized any longer. They had grown used to the grandiose, gorgeous, magnificence that greeted them each day as they entered the mansion they called home. Such a shame. Tom headed right to his room, he walked through, straight to the stairs, and ran up to the second floor. He stepped of the landing and walked to his room, the walked bored him more then the walk through his neighborhood, though he made both about equally as often – his home drove him crazy, all except his room. Tom felt comfortable in his room. His own little sanctuary he adored so much.

Tom passed by Kourt’s room, little noise came from it. She must have finished her regular after school shower. Most of Tom’s life held the mundane feel. The same feel as the walk, and his home, but it seemed as each event progressed he grew more and more upset. He honestly hated how expected his life was. Then again, Tom’s age, and lack of medication for the day, accentuated all the negativity he felt.

Finally, Tom made it into his room and tossed his bag on his bed and sat in the chair by his desk. The tight weaved blue-gray carpet in his room allowed the rolling desk chair he used to spin perfectly. Almost always upon sitting down, Tom felt it necessary to spin around in his chair, a full 360° rotation, dizzying himself and simply just acting silly. He laughed. He required it. The mere act of acting so childish released at least some of the frustration he felt for all that was around him – all he lived in. His mind an advanced etch-a-sketch, this movement wiped it clean. A welcomed respite of all Tom dealt with, even if some of that stress he caused himself.

While Tom finished his spin, and pulled out his note book Kourtney just finished getting dressed. With a tight skinny jeans and a plain black tank top on Kourt felt attractive, not beautiful, but she felt as if people around her would not only enjoy her presence but also her body. Though, she knew the weather and threw on a cute sweater, to keep herself warm. Pre-make-up Kourt looked rather stunning, oddly enough, the good looks she held naturally usually just hid under the make-up. But Kourt felt naked without it. She required the mask she applied and reapplied every day.

She didn’t hear Tom walk in the house (mainly the architecture and size of the house received the blame for this) but she thought she heard him walk by her room, the simple patter of footsteps. Certainly though, she now heard his ridiculous, childish laughter from his room. She rolled her eyes and shrugged as she walked back to the bathroom to make herself up, all nice and pretty. Her brother, though smart, acted very young at times, granted, he was only thirteen, but between his intelligence making him seem older and how he held himself – when he acted young, it showed. Though, when it came to her little brother, Kourt failed to care. Honestly, to her, she pushed most of what she disliked about his personality onto his disorder. He couldn’t pay attention. He was hyper. All of these things made him act young and therefore it she put up with it. At times, it still got hard. Especially since she always felt compared to her younger brother, and certainly as of late, Kourt felt like no matter what she accomplished or decided, she failed – miserably. It got to her.

More importantly, far more importantly for that matter, girl’s night loomed so close Kourt tasted it. The fun to commence with her best friend, the wonderful food court food, the delicious boys and their cute butts. Dammit. It never failed, when she thought of boys her mind always wondered to her sweetie, Paul. She knew her replied was required, if she failed to it would only make things worth. And by now Kourt convinced herself she over exaggerated everything. Paul was a great boyfriend, loving and strong, and god, every-so-good looking. She continued to blame herself, as she put on the last of her eye liner, touched up her face, through the make up into her tiny, designer purse. Between her make up and phone the purse was full. Bu it was important, a status symbol. Pure leather, hand stitched (by underpaid children in Nicaragua, but Kourt didn’t know that, nor did she know what or where Nicaragua was), with gold lacing and and beautiful pink pattern. It embodied Kourt’s need to fit in, regardless of how hard she had to struggle, how much she had to suck up and keep inside, even if she burst at the seems.

With bag in hand Kourt made her way out of the bathroom and headed downstairs. On her walk down she managed to type out a text to Lor. Impressive really, her hands flew across the keys almost without her recognition as she gracefully stepped down the spiral stair case. By the time she reached the bottom of the stair case the reply vibrated her phone:

Alright Kourt. I’ll pick u up in 5.

Kourt and Lauren usually switched off driving privileges and since the last time the two were in the car together Kourt drove Lauren, this time Lor drove, not that either minded. Lor actually wanted to drive, since she recently got back the beautiful silver car she adored so much, and regardless of Lor’s lack of driving skill, Kourt enjoyed the lack of responsibility. She planned to zone out.

Once downstairs Kourt made certain she held all she needed. Grabbing her keys from the table at the entrance way she went over the checklist in her head. Phone, check. Make-up, check. Keys, check. Wallet, check. As she though of each item she patted her purse, ensuring the tiny bag held all she required. Kourt couldn’t think of anything else. Her mind, the oddest mix of calm and chaotic as she waited at the end of the spiral staircase for her bestie to arrive. She wanted this night to start to bad. She wanted out. Her phone vibrated in her purse, Kourt felt the bag vibrate as the small strap danced along her small wrists, she pulled out her phone, Lauren arrived. Kourt took the small steps from the staircase landing where she went over her mental checklist and the door. She grabbed the brushed gold door handle, her body a quick chill since the metal was so cold. She spun and pulled. Stepping out to begin girl’s night – a welcomed respite.

Tom still sat as desk. He heard the door shut and it let him know Kourt was out for the evening. He felt happy. Tom enjoyed having the house to himself. A little slighted his sister failed to say goodbye, but Tom grew used to that long ago. Everyone that lived in that household, in that family, seemed to live independent lives that happened to take place under the same large house.

The dizzying haze fading long ago, he diligently worked on his final problems of overly simplistic Algebra homework assigned to him while also growing distracted by the glowing monitor of the laptop that sat just a bit further back on his desk. Every so often Tom found himself playing on his computer, unbeknownst to him, his fingers released the pencil he held and found their way to keyboard. He checked email, played games, lost himself in the flicker and the glow of the electronic monster in front of him. The minor distraction failed to bother him. Tom enjoyed the break, even if he did not cognitively chose to enter it. The way he saw it, immature viewpoint or not, if his body and mind needed rest from what he was doing – then he should rest. If he didn’t, the work he accomplished may be sub par or take far longer then if he took a brake, then finished full steam. To some, this seems like excuses. A child not wanting to work, and instead of “sucking it up, growing up, and buckling down” he found ways to work around the norm. It bothered most people, his parents included. Tom, again, found himself apathetic about the whole situation. He figured, if no negative effect presented itself thus far why bother? Why worry? Why name this disorder he held? Why give it the respect of holding a title, and controlling his life? Tom, as most say, played the roll of over emotional teenager quite well. He did suffer from ADHD…

With the last problem finished Tom threw his Algebra note book into his bag and zipped it up. The only other work on Tom’s agenda involved reading, so Tom actually looked forward to it. While he was proficient at math, in terms of pleasure, Tom enjoyed reading far more. So with his bag zipped up, he grabbed the copy of the Literature Composition book he kept at his house. The book looked more like a brick then any appealing reading material, its covered plastered with a stock image from a company or artist that obviously designed things on the whim. The same generic look all school books held, it seemed as if schools never wanted their students to actually show interest in what they must learn, so they kept that brick-book, stock image design constant over the years. Changing from year to year and book to book, the cover stock image and color never stayed the same. The schools saw this change enough a break from the uniformity and monotony that students may even grow excited if they saw the books they’d be getting the following year. It was as if every year the principal, high-standing teachers, and publishing companies all held a meeting:

“The biology books last year had trees on the cover and were green, how can we improve this design, team?” One individual would ask the group as they all sat, stressed out, fingers running through their hair, huddled around a long table in the conference room.

“Oh! I have the perfect idea. Let’s make it blue next year!” another member would add.

“Brilliant! Any other suggestions!? Come on team, we can do this!” The first member would say slamming their fist on the table.

“I’ve got it,” Yet another person would say, “forget the trees, kids love frogs. Blue cover, tree-frog on the front, the kids will not be able to resist its appeal.”

“Genius, sheer genius!” And the meeting would be dismissed. The material in the books, never changing really. If the covers looked appealing (which, they never did) the material would obviously follow suit.

Tom finally found the chapter to read: Chapter 2, Basics of the Horror Genre. Tom giggled as he looked at the table of contents for the chapter. Most of the reading was Poe, accompanied by small parts of works by Mary Shelley or Bram Stoker. Tom honestly hadn’t known this the night before when he dove head first into The Completed Works of Edgar Allen Poe. What it meant to Tom though, was an even easier few days then he originally thought, since since chapter was the assignment for the week. Tom got up from his chair, and made his way to the bed, mammoth book in hand. He curled up on the bed and began to finish his afternoon of homework. He felt comfortable. Enjoying the silence of the house around him.

Kourt and Lauren were about half way too the mall. Driving rather recklessly on the highway, the majority of the traffic heading the other direction, meant Lor sped. She drove fast. Almost as if it existed in her nature, she just enjoyed it. Kourt, she didn’t mind, or notice for that matter. Kourt sat in the passenger seat lost, ebbing in and out of conversations between her and her friend. She tossed her phone back and forth in her lap.

“You, like, text Paulie back yet or no?” Lor asked, breaking what would have been silence if it hadn’t been for the blaring rap music on he overly expensive, touch operated, stereo system.

“Huh?” Kourt struggled to hear her friend over the thump of the bass. She turned the radio down, dropping her phone in her lap. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you knew when you and Paul were like, hanging out or whatever.” Lor repeated herself, a bit too loud since she had yet to adjust to the silence the lack of radio produced.

“Oh, no, I was, like going to, but totally haven’t yet. I’ll get around to it.” Kourt said as she shrugged, picking up her phone from her lap and beginning to play with it again.

“Just do it now K. Like, get it out of the way. And I mean come on, Paul isn’t that bad of a guy, he seems sweet really. And god, your lucky Kourt, I’ll just say that.”

“Lor, what was that about?” Kourt replied as she flipped up her phone and began to type out a text, protecting her territory. “If I didn’t know you any better I would say you got like, got the hots for Paul.”

“No, no, no K, he is all yours. Gah, I’m totally sorry, I do find him attractive, but I think all girls do. But no, he isn’t my type. Plus, you know me, I don’t like want to settle down with anyone or anything. I am single and loving it! I got a ton of guys to chose from.” Lor played off her statement quite well, while she cut around all the cars going too slow for her liking. She raced down the highway obviously in the lead and blowing by all of the other competitors. Their exit approached and Lor cut across the highway from the far left, still not always fast enough for her lane, and the right lane where they could get off and head to the mall.

“If you say so,” Kourt said, her head ducked down looking at the phone she held as she typed out a text. Luckily for her, ignoring the driving going on around her and the multiple near miss crashes and near death experiences Lor put them through. “But your right, I’ll reply, makes like sense ya know. Plus, means that I won’t have to worry about it all night.”

“Exactly! Totally my point K! Gah, I knew we were like totally best friends for a reason, you read my mind girl.”

Hey Paul. Just wanted 2 let u no ill b free tmrw. I hope we can hang out. I miss u! – Love K. Kourt typed out as her friend replied to her last statement.

Kourt shivered as she finished the text and sent it on its way. When she looked up, the car was no longer and the highway and Kourt knew they were close to the mall. The mall found itself nestled just off the exit, right near the highway, a prefect location for the flurry of customers that frequently filled their shopping fix.

“And done,” Kourt said to Lauren, letting her know she got that last bit of work done and now girl’s night would be experienced full force.

“And so am I.” Lor said as she rounded the corner, pulled into the parking lot, and drove toward the valet stand. “I feel lazy, let’s have them park it for us.” Lauren said nonchalantly.

“Whatever you say Lor.” Kourt didn’t care either way. It made sense to her having them park the car, it meant more shopping time and less time driving in circles. Plus, there was no possible was the people paid to park cars for a living (or anyone for that matter) could drive worse then Lauren.

“God its about damn time we like got here, I know its only been a week, and it actually didn’t take like too long to go by, but I need girl’s night. God, especially since there was no party this week, I totally hope someone throws one next weekend. I don’t know, maybe Paul will?! That would be great! Especially since his parents are rarely home, though, I am sure you know that.”

While Kourt nodded her head in silent agreement, both her and Lauren got out of the car. Lauren handed the keys to the valet and Kourt realized that she hadn’t listened to much of what Lor said just before they hopped out of the car. But she shrugged it off, and Lor walked around the car and met up with Kourt as they began to walk into the mall. The entrance way lay beautiful, adorned with statuettes of dancing elephants and modern art spheres. Plants and shrubs grew unnaturally, scattered along the pave-brick pathway. It was all magnificent and beautiful. The lights along the sides of the path that just began to light up, since the sun now set beyond the horizon. These lights wrought iron and strong, colonial in appearance they looked beautiful, tying the whole walkway together.

Tom shut the yellow-gold book he read. Most of chapter two know ran though Tom’s head. Actually, he read just half of the weekends assignment, but every story in the first half of the chapter Tom read in the past. So his afternoon was actually a journey through the past. A rereading extravaganza intermittently mixed with breaks for explanations and section summaries. The breaks, even for rereading material, just bothered Tom. Unnecessary explanations, such as “the horror genre generally includes events that cause terror or fright in readers,” or beyond elementary questions, like “in Edgar Allen Poe’s The Tell Tale Heart, why did the narrator and main character suffer from the delusion of hearing the heart beat under the floor?” Luckily, Tom the assignment for the weekend just called for the reading, not the questions. Being in eighth grade, Tom assumed the follow homework would be the questions, but he hopped otherwise, and ignored all the other questions as he read.

Finally finished, Tom tossed the book of his bed. It landed on the floor with a heavy thud, normally, he would be more graceful with his things, but neither his parents nor his sister were home, so Tom acted more nonchalant. Since the majority of his homework sat completed in his bag (or in his mind, reading lacks the material effects of other work) Tom decided to attempt to find something to entertain himself. He planned to call his best friends, perhaps to play some crazy multiplayer video game action, or to stroll around the town center up the street (though neither him nor his friends enjoyed such a place, they felt it necessary to get out of the house at least once in a while), but before placing his phone call Tom realized, or assumed, most of his friends would be busy. He shrugged. Tom, in the ever familiar streak of apathy, planned to just enjoy the night at home, relatively alone – since his parents got home late, if they came straight home, since Fridays sometimes acted as date night for his parents, and they usually went out to dinner immediately after work. Usually they called, sometimes they didn’t, but Tom was used to it.

He stood up from his bed and stretched, lying, sitting, shifting in his bed made him stiff. He ran down stairs and decided to grab a snack. Once out of his house, and heading down the stairs, Tom began to think about how much he enjoyed the time alone. Granted, he disliked the size and sheer grandiose nature of his house. The things most people would enjoy, the plasma screen televisions in each room, the game room bursting with Foosball, ping-pong, and pool tables, and of course the art – painting and statues, even the architecture acted as an art form itself. Either more of Tom’s anti-establishment nature, or sheer personal distaste, Tom just felt overwhelmed by all of the stuff around him.

Standing in the kitchen Tom paced from the counter, to the cupboard, to the fridge and back. Never settling on one thing for snacking, the kitchen just felt bare. Eventually, Tom settled on grabbing an apple and a bottle of Cran-Pomegranate juice. Fruity as hell, his snack somewhat satisfied, and he figured he could grab dinner in just a few hours. After chugging the bottle of juice, Tom with half an apple still in hand, ran back up to his room. He mastered the run, it took him no time at all, two stairs at a time he jumped the majority of the case. He stepped off the flight on the second floor and walked back too his room. Tom walked over to the television in his bedroom and flicked it on, then he turned on his video game and decided to play which ever disk was in the machine, it didn’t really matter to him. Tom grabbed the control and sat on his bed, their was no cord (way to go technology), and his eyes began to flicker back and forth in unison with the flicker of the television.

Standing at his locker in the back of the room, the number, 314, always giving him a good belly laugh, Tom spun the lock that pinned the door closed. Once open the lovely odor of gently used gym clothes hit Tom in the face, though it was a small shock since the entire locker room held the smell of over used gym clothes, terrible spray-on deodorant and sweat – boy’s sweat. Tom pulled off his plain brown hoodie, he wore it over his general black tee shirt. Unlike West Chester, Buffalo Ridge lacked a uniform policy so the kids wore just about whatever they wanted as long as it fell within the county guidelines.

Some of those guidelines, though, were not written in the handbook that saw print every year. Kyle Johnson, an eight grader the year previous, acted as the perfect example of this. He violated one of these unwritten rules toward the end of his final year at Buffalo Ridge. The last week of school usually went back lack-luster for the Ridge students, eight-graders especially since they did not have to pick their classes for the following year, so Kyle decided to spice things up. Kyle, an outlandish clown of a student that failed to take anything seriously, occasionally wore some ridiculous attire to school. Some fine examples: neon-pink, argyle, knee-high socks, with black cargo shorts, or the bright orange glow-in-the-dark sweater that not only resembled spray paint but actually harmed the eyes of those that dare lay eyes upon it. Well, the one day he went too far (and not intentionally either, or it would have been much worse) Kyle decided to come to school in a white, lacy, ankle-length sundress. He also sported an adorable tank-top, with a pull over shirt to make himself more presentable. Kyle even went as far as to pull back his shoulder length blond hair (people swore he did it for attention, though Kyle just liked his hair long) into a pretty, pert, and tidy pony tail that swung as he walked. Now, Kyle wanted to attend the entire day of school, so he made certain that his attire matched the code of contact book to a tee. Not breaking any of the rules: his midriff covered, his dress well beyond finger-tip length, he wore the pull over t-shirt so nothing was strapless or “spaghetti string” he was certain he would be able to remain at school the whole day. Upon arrival, though, the Principal Mrs. Chuckman met him at the front door. Warned by an office member on bus duty, the principal came out to turn Kyle around and send him back home. Everyone that rode the bus to school with him that way was in an uproar – they made certain to spread his tale of wonder and womanhood throughout the halls.

Well, this year, nothing that exciting occurred, at least not yet. Tom was not one of the lucky ones to have seen the legendary Kyle in his most ridiculous of clothing choices, though in Tom’s opinion he was more lucky not to have seen the kid. The tale of Kyle Johnson gets passed from class to class and even the sixth graders at the school can be heard whispering about it from time to time. Tom thought it all pretty pointless, a mere cry for attention really, but Tom wasn’t one for social outcries or attention grabbing – he preferred the background.

Tom change and made it out of the locker room quicker then usual. The smell was a bit more ripe, so Tom just wanted out. Once outside though, he began just to meander back and forth on the concrete, walking in circles, bored out of his mind. Eventually, he reasoned to just head to the field and the class would meet him there. Unless it rained, or Forsyth’s agenda called for another activity, physical education class always took place on the field. Tom sauntered over the fresh green grass – instead of the lush normal growth that occurred in the overly natural area that Buffalo Ridge found itself located it – the grass lost some of its life, and patches turned brown and began to wilt. The same thing happened with some of the trees, the newer ones barely grew, though the older, tougher trees, seemed to keep their hard, full-of-life look. The reason for this change though, was certainly the weather. Tom felt the chill on his walk to the field. It finally began to fall into winter and around this time the life around the school diminished a bit. Once at the field, Tom found a nice comfortable patch of grass right in the middle. He bent down, running his fingers over the green crispy growth, the dew dried earlier and lucky for Tom he did not have to deal a wet, and therefore cold, butt for the rest of the day. After getting the all clear for grass conditions Tom sat down. The grass at Buffalo Ridge was mighty resilient, especially after taking into account the wear-and-tear of middle school children running on it daily. Tom decided to lay down, not only to fully enjoy the crisp fall weather, but also the comfortable of the natural cushion the grass provided. As he lay back, the grass gently grabbed his back, like angles pulling him in to sleep, or a mosh pit, caring a beloved fan to the feet of their favorite musician. Tom lay, in heaven.

Kourt sat at the lunch table, pushing the last few bites of her large Mexican burrito bowl back and forth. Both her and Lauren decided to fill their Queso Queso need now as opposed to waiting to hit it up at the food court later that night. The food at Queso Queso always went above and beyond what any normal human needed to consume in one day, let alone one meal. But everyone acknowledged this fact, knew that the price inflation actually failed to create much worry, since all patrons (very loyal patrons too, comparable to dogs in some ways) knew they’d get as much as they paid for. Kourt normally couldn’t finish half a bowl, let alone a full one, but this time she managed to. Scooping the delicious white rice, ground beef, spicy salsa, and Queso cheese spread and enjoying every bite of it. Luckily for her, she finished it in time, because as she pushed that last bite around her bowl, Paul walked up behind her.

“Hey babe,” he said as he leaned over her shoulder, “damn you must have been hungry, you didn’t leave any for me.”

“Sorry!” Kourt said as she pulled up that last bite, and quietly chewed and swallowed it down. Enjoying this bite more then any of the previous not because of hungry, her stomach now sat well beyond full with this bite even over the top, but because she controlled it. She took that last bite she knew Paul wanted. She held the strings.

“So babe, what are you doing tonight? We hanging out?” Paul question as his large hands grabbed Kourt shoulders and roughly began to massage her.

Kourt swallowed and replied, “No hun, tonight is like girl’s night. I totally thought I told you. Sorry Paul!”

Paul ran his meaty fingers over Kourt tense, petite shoulders, “Okay. Well, Saturday or Sunday, you are all mine, take your pick.”

“I don’t know, let me think about it, I’ll like text you tonight or tomorrow morn when I wake up?” Kourt said, her mind running circles around attempting not to answer this difficult question. Pushing the pain to the back of her mind to deal with at a later date, fooling herself into not having to deal with it all.

Lauren cleared her throat. The entire time Lauren sat, an innocent bystander to this verbal war between the couple. An innocent bystander to this physical war, as Paul began to dig his fingers into Kourt’s tender shoulders. Her crisp white, uniform shirt creasing under his grasp. She squirmed. Lauren just finished her lunch, or what she planned to eat of it at least, and sat rather unaware of the fight at hand. All she knew was her lack of involvement. “Hey Paul.” Lauren said as she pushed her bowl forward, a white flag, giving in.

“Hey Lor.” Paul exchanged pleasantries. “Kourt, make sure you get back to me tonight, I want to know when I am going to be able to see you. And, babe, when we will be able to finish what we started.” Paul leaned forward, his hands supported him as he leaned forward and kissed Kourtney. When he looked bag up, after breaking the kiss and liking his lips (enjoying the subtle taste of Mexican) he noticed Lauren’s leftovers. “You going to finish that Lor?”

“No Paulie, it’s all yours.” She leaned forward, and pushed forward her bowl in a reply. He picked it up, removing her hands from Kourtney’s shoulders. Kourtney stretched, rolling her shoulders forward, enjoying the release of pressure. Paul hands grabbed the bowl, his fingers met Lauren’s as he pulled the bowl away.

“Thanks.” Paul said flatly.

“Oh, no problem Paulie.” Lauren, pulled her hands back quick, putting them in her lap, fidgeting.

With bowl in hand Paul began to walk away, “Remember, tonight Kourt, I can’t wait to see you babe,” and he continued his walk away.

“Ah, thanks Lor. God his hands are really strong.” Kourt told her friend, getting the weight off her chest.

“Calm down Kourt, he was just trying to be loving.” Lor tried to placate her friend, not knowing the full story, but also not willing to find out. “So, tonight, God it just can’t come soon enough.”

“Ya you are right.” Kourt replied to her friend, with a full stomach she laid back in her chair. The thought of replying to Paul loomed in her mind, but she focused on the night ahead of her, as opposed to the dreaded weekend plans with Paul.

The rest of the day flew by for both Tom and Kourtney. After waking up in the middle of the field, half way through physical education, Tom’s day lacked any more challenges. Kourtney, after lunch, feel asleep in third hour and the only reason she woke up between classes was for the walk. Then again, her mind remained asleep the whole time. Life remained easier that way. Kourt woke up for the drive home through, since driving home asleep not only posed a threat to her life and others, but also because crashing her Bentley proved quite the big head ache.

Once she got home, Kourt began to get ready for the lovely night ahead. A respite, a lack of worry, freedom – Kourt required girl’s night more then ever before. She ran upstairs to the shower, wanting to hop a quick one before her night started. This time, Kourt danced around the bathroom, removing her make-up, wiping off her face, turning on the water and waiting for it to heat up. The reason for this dance presented itself two-fold: first, she looked forward to her fantastic night with her bestie and second, she looked forward to anything that wasn’t Paul. When any thought of Paul, his fingers on her shoulder’s, digging deep, pushing harder then a loving massage ever went – she got chills. Thinking about having to make plans with him infuriated her, so she simply dismissed it. She figured in time she would text him, and they would hang out, so thinking about it just brought the nerves to the forefront. She planned to deal once it occurred, not now. Now, she showered.

Hopping into the shower she, as always, ignored her reflection on the wall as she slide the door closed. She grabbed the soap and loofah from the shelf in the spacious shower.

So Kourt went to work, skimming the book she held in her hand and regurgitating the words she read onto the screen in front of her. Her hands moving in unison with her eyes, none of the information stuck with her – she simply acted as a filter, a translator of sorts, moving the words from the curt summary to her more verbose dialect. A master of the art, lacking the information itself, but she accomplished a lot simply in the movement of words that were not hers. Kourt didn’t care, as she sat at her lap top, obliviously typing:

Daisy was a frail woman, acting never for herself, speaking in tongue twisting contradictions. She acted they way she was expected, while the woman within her slowly broke.

From the outside, her commentary on such a character seemed flawless, but the flaws came to the forefront when she spoke. Or when the notes, or cheat sheets, or powders, and concealers and glosses – were ripped from her. Kourt finished. Her phone began to vibrate violently on the desk where it lay, quickly she picked it up to mute the awful sound. A text from Paul, as expected. While she read the text the she began to hate her emotions: a flurry of butterflies that still remained from when they started dated, blissfully unaware, dancing around in her stomach making her face turn red, and an elephant stomping around and not forgetting all the pain and punishment Paul put her though daily, making her hate herself. Quickly Kourt replied to her lover, and informed him that she was headed to bed. It went over easier then expected and Paul’s next reply included a courteous remark letting Kourtney know Paul had a ride to school the next morning.

She wrapped up her work and went to bed at a reasonably time that night. Tom on the other hand lay in his bed, lost in his book, and the chilling tales of Poe. He read of the raven, to him a poem that took too long to say what it wanted, he read of the tell tale heart. Beating. This story striking a cord, keeping him awake, the thump, thump-thump, thump – Poe’s vivid imagery so detailed Tom swore he heard the same constant dead heart patter of the crazy man.

He finished. The last lines of the book he read with dropping eyes. Losing his fight with sleep when the final punctuation mark was read, the booked slipped from his hand off the bed, and he immediately curled up, rolled over, and fell asleep.

Tom woke up abruptly, his cell phone alarm buzzing across his bedroom. He shot out of bed, stumbled to the side throwing his legs over, his feet hit the soft carpet, as he stood. On his walk to turn of the wretched alarm he kicked the Poe book he fall asleep with. It once sat on his floor, near his bed – but his foot in mid stride hit the spine sending in spinning on the soft crazy carpet, out of control. His apathy flooded forth as he stepped over the book he just kicked (that, and he was tired). The alarm still shouted at him. Ringing. Ringing. Driving him crazy till he reached his hand zombie-like onto the dresser and ended the awful sound.

While making his way to the bathroom to shower, his house just beginning to fill with the sounds of scuttling life, he pondered the true terror of humanity. The oddity that exists in ripping one’s self from comfortable, enjoyable rest – by the ear violating noise, the chaotic nonsense strictly meant to pull us from that we love so much. It was alarming to this eight-grader, to anyone experiencing this from his young mind, they would dismiss it. Some perhaps, because of his readings the night before, blaming the dark works of Poe and his raven for this child’s mental anguish – his mental exercise. Tom didn’t make this connection. He let his mind wander. Jumping out of sleep from thought to thought, he felt right, natural, as he grabbed a towel, threw it on the counter next to the shower, and began to adjust the water.

Kourt sat in her class, reapplying her make-up gazing at her reflection in the compact she held. From her bag Kourt grabbed her phone while she angelically balanced the compact and make-up on her cluttered desk. With one eye on the phone and the other on her reflection she started a new text. Nothing special, the text was full of Kourtney’s awful grammar and regular expression, the main reason for the text (besides lack of contact with her best friend for a full fifteen minutes) was to find out what time girl’s night would begin. The bell grew closer and closer to ringing and Kourtney could tell. The teacher’s paced always quickened, the students all shuffled their things, grabbing stray papers and books, throwing them into their bags.

Easing in and out of attention, Kourt heard the substitute say, “Please remember to place your assignments in the bin on they way out. I will have the grades up hopefully by Monday if you all are real good. Also, have a great weekend everyone!” As the last words left her mouth the bell’s delightful, metallic chime began to fill the air. Kourt gently placed all of her essential make up back in her back, then put that designer bag into her backpack.

She stood up from her chair with her homework in hand. The crisp white paper contrasting her smooth, dark tan. Black text running line after line, Kourt both chasing it and being chased, she grew used to this regurgitation, turning words in on themselves, using them for her own pleasure – but always when it came time to turn in the work, she still felt her nerves work up. It lessened it time. This time, a minor tickle in her stomach. She brushed the bangs out of her face, stepped out of her desk, and placed her homework in the bin as she walked out the door. Looking forward, she waiting impatiently for the night with Lauren looming ahead of her.

Kourt’s route to Psychology bobbed and darted, never direct, she weaved through underclassman of all shapes and sizes while she headed to the vending machines on the exit of the second floor stair well. Lunch followed pysch so Kourt new better then to waste her (parents’) money and spoil her appetite. This location acted as a general meeting point for her and Lauren. Lauren came from the third floor while Kourt made her way from the bottom up and if they headed right to pysch they may miss each other, causing the two besties not only the possibility of not sitting next to each other in class, but also a full walk, to the same place, alone. Both events that obviously result in cataclysmic temperature inversions all of earth, due to misalignment with other planets, accomplished by completely contradictory volcano eruptions and entirely irrelevant rampaging, rabies-infested, unicorn attacks.

Once Lauren arrived together they walked from the vending machine full of baked potato chips and dark chocolate peanut crunch candy bars to a psychology class full of a half-baked, semi insane teacher and a disruptive hoard of high school seniors. Kourt and Lauren walked in to class a few minutes early, talking, and drawing the attention of all the other students to themselves as usual.

“So, like, I know I want to get those flats I told you about. Also, I need more glosses and nail polish. Figure we can totally pick all that up like while we are there.” Lor spilled forth with all of the information that Kourt already read over multiple text messages. As Lor kept up her chatter, Kourt nodded along and began to dig through her large school bag to find her notebook for the class.

Kourt struggled to pull the small spiral from her bag as she replied to her friend, “Honestly Lor, I just want to get out. Walk like the mall you know. Oh my, we gotta eat at Queso Queso while we are there. I haven’t been there in like forever. Sorry! I am just so hungry, good thing lunch is like soon.” Both her and Lauren eyed the clock in aim to speed it up and bring, not only lunch, but the end of the day and beginning of girl’s night. As their eyes ticked with the movement of the clock Mr. Millican slowly let himself in. Sadly, class started, though both girls attempted to see the optimistic light of their day passing by, and everything they actually wanted to partake in, slowly growing closer and closer to the present.

Tom sat in algebra, the end of the homework review taking place around him, he mocked the words he knew the teacher would say. On his way out of the house after taking his shower, Tom sadly forgot to take his medicine, so while still remarkably intelligent, his attention faltered on this day. The teacher asked if anyone had any questions, once she finished going of every problem, and Tom’s arm shot up in the air.

He gazed intently at the clock on the wall, losing focus. The teacher called his name. Eyes still glued to the clock on the wall, Tom asked, “For question six, couldn’t you have just used the information in the equation as the answer, since the slope and y-intercept are already there.” The teacher attempted to answer, but the response she used confused and worried all of the students save Tom. Her convoluted and formulaic words attempted at an answer but shuffled so far around the problem it got lost in the mess. Even the teacher’s manual couldn’t help her. Tom giggled. He knew not only the answer to the question he asked but he still asked it, just to trip up the poor teacher. Obviously, his planned worked flawlessly. It took ten minutes for the teacher to finish her answer, Tom knew for sure since his gaze had not broken from the clock on the wall.