I slammed my head against my desk, cursing the guy who invented math. Philotes? Pilates? I don't remember. I didn't care. Whoever said Trig was easy was on some serious stuff. I sighed and pulled myself out of my 'desk chair'. Really, its a kitchen chair my mom gave me. I walked out into the hallway outside my room, deciding what to do. My stomach rumbled, as if it was ordering me. I turned and made my way down the stairs and into the small kitchen.
I grabbed a bag of Ruffles off the top of the fridge while skillfully pulling out a two day-old carton of beef and broccoli from our regular Chinese place. I dumped the B & B out of the white and red carton onto a plastic plate and stuck it in the microwave, watching it go round and round while happily munching on my Ruffles. After the microwave beeped, I pulled out the now hot and bubbly mass of food, grabbed a spork, and made my way to the front room. I plopped down on our faded green plaid couch and turned on a TiVo-ed episode of So You Think You Can Dance. I ate my fill and watched as each couple performed one after another and slowly but surely, my full stomach and a contemporary piece to The Man Who Can't be Moved by The Script lulled me to sleep.
I know it makes no sense,
What else can I do?
How can I move on
When I'm still in love with you...
I was jolted awake by a loud pounding on my front door. I ignored it, wanting to be lulled into the peaceful oblivion that sleep provided. Then doorbell rang. RINGRINGRING
"Miss! We need you to open up!" Even in my sleep-induced stupor, I could tell it was a deep voice, laced with authority. Whoever was speaking was used to being in charge. But I wasn't opening it unless it was my mom or the police. Seeing as my mom was currently on a plane over the Atlantic and the voice obviously came from a guy, I was about 99% sure it wasn't my mom. Unless she got a sex change...that would be weird and unexpected. But I digress.
"Are you the police?" Hey, you can't be too safe.
"No, we're with Child Protective Services. We've received a few complaints about this residence from the neighborhood."
I snarled and made my way over to door and yanked it open.
"Complaints? What--" The last thing I remember from that day is this thought running through my head: Damn chloroform...
"...Hey Zero! I think she's waking up!" Oh God...my head hurt. There were bright lights above my head, blinding me. They were the kind you only see at school...and wherever I was. Where was I? I tried to sit up. Oh, bad idea. I slumped back down onto the pillow under me.
"Hey, you need to stay down." A voice was speaking to me, slightly deep with a certain lilt to it. I tried to look past the blurriness in my squinting eyes to the speaker, but all I could see was a head of dark hair and white light behind it. Was I dead?
"No, you're not dead." Crap. I said that out loud. I blinked a couple times, the picture before me sharpening. I turned my head to see a dark-haired, green-eyed boy who looked to be no older than 17 sitting on a bed about 3 feet away from me, his elbows resting on his knees. "Hi." He waved, wiggling his fingers.
"Who are you? I don't know you." My wall instantly went up.
He laughed; it was breathy, no more than a chuckle. "Of course you don't. I'm from New York and you're from Ohio."
That threw me for a loop. "Okay. One, how do you know where I'm from? And two, answer my goddamn question." I put my hand up to my head and closed my eyes, trying to ward off the giant headache I knew was coming.
YOU ARE READING
Disappearing DayTeen Fiction
Taken from her home by a top-secret government agency, 16 year-old Taylor Hernandez is definitely out of her element. Treated like lab rats owned by a man who has a God complex, she and the people she meets during her time in the JSTF must find a wa...