Lars Crawford was a simple teen. He loved his siblings, loved baseball, loved life until a tragic accident ripped his older brother away along with his left arm.
Now he lives his life serving after school detention from fights he faught for his best...
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Once the song ended, I looked up the instrumental version turning the volume all the way up. Just twenty seconds into the song I lifted my head feeling my baby calling out to me from the deep dark parts of my closet in her case. The bass guitar sent chills over my skin my fingers twitching to play the cords. Looking at my bionic arm I moved my fingers knowing the difficulty I would go through trying to play with a prosthesis. Tapping my fingers on the floor I smirked at the vibrations I could feel in my chest with every note played from the bass guitar.
For some reason images of Neema sitting on my bed while I played her this song from my desk chair came to mind. Head back on my pillow her amber eyes would be hidden under her lids while she listened to me play as if it was something I did for her often. In my mind she looked more than comfortable with her sandals on the floor at the foot of my bed. One foot resting on the bed while the other crossed over her knee she rolled her left ankle with the braided anklet.
"Shit." I jumped at the vibration through the floor coming from my cell not realizing that the song had ended. Picking up my phone I looked at the numbers carefully before opening the text.
[Unknown] :Hey Lars, it's Neema. . . You saved me from my ex earlier today. Anyway, I wanted to say thank you and I was going to call you but I realized I didn't have your number so I asked a friend of a friend who knew your friend Ethan and he gave me your number. Hope you're not mad or anything. So thanks again :)
Quickly saving her number I opened her message to reply: Neema Marshall? The fascinating girl from detention?
[Neema] :The one you took a picture of?
Chuckling at her text I thought back to the picture I took of her never taking the chance to open my gallery and thoroughly look at it. Just as I was about to reply a second text came from her.
[Neema] :Can I call you?
Smiling at the text I pressed the phone icon without sending a reply. The cell screen changed to the calling screen with Neema's number underneath the empty picture icon where her contact picture would go.
"You called me."
"I did." The line was silent for a few seconds making me think that she was either smiling from excitement or she was fidgeting from nervousness. "Neema?"
"Yes?" She answered instantly.
"Why won't you tell me where we know each other from?"
"Why do you want to know so bad? Isn't knowing that we go to the same school enough?"
