its not LOVE. It's HORMONES

Chapter Four: Visiting the Dead

( OFFICIALLY EDITED)

READS AUTHOR’S NOTE VERY IMPORTANT!!!!!!!!!!!

For those of you who aren't from America reading this story, I just wanted to let you know soccer is American Futball, and Football is only an American sport! 

Chapter Four:  Visiting the Dead

        ​“You want a tip? Clean your teeth. Your breath reeks of cow manure.” Willow said before smashing the door on the poor pizza boy’s face.

         “You realize that one day you are going to have to give a tip?” Willow had this weird idea; why should WE give people tips for bringing something WE paid for? Her motto was; if I bring you water, do I beg for a tip? If I don’t, then why should I give one to a pizza boy? To make this story short, Willow was completely illogical.

​        “Over my dead body.” She said ,huffing and puffing as she threw her feet over my laptop. At home, Willow was a wild animal. It was like watching “Animal Planet”; live.

​        “Willow! What the fudge monkeys do you think you are doing?” I exclaimed, exasperated, pushing her feet off my laptop. It was the second day of school, and we were at home watching Friends and eating greasy pizza.

         After we got home at two am last night, Willow told everyone to just take a “college day”, and not go to school tomorrow. It was a smart idea, and we wouldn’t be counted absent; it was only the second day of school.

        The second day of school wasn’t a normal day of school. Nope. It was a day where we would fall on our knees, and worship the suckiest football team to ever exist. We would come in the morning, and, honestly, sit for TWO hours while our principal talked about god knows what. Then the cheerleaders would shake their asses as if it was completely appropriate, and the guys would cheer as if they were in a prostitute house.

         Then the King Douchebags; who ruled over all of the other douche bags would enter; the football team. The American sport that no other country played and that we were forced to cheer for, even though we would rather watch paint dry. So that’s why we all decided it was the best idea to skip school, but technically we weren’t really skipping.

​        “You know you have been staring at that Google page for the last hour, right?  If you were a guy, I would assume you were watching porn or something,” I gaped at Willow, mouth ajar, eyes wide.

​        “Do you not know how to censor your words Willow? Like seriously. Is your brain wired incorrectly?” I wasn’t the cleanest person when it came to making jokes, but Willow's jokes were R-rated. Seriously what if kids heard her?

​        She just shrugged and continued to slurp down her pizza as if she had said nothing and was a fat kid eating cake. I went back to staring at the computer screen. I wanted to type 'Charles Davidson'. Can you blame me?

         I was itching to know, but every time my fingers would even brush across the keyboard, my heart beat would accelerate and whisper; “thumb.. Guilty…thumb.” I was so conflicted. Should I do the ethical thing or tell my principles to go to hell? 

​        Damn it; I was too good of a person to search him up. I closed my laptop, and threw it off to the side while I watched Ross grab his red sweater.

***

​            I was cleaning my room when I heard the door slam open. I swear, no one in this family knew the concept of privacy. I turned my body around to see the Queen of Bitches, my sister, Rebecca Thompson. She was the most vicious of people. She made Rachel McAdams in Mean Girls look like a saint. I could never understand how we were related by blood. She was pure evil. Her presence physically pained me.