Carlos Pena?

Funeral (Chapter 17)

h̾e̾y̾ g̾u̾y̾s̾ t̾h̾a̾n̾k̾ y̾o̾u̾ s̾o̾ m̾u̾c̾h̾ f̾o̾r̾ t̾h̾e̾ 138 r̾e̾a̾d̾s̾! i̾t̾ w̾e̾n̾t̾ u̾p̾ b̾y̾ 15 r̾e̾a̾d̾s̾ s̾i̾n̾c̾e̾ 9:00 l̾a̾s̾t̾ n̾i̾g̾h̾t̾ a̾n̾d̾ n̾o̾w̾ i̾t̾s̾ 7:11a̾m̾. (y̾e̾s̾ i̾ w̾o̾k̾e̾ u̾p̾ w̾i̾t̾h̾o̾u̾t̾ a̾n̾ a̾l̾a̾r̾m̾ a̾n̾d̾ y̾e̾s̾ i̾ l̾i̾k̾e̾ w̾a̾k̾i̾n̾g̾ u̾p̾ e̾a̾r̾l̾y̾, d̾o̾n̾'t̾ j̾u̾d̾g̾e̾)

Kara's POV

I came downstairs the next morning to smell Pillsbury cinnamon rolls again. I was wearing a baggy and kind of a big t-shirt that was orange and black sweatpants. I thought I would put a thick headband that was black on and put in a low pony tail to make my hair look less of a I-just-woke-up look. I walked into the kitchen and found my dad taking the cinnamon rolls out of the oven. My dad placed them on the oven and turned around and looked at me.

"Are you a Bengals fan now or something?"

"No." I looked at my self in the mirror. "Oh I see were you got that from" I laughed. "Is Carlos still sleeping in the spair bedroom?"

"Yeah he didn't come down here yet so probably not." Soon enough everyone was downstairs around the table.

"I just noticed something." My mom said. "Are you in some kind of band? The cool way to say it BTR?"

'Oh Lord' I thought here goes mom "acting" cool again.

"Um... yeah used to we thought that we should just grow up and start our adultish lives with jobs." Carlos said.

"Oh what a tragic." My mom said. Tyler and I sighed really loud.

"Um actually it was good there are way less people stalking you now and less photos taken. So this is what life should be like; no fake rumours no paparazzi. The only bad thing is no A-List parties but I can live without them. I did before so why can't I live without them now?"

I got up for a third time to get another cinnamon roll.

"How many times are you gonna get up and get more food?" Tyler said.

"Maybe one more after this." I said.

"First of all how may have you had so far?"

"Two this is my third."

"Its a good thing that you exercise a lot." Tyler said. The thing was that I was only exercising my brain more than my body since I've been to college.

"Did you learn anything at college?" My dad asked.

"I'm pretty much reviewing from all of the ocean documentaries I've ever watched. So maybe a little things I've learned."

"So I played all that money and you know most of the things other kids are just learning?" My dad said.

"Well actually when we get back from break then we are learning about sampling and using microscopes the instructor said."

"Oooo. That's so cool." My mom said.

A few hours passed and we were almost ready for the funeral. I wore a black dress with laces and my naturally wavy hair down with pearls and black slip-one. The dudes all wore black suit. My mom pretty much wore the same exact thing as me but she wore black pants and a cream colored sweater with a white tank-top underneath. We talked to family members I have never seen before and probably never see again. We talked for an hour before the ceremony.

I walked up to him in his open casket. No little kids were around d just teens and adults so that's good. He was in a really nice suite on. I personally loved it. He looked like he was sleeping but just really peaceful and pale. My mom called me over to where they were sitting. I sat down next to my mom and she put her arms around me. It's a good thing that the only makeup I wore was lip gloss because I cried a little. My mom was like a waterfall and was snuggled up with my dad. I leaned against Carlos and then reached over to Tyler's hand and squeezed it. We both smiled.

We soon went to the cemetery when most of the people left before we got there. We watched as the closed casket was lowered into the grave. We all got to use the shovel to burry him. A little bit then the gravediggers filled him up the rest of the way as everyone went to the reception I guess you would call it. Everyone sat down at a table and ate lunch. And the food was delicious. And and hour or so later we left.

o̾k̾a̾y̾ g̾u̾y̾s̾ t̾h̾a̾t̾ w̾a̾s̾ l̾i̾k̾e̾ t̾h̾e̾ l̾o̾n̾g̾e̾s̾t̾ c̾h̾a̾p̾t̾e̾r̾ i̾'v̾e̾ w̾r̾i̾t̾t̾e̾n̾ y̾e̾t̾. n̾o̾w̾ i̾t̾s̾ 8:20. t̾h̾a̾t̾ c̾h̾a̾p̾t̾e̾r̾ w̾a̾s̾ d̾e̾p̾r̾e̾s̾s̾i̾n̾g̾. h̾a̾p̾p̾y̾ e̾n̾d̾i̾n̾g̾s̾ i̾ g̾u̾a̾r̾a̾n̾t̾e̾e̾. a̾n̾y̾w̾a̾y̾s̾ i̾m̾ g̾o̾i̾n̾g̾ t̾o̾ g̾o̾ g̾e̾t̾ s̾o̾m̾e̾ f̾o̾o̾d̾. b̾y̾e̾!