PeaceHood

Chapter 3: Melissa

"Cole?" I repeated. I never heard of a girl with a boy's name.

"Yeah," Ben answered. "Nicole Teri Porter."

"On a scale of one to ten," I say. "How hot is she?"

"Seth," Ben moaned. "You know how much I hate rating girls."

I stuck out my bottom lip.

"You're doing the bottom lip again, are you?" he guessed.

"Yeah," I said.

"Okay," he sighed. "She's a 9.5."

9.5? I thought. So, she must be hot!

"Could you send me a picture?" I asked eagerly.

"Sure," Ben replied. "As soon as you get a cellphone."

"Ugh," I grumbled. "I'm like, twenty bucks short."

"How much money do you have?"

"Twenty bucks," I answered.

I blew my money on some computer equipment, comics, and monitors.

"I'm delivering newspapers, but they give me half of what they owe me."

"Just work hard," he insisted. "Maybe quit and find a different legal job."

I hate it when he emphasizes the word legal.

"I'm delivering newspapers, Ben." I repeated.

"Newspapers."

"I'm just saying," he continued. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Fine," I insist. "Have fun San Francisco, tell Cole I said Hi."

After our conversation, I hang up the phone. I ruffled my red hair and hopped on my skateboard.

I looked down at my wristwatch and cursed. It was 9:55.

I am supposed to go to New York Times building at ten o'clock.

"Crap," I cussed. I sped tirelessly on my skateboard, scavenging my eyes for the building.

Meanwhile, a huge wave of people flooded the sidewalk, making it hard for me to navigate past them.

Frustrated, I decided to travel on foot. I tossed my skateboard in my backpack and ran straight then took a sharp turn to the left.

The minute I dashed across the street, cars honked angrily in my way.

"What the HELL, kid?" a taxi driver shouted.

I desperately wanted to give him the finger, but I am too anxious to get to the office in time.

"Sorry!" I cried.

My sneakers slapped against the gray asphalt when I saw the tall skyscraper standing a couple yards away from me.

"Yay!" I beamed. I'm finally going to make it.

After dodging oncoming traffic, I pushed open the two glass doors and staggered inside.  The asphalt transformed into smooth white tile as I make my way into the lobby.

A wood carved desk stood a few inches in front of the female receptionist, making calls and clacking computer keys.

She had curly dark hair, brown eyes, and pale skin. The receptionist wore a white blazer, dark blue skirt, and black heels.

I secretly waltzed to the elevators, until the receptionist called my name.

"Seth Hamilton," she called. "You're late, as always."

I instantly froze then let out a groan.

"Something came up, Bess." I explained with a shrug.

"It's not my fault."

More clacking on the keys.

"You always say that."

On her desk is a basket full of newspapers. My boss, Mr. H, sends them to the receptionist whenever I show up to the lobby.

Since I am a kid, he worries I might ruin everything I touch. But thanks to my hacking abilities, I manage to take New York Times to the top.

The press captured kidnappers, rapists, and other criminals. But when Mr. H asks me how I got the information, I told him that I have my  methods.

As I came to work one day, Mr. H gave me a fifty dollar check in a woven basket.

But in spite our friendship, no one has ever met Mr. H. His closest associates are his moles in the San Francisco Police Department.

"Thanks," I say, taking the basket off of her desk.

I took out the bundle of newspapers out of the basket and tuck them into my backpack.

As soon as I zipped up the bag, I waved goodbye and hustled out of the building. With newspapers in my hands, my feet rested on top of my skateboard.

The more I pedaled, the more the scenery faded: instead of skyscrapers and fine establishments, I see broken towns, broken people, and dirt puddles.

After our parents died in a car accident, Ben taught me the methods to survive in the streets: keep your head down and keep your mouth shut.

During Ben's time in juvie, I obeyed his rules. I kept my mouth shut and refuse to trust people. Within seconds, I became determined and focused on making people pay.

As I reach to the neighborhood, I tossed newspapers across lawn and people's doorsteps.

Meanwhile, I avoided gangster infested streets and continued throwing papers until I was out.

"Good," I sighed to myself. Now I can get out of here.

I took a shortcut in the alley and turned left until I saw Ms. Caroline's house. Everything was the same: the house had the same brown bricked surface, the same red roof, and the same white steps that leads to the stain glass door.

But that was when I saw someone's blue battered car right next to the Satan's red Chevy. This could mean one thing...I'm getting adopted.

"The Hell?" I cried, storming over to the house.

I got off my skateboard and open the door to see a young blond woman in her late twenties, wearing a blue t-shirt, jeans, and black sneakers.

Her blue eyes stared at mine as her lips turned into a smile.

"Hi," she greeted. "My name is-"

"Please to meet you," I interrupted, shoving past her.

I search around for Ms.Caroline, until I saw her carrying two suitcases.

"Hi Seth," she grunted. "I already packed-"

"Cut the crap, Satan." I interrupted. "Who is this woman?"

Ms. Caroline let out a sigh then told me that she's my adopted mother.

I gave her a long look.

"Why?" I demanded.

"Because, Melissa is the only person who likes you." she admitted.

"I ran through her files, and so far, she is clean."

"Really?" I scoffed.

Ms. Caroline handed me my luggage and wishes me good luck.

"I'll miss you," she beamed.

"Wow," I whistled. "You should be a comedian."

She did a fake laugh and takes me outside of her house.

As soon as Satan shuts the door, I saw Melissa standing in front of her car. 

"Well then," she insisted. "Let's go home."