Summer House Arrest

Chp. 4

    There I was, sitting on his couch, bawling my eyeballs out. Wishing that he would hold me, wishing that he would kiss me. Wishing he would be my boyfreind. Wishing that he would at least hold my hand.

     Pfffft.I thought to myself. Wishful thinking.

     "What happened?" he asked. I was still at a loss for words.

     I remembered, and frowned deeply. Oh, yeah. That's right. My father was killed. I was shocked to remember that I had bigger problums. Problums you can't solve with kisses and coke, problums you can't heal with boyfreinds and complaining. Problums that take a long time to heal. Problums that you can only hear with wishful thinking, and nothing more.

     "Reality." I replied. It was true. A horrible reality filled with murdered fathers and pycho stepmothers.

     He sat there silently. No replies came. At some point, I passed out. I must have.

     The next morning, I woke up and bumped into something. My eyes sprung open, and I was shocked to see a mess of golden blond hair.

"Ah!" I softly yelled.

     The sleeping figure groaned and turned around.  "Morning" he said.

     "G-good morning." I replied.

     He smiled and got up, stretching and yawning.

     "You want some breakfast?" he mumbeld.

     "Yeah, sure." I replied.

    We trudged downstairs. His mom gave me a bright and sunny smile. She was cooking breakfast, and her smile looked tight and fake. "Good morning." she forced out.

     "Morning mom." Dylan said.

     "Morning" I repeated. 

      "How did you sleep last night?"

     "Good."

     I nodded my head in agrement.

     "I'll be right back." Dylan said.

     As soon as he left, his mom slammed me against the wall.

     "Wha-what are you..."

     "Shut up!" she hissed. "Just a warning: I don't like you. I've seen... girls like you come through here. Time and TIME again. Don't try anything funny."

     Just then, she let me go, and hurried back to her place. Dylan walked in. I guess that makes scence, why she had backed off, anyway.Dylan smiled, looking from his mom to me. In between glances, she mouthed "Don't...say...anything!" and gave me the evil eye.  

     "Uh, I'd better get going. I promised Zoe that I would visit her."  I said, thinking on my feet.

     "Awww, can't you stay a little longer?" Dylan whined.

     "No, I promised her I would meet her at..." I glanced over at the clock "Ten." I finished.

     "Oh, you're late! we should go!"

     "We?"

     "Yeah, me and you. I'll drive you to her house."

     "No, n-no thank you. I would rather walk there." When he opened his mouth, I quickly finished with "By myself. I don't know if she would like if you came along."

     "Oh,ok. I don't think she would mind, but if you don't want me to..."

     "No, no. It's just that, well, I'd rather just go by myself."

     "Ok, uh..."

     "I really gotta go. Bye." I waved to him, and quickly left.

     I walked over to Zoe's house,  and knocked on her door.

     She answered the door. "Huyes?" she mummbeled, still half asleep.

     "Are you busy?"

     "No, not at all. Come on in."

     I walked in, and looked around.

     "Sorry. I didn't know you were coming."

     "No, it's fine."

     As we walked into the living room, a boy and girl that looked like a couple were sitting on the couch.

     "Kyle! Why did you bring your girlfreind over?" Zoe asked.

    "I don't know! I wanted to!"

     "Whatever" she turned to me, and said: "Let's go to my room."

     We walked up a staircase, and walked past a football themed room and a Hello Kitty th room. Finally, we stopped at a closed door. As she opened the door, I looked at her latest themed bedroom. Pictures and posters hung on the wall, and a video camera layed on it's side on an old, well worn desk. A huge dollhouse hid in the cornor, her place for her pullip and monster high dolls. Another little house, much smaller then the first one, held her first pullip and its family.Thre bookshlves lined walls, her own personal library  on the shelves. Some stuff was scattered on the floor, and her bed was made. Big suprise there. Literaly. Zoe and her mom were always fighting about her bed, because one liked it made, and the other one thouaght "Eh, why bother?"

     "So, what's up?" she asked me.

     "I have a... problum." I started.