This is a werewolf story. It will have romance, humor, and some cliche' elements. So if you're looking for something else, just turn right back around and don't leave a comment saying "kind of cliche'". Because seriously, I know. I just wrote this as something fun to do.
If you're looking for an adorable, funny, sweet, drama filled werewolf story, then go right on ahead.
I hope you enjoy the story!
P.S. This is in the editing process, so if you see something that doens't make a lick of sense, just ignore it :)
According to my aunt, waking up at one o' clock in the afternoon, shuffling down to the kitchen, eating some microwavable chocolate chip pancakes (you know, the ones you find at Walmart), and going to my room to draw or paint or read for the rest of the day, was neither healthy nor ladylike. So, I switched my schedule up a little bit. Instead of dousing my pancakes with my weight in syrup, I used whipped cream and mandarin oranges with even more syrup. Weird, but still tasty. I also went outside and climbed into a tree and read or sketched when I felt like it, instead of being holed up in my room.
I got thirsty, so I jumped down from the tree and landed on the balls of my feet. My aunt Kimberly, who was standing a few feet from there, screamed. I winced. She looked from me to the tree and back, then clutching her chest, screeched, "DYLAN!"
"Yes," I asked, smirking while tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. She looked like she was going to slap me, then began taking deep breaths to calm herself. Looks like I wasn't the only one with anger issues in this family.
When she was finally calm enough not to go ham on me, she reached into her pocket and threw her keys at me (I swear they were aimed for my face). I looked at her. "What am I supposed to do with these?"
"Go and buy something..."
"What do you want me to buy?"
"Something! Now go!"
"I don't have any money."
She gritted her teeth and reached into her pocket, then slapped a hundred into my hand. I smiled. "Thanks."
"Don't come back for a while, please."
"And don't get arrested."
For the record, I have never been arrested before. I've come close, but I haven't. I walked around from the back yard to the garage, where her red Jeep Wrangler was parked, and got in, putting on my seat belt before cranking up the car and pulling out.
My parents had sent me to stay with my aunt while they 'sorted themselves out'. Meaning that, they went on a trip around the world and didn't want little tempermetal me stuck with them like a third wheel. So, while they had the time of their lives, I was stuck here with my gorgeous, blonde haired blue eyed, modeling aunt who was already fed up with me. And it had only been a week.
I was just driving along, not wanting to go to the mall because, despite what the media said, they were ridicuously overpriced. The weather was beautiful, the sun was shining and the bird were all singing their songs. I looked over and saw a flea market, and a little prick of curiosity opened up inside of me. I'd never been in a flea market.
So, I turned the car around and went down the dusty driveway, securely seated despite all of the bumps and potholes. The place was huge and outdoors, with huge shelters and a ton of people with stalls underneath the shade, excited, I got out and put my hands in my pockets, walking over to the first stall. An old guy was selling leather wallets. Some of the designs were awesome. I looked at him. "Did you make these yourself?"
"Yep." He was eying me. "You new?"
"Yeah. How much are they?"
"Each. But, there's some other stuff here, you might want to look around a little bit before you settle on something."
"You're welcome, sweetheart. And remember, don't let them screw you over."
I smiled a genuine smile at him and moved on, looking all of the stalls. There was a woman selling purses that my aunt might've liked, but I kept going until I saw something that made me stop. An art stall!
I ran my hand over one of the sketchbooks and a pack of pencils.
"Can I help you?" A girl's voice asked. I looked up. She was pretty, with golden blonde hair and huge, innocent-looking brown eyes.
"How much is this?" I pointed to a sketchbook that was medium sized. She picked up and looked at the back, then said, "Five dollars."
Wow, that was cheap. I dug into my pocket. "You got change for a hundred?"
"Okay, I'll take this, this, this, this, and this." I picked out two sketchbooks, a giant pack of colored pencils, some watercolors, and some charcoal pencils.