Lucky Strike

3. Icee Emergency

Hey guys! I'm back and ready to post some more chapters. I'll make this one long just for you guys! Vote and tell me how you feel about Lucky Strike! By the way, I changed the cover, if you haven't noticed.

  Happy reading!

~Taylor

   We all have our way of clearing our clogged minds. I don't know about you, but I can always think better when I have an icee in my hand. I just need to have some cherry-flavored ice and I'm good to go. It might be the cherry flavor or the calming view just beyond the Icee building, but either way I always come back with a cleared head. It looks the prettiest at night just after the sun has finished setting, but even in the day its glorious. Seriously, sometimes I almost expect a choir of angels to start singing.

   Just behind the building is a great view of the Atlantic ocean, but that's not why it's so glorious. Starting just after you get past the jagged rocks and onto the hot grains of sand, a wooden dock begins to sprout from the sand and strech about 30 feet out onto the water. As simple as that seemed, it was a place I could go for a head-clearing session. And right now, I was in dire need of a good head clearing.

   I wish I could say I had some nice car I could drive whenever and wherever, but that would be a lie. I don't even have a car. Not even a broken down old Ford Camry. I usually walk, even though it's a good five or six miles from my house. It helped me stay fit, at least. It was like putting a dog on a treadmill and tying a biscuit just out of reach; I'll keep going for it time after time, no matter the energy.

   Today, though, I wasn't going solo. My best friend, Libby, was driving me this time, in her lime green 1992 Toyota. It was funny in general to see such a unique truck anywhere, but it was even funnier to see a red-headed Libby with her wild curls sitting behind the wheel. She looked like Merida from Brave, honestly. She denied it, but with her hair and her fiery attitude, it was obvious that they were sisters from another mister.

   When she pulled up, I jogged out of the front door, calling a flat explanation to where I was going. They were still in the living room, cooing over my mom's belly. They didn't respond, so I stifled a sigh and closed the door behind me as I dashed to the lime green truck. I pulled the door open and plunked into the tattered leather seat.

   "Wow," Libby said, eye brows raised as I turned to her, "three seconds flat. You either missed me so much that you felt the need to run like Rudolf to the truck, or you were running from your parents. But since I don't see any knife welding parents chasing after you, I'm going to guess it's the first option."

   I rolled my eyes and sunk deeper into the passenger seat. "No, it was definitely the second option. Except without the knives."

  Libby pouted, puckering her lower lip that was as cherry red as her hair. "So you weren't running like Rudolf because you missed me?"

   I sent her a falsely sweet smile and fluttered my eye lashes at her. "Yes Libby, I missed you so much since the last 24 hours I saw you. That is totally the reason I was sprinting to your car."

   Libby beamed at me triumphantly, like she had proven me wrong, as we pulled out.

  "Glad you finally admitted it."

I rolled my eyes again, but let a small smile grow on my lips.

It was funny how us two - who are as different as you can get in looks - were so close when we were so different. In middle school, we had to do a project on someone we admired. We were the only ones who didn't pick a celebrity or an actor; we had picked each other. We took pride in that, too. I still had the project with all of the pictures and information in my closet.