Uncovered

Chapter Three

Hey all, Red here. I hope you like the chapter, sorry it's short! =D

What a peaceful day at school? Not. I sighed resting my head in my hands; the whole school was in an uproar. It started a few minutes ago, two girls got into a hissy-fight over some skater boy.

“Imbeciles,” I muttered.

I took a bite of my apple standing up to through my food trash away. I was just about to turn around when something hit me; it was warm slimy and very much like spaghetti. I must admit, I was in shock. I stood there, probably looking like a complete idiot, rage boiling within me. It takes a lot to rile me up, but spaghetti? What idiot throws around spaghetti?

I turned around, to find my assailants. But what I found, well, if it wouldn’t make you laugh you’re made of stone. One of the schools popular girls, Grachelle, and some other girl, in an all out food fight.

They were all over each other, doing what girls do in fights  . . . which is, I’m not sure what, but it sure looked funny.

Someone grabbed my shoulder; it was Mr. Grouder, our history teacher.

“Are you gonna’ stop them?” I asked, rubbing pieces of spaghetti off my back.

“That’d be suicide,” he replied timidly, then added. “You’d need a shot gun to pull those two apart.”

I smiled as I imagined next to all the fire extinguishers a shot gun with a plaque that reads ‘Use only to break up bitch-fights’. But I quickly composed myself when I remembered how pissed I was supposed to be. “That’s not too bad of an idea.”

Mr. Grouder looked at me questioningly, probably trying to figure out if I was serious or not. He must of figured not because he said, “At any rate you should go get cleaned up.”

“You’re probably right.” I sure do suck at being pissed. I made my way to the lady’s room; once there I started peeling more spaghetti off my back. Luckily I was wearing a black shirt so it didn’t show all that much and it didn’t manage to get into my hair. 

By the time I was looking halfway-decent and I had made my way back into the hall I realized how much time had elapsed. Snap, I’m in for it this time, I thought as I weighed out my choices. I could either go into class way late and risk getting a serious lecture, or skip out and have far worse consequences later. But my figuring out got cut short as I noticed a girl standing by her locker fiddling with something.

That’s her! I was convinced it was – the girl who threw the spaghetti – but I’m not the kind to rush into things. I walked over to her casually, my mid-length brown hair bumping around my shoulders.

“U-hem-” I was starting when she turned around. “Oh, eh, I thought you were someone else.” I mentally kicked myself in the shin, this wasn’t the girl! How could I even think she was? Well, she does look like her from the back, my mind reasoned. I mentally kicked that too.

“Oh, it’s fine,” She said, giving a nice little laugh.

I liked her laugh, it reminded me of . . . my own? I pushed that thought away, I’m hallucinating. Against my better judgment I didn’t leave right away, but stayed, looking the girl up and down. She looked like a girly-girl type, but despite that, she looked nice.

What are you thinking? My mind kicked in again. You don’t do friends.

“You skipping class?”

“Um,” the question caught me by surprise. “I’m trying too, at least.”

“Well, I’ll see you around,” she turned and walked down the hall to her classroom giving a little wave as she went.

I sighed. And why exactly can’t I have friends? I asked myself. Because they’ll just double cross you like before, trusty old mind had my answer. Oh shut up!

                     *                                                        *                                                        *

I turned the key in the door, trying to be as quiet as possible. I could only hope my brother didn’t hear, the last thing I needed was an interrogation on why I’m home so early. Thankfully I made it to my room without being detected.

I flung myself down on the firm bed positioned in the center of the room with a huff of exhaustion. I reached over to my antique wooden nightstand and picked up my pocket knife; I flipped out the blade and examined it. It was a daily procedure – looking over the knife, I knew it inside out and upside down, literally. My fingers could find every scratch, every notch, every blemish . . . every perfection.

 I loved that knife; it brought back so many fond memories, sitting in the tree house, carving one thing or another. Oh how I wished I could become the little carver I once was. The knife had been a birthday present when I turned five, I became really good a carving, but I gave it up for some other creative activity. And even though it couldn’t cut raw meat anymore, I always wished I could find my talent again.

As I ran the dull blade across my fingers I stared up at the ceiling. That flat, flat ceiling. Sometimes I miss the popcorn texture my old ceiling had, and other times I couldn’t be happier looking up at the flatness.

I must have drifted off because the next time I looked at the clock it was already 5:15pm. I rolled off my bed landing in a crouching position, then stood and bounded down the stairs two or three at a time.

My mom was just walking in the door, looking rather carefree.

“Hey mom,” I greeted.

“Oh hi Scarlet,” she tried to kiss my on the top of my head but I quickly backed away.

 “What chya makin’ for dinner?” I asked, following her into the kitchen.

“I’m not sure yet,” she dumped her purse on the counter top and faced me with a thoughtful expression.

“Can you make-”

“No.”

“Aw, why not?” I pouted. Of course she knew I was going to ask for her famous chicken pesto. Ah, my mouth watered just thinking about it.

“I was thinking more down the spaghetti lane,” she said.

I gave a light laugh, “Eh, me and spaghetti aren’t exactly on good terms right now . . . .”

“Why?”

“Long story,” I shrugged and turned back out of the kitchen. My house was rather boxy, each room in some way touching the others.  I decided to take the long route – through the dining room and den- to get to the back door.

When I stepped outside the first thing what hit me was the sunshine. Beautiful sunshine. I sighed, stretching my arms out at full length to capture every ray of warmness. And despite the fact there was a cold breeze everything seemed to be living in the beauty of the weather.

We had a relatively large lot, 2.1 acres to be exact -although most of it wasn’t usable because of the hills that fell down on either side. I loved living on a hill, nobody could see you, and you couldn’t see anyone. Just the way I like it.

“Scarlet?”

I heard someone call my name and looked back at the door, “Yeah?”

“There’s someone here to see you honey,” my mom yelled back.

“Who?” I asked.

“How should I know?”

Oh great.