(CAUTION: Contains curse words OK? So don't freak! :D)
CHAPTER ONE: THE TALK
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The four of us stared out into the distance at the huge white building. I was shaking with anxiety.
"Lets go," Derrel said, taking a small step forward.
"Wait guys," I said, my voice trembling with hesitation.
The three others turned around and stared at me expectantly.
"Well," I started reluctantly. "I don't think is such a good idea, guys, really." They rolled their eyes and DeLante thrust his hands into his big white hoodie and let out a sigh.
Krispy, the most sensible of the group stepped forward and took my hands gently into both of his. "Kira, don't worry, we already talked it through, remember? Ain't nothin' gonna happen," he said softly, smiling into my face.
I nodded my head reluctantly and said, "Okay, I guess."
Derrel nodded approvingly, Crispy put his arm around me, and DeLante said, "Aight, bitches, lets bounce." He led the way and pulled an all white masquerade mask over his face. He sure had a lot of attitude for a white boy.
Derrel shook his head and pulled a burgundy mask over his face. Crispy pulled on a dark green one, and I a black one. It was time to move out.
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*^*2 WEEK EARLIER*^*
I slammed the black trashbag into the garbage can and wiped my hands on my small red polo T-shirt. I tied back the black apron around my waist and went back to the sink. I still had about a good thirty dishes left before the sink would be empty.
I groaned and plunged my hands into the luke-warm water. As I washed the many cups and plates, I thought of what Derrel had told me earlier. "Now that I think about it, it does make sense," I pondered.
Just as I saw the last gleaming wine-glass at the bottom of the sink, a waiter dressed in a maroon vest, white dress shirt, black slacks and all too shiny black shoes came in and dumped a huge tray of filthy plates in. He gave me a sympathetic smile and said, "Sorry, Kira."
Hi. I'm Kira Morgan. And if you haven't already noticed, I work part-time in a pizzeria on Filbert Street. Tonight was surprisingly teeming with people, so that means double-work and double bull-shit from Mr. Big Time Pope; my boss, Damon.
"More like Damion," I mumbled. Ha-ha. Damion, like the devil's son. Ha....
"Damion, eh?" I heard a voice call out from behind me. I slowly turned around and smiled a fake smile at the tall man leaning against the doorway.
'He's so cute,' I thought to myself. 'Why does he have to be such a bitch?'
Damon frowned down at ,e and said, "You know you're lucky I even GAVE you this job. You have little to no experience," he said, moving off the doorway and looking down at me with his hands in his pockets, a smirk written on his face. His seemingly lifeless grey eyes had a bored expression as he looked at my apron, filthy with pizza sauce and flour stains.
"I'm a dishwasher, how much experience do you really need for a job like this?" I said, flicking a tray into the sink.
Damon stepped back at the splash of water that came his way. I smiled sheepishly and grabbed a mop that was to my right. "For someone like you," he eyed me up and down. "A whole lot."
With that he stepped back and out of the kitchen. I had just begun to mouth the word "Bit-" when he stepped back into the room and said, "BTW, that remark's coming out of your paycheck," he said, pointing at me with a pale finger. Stupid ghost. He smiled, one of the few times he EVER smiled was when he was picking on me. With a small glint in his eyes, he turned on his heel and out the door.
About twenty minutes later, my shift was over. I grabbed my small Rockawear Buffer jacket and pulled it on. It was so cold outside that I even doubted this huge jacket was going protect me from the weather. I walked down the street and up to the pedestrian walkway. The rain whipped at my face and I pulled my hood over my head.
As I crossed the street, I saw a familiar figure in a huge white hoody across the street. DeLante, one of my best friends, was hunched over a car on the curb. He was fiddling with window, I could tell from his up and down movements.
"LANTE!" I shouted, as I crossed the street. He turned around, as if struck by lighting and faced me. He face put on one of relief and he waved back at me.
"AY WASUP NIGGA!" He shouted out, throwing his hands up in the air and I could just see the outline of a crowbar. Not again.
"Oh my God, Lante, are you trying to jack Ray's car, AGAIN?" I asked, coming up to him.
He gave me a small hug and gave me a huge grin, his light brown eyes lit up excitedly.
"You won't tell him, will you? D said he got he got some BILLs up in here," he said, turning back to the car. He didn't notice the tip of his spiky brown hair sticking out of his hood as it soaked with water.
"Boy, you know you goin' get caught," I said, putting a hand on my hip and giving him a sharp prod on his back. He didn't even turn around. I sighed and mumbled, "You're addicted." I thought of a way to get his attention and looked at the tip of his hair, now flattened to his face with raindrops. An idea struck me. The only thing Delante loved more than money was his hair.
"Dang, what happened to your HAIR?" I said dramatically.
His face shot up at me and he said, "What? What's wrong with it?"
"Oh nothin'," I said, looking to the floor and kicking a pebble with my foot. "It just looks a little, kinky. I mean at the top."
DeLante looked at me with eyes of fear. "YOU TELLIN' ME MY HAIR LOOKS...." he shuddered at the thought, "KINKY? Aw hell no," he said, grabbing his emergency kit out of his pocket. Two objects: a small squeeze bottle of gel and a mirror. He grabbed my hand and said, "Come on, lets go to the bus stop."
I laughed and let him drag me into the sheltered bus stop. Good ole' Lante.
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Read it up, comment it, vote and ENJOY!
~Kira <3
