Hello, Erin Lucas,
So I guess that you've chosen to keep reading? Welcome to Letter Number One.
We're going to start easy, Miss Lucas. Your first dare is to...
*drumroll*
Crash a party.
That doesn't sound too hard does it? I'm talking about the one that my parents are throwing, exactly one week after you will receive this envelope. Borrow one of my dresses, do your hair, Erin, we're kicking this summer off in style.
Have fun!
*************************************
I look down at the letter, laughing slightly at the fact that Dahlia told me to crash the very party that I'm sat on the edge of currently. Trystan raises an eyebrow at me, then gently slides the letter over so he can read it as well.
He laughs, "Well, well, well, Lucas. I guess you're gonna have to crash this party?" He spins my chair so that I'm facing him and I look up nervously, "Are you sure that your goody-two-shoes-self can handle it?"
"I don't have anything to wear," I state, shrugging, "I guess I can't do it after all."
Trystan smirks, "Dahlia has a wardrobe full of clothes that she never wears, I bet you could borrow something from in there."
I roll my eyes, "Yeah, but they're Dahlia's."
"For her best friend, you're oddly scared of her."
"I'm not scared!" I protest, standing up.
Trystan stands up, looking down at me, even though he's only a couple of inches taller, "Come on, then, Erin. You have to crash this party."
He holds out a hand, and I take it nervously, letting him lead me through the party to the huge set of stairs.
I stare at them in silence, remembering the time that Dahlia had imperiously summoned me over, nearly three years ago, when we were just becoming friends.
****************************
"Hey, Erin, it's Dahlia?" Dahlia's voice echoes out of my phone speaker, more nervous than she had seemed that day at the mall, "Can you come over?"
"Sure," I reply, rolling off my bed and packing some stuff in my bag, "Do you want me to stay over?"
"Would you?" Dahlia's voice echoes through the phone, "I mean, my parents have some friends over and I really need to talk to someone. I'll text you the address."
The line goes dead as I yell down to my mom, telling her that I'm going to stay over at Dahlia's. She calls something back, but I'm already jogging down the stairs and out of the door. I pull mom's bike out of the garage and wheel it along, slinging my leg over it. Mom has always detested cars, she wants to feel free.
My phone vibrates with a text and I pull it out of my pocket, reading the address as I sail along, barely pedalling
at all. The address is nearly a mile away across town, near the beach.
When I reach the address, I look up at the grand house in front of me, complete with pillars framing the doorway and a long driveway. The driveway curves elegantly up towards the house, covered with expensive cars, abandoned carelessly along the smooth paving. My jaw drops, realising that each of these cars probably cost more than my whole house and everything in it.
I pull my bike up to the side wall, tucking it away neatly, almost ashamed of the fact that Mom got it at a yard sale for ten dollars, and most of the paintwork's scratched. As I make my way back around to the front door, it's yanked open by a pretty and petite blonde girl.
DU LIEST GERADE
After the Petal Falls
Aktuelle Literatur"I guess that Dahlia was like the sun to all of us," I begin, my lips trembling, "We orbited her, and, in some ways, we worshipped her. But we have to keep going with our lives. And that's what they always say to people who've lost someone. They wou...
