I stared at the crumpled up note in my hand. The black ink looked like it was dripping and seeping through the starch white paper like blood. Involuntarily, I started to shiver. What kind of cruel joke is this? Did I just accidentally attract a mass murderer with a target of emo girls by dressing like this? If so, I honestly swear to god I'm just pretending. Please don't kill me.
I flipped the paper over. There was a weird symbol on the other side, sort of like a star with a skull in the middle of it, marked with a bright red X. If I hadn't known better, I would probably think some weird secret evil clique was summoning me or something. Ha, no chance in hell right?
It was probably some kids messing around. Or Parker playing a twisted joke on me. Yep, it's definitely Parker. That kid is always trying to push my buttons in freaky ways. Hahaha. Well not this time, dude. I, Charlie the Punk Rock Queen, is not going to fall for your childish play, bastard. And you know what, I am going to confront him right this instant. Parker Drew, you are going down. Like way down. Way way down. So down that you are going to regret you were ever up. Down. (Okay, you get my point, right?)
So I held my head up high, smoothed the piece of paper out as evidence, and walked to wherever that dude wanted me to go. I stared at the note again. Behind the bleachers? Seriously? Isn't that the place where those gross cheerleaders go to make out with their boyfriends or something? (Sue me, all of my knowledge about the complicated world of high school is taken from chick flicks. They are like bibles for teenage girls.)
Actually, now that I think of it, wasn't there that movie that this girl got a note like this and was murdered behind the bleachers?
No, right?
What do you mean there is?
Nah, it's definitely not some murderer. It's Parker. He acted fishy this whole morning, with the whole 'let's stare at Charlie and pretend to look away when she looks at you' thing. That bastard was probably planning this in his head the whole time. Not that I care about him enough to monitor his every motion, of course. (But come on, that dude is dangerous. I need to be on the lookout. That was the whole reason I was looking at him. Not because of the way his floppy brown hair falls over his eye. Honest to god. Wait what, I'm actually a Buddhist? Okay, honest to Buddha.) Yep, he probably sent this cryptic message to me, and even nonchalantly asked me if I wanted to have lunch with him. Distractions, distractions. But I was definitely jot going to fall for his little trick.
With that thought in my head, I (hopefully frighteningly) stomped my combat boots hard on the grass as I took long, powerful strides across the football field. Speaking from a completely objective point of view, I looked like a badass dragon-slayer-troll-killer girl, ready to take down even the most buff quarterbacks in this whole school, so lanky Parker is definitely not a problem. (Also, I have no idea why you are saying I look like a deranged girl who walks funny. You are probably talking about someone else.)
When I finally got to behind the bleachers though, it was surprisingly empty. Except for some freshmen who were chattering excitedly on the other side of the field, there was no mass murderer, no evil clique, and most definitely, no Parker, since he was with Madison and holding her hand.
Wait, what?
I craned my neck out from where I was standing, and sure enough, there was Parker, in his usual distressed jeans, black tee, and Converses. With his arm around, you guessed it. Madison.
That estupido baboso. This was so messed up. And isn't she dating Kurt? Who just happened to be Parker's best friend? I angrily kicked at the wall, and made a dent in it with my steel-toed boots. Unsurprisingly, the soles came off, hanging open, which left me crumbling to the floor clutching my now probably broken toes, in agonizing pain. So much for 5$ thrift shop boots. These must have probably worn by someone's grandpa in World War II.
Clutching my toes, I mumbled a few colorful words. Why did I do that anyway? I shouldn't even care about who he hangs out with. He probably wrote that note so I would come here and see him parading around with a popular girl (who is also dating my brother I might add).And then just nonchalantly asked me if I wanted lunch! Seriously? I bet if I had accepted, I would be standing like a fool as he stood me up right now. (I was planning to, actually, but the death threat note was scaring me. They promised pretty hurtful consequences if I didn't show up. Yes, I did thought it was Parker who wrote the note, but hey, that was before I thought that, okay? I contradict myself really bad sometimes.) But anyways, if he thought I would crumble in pain because of his little trick, he was wrong. (Ok maybe he was right, considering I am writhing because of my broken toes. Maybe not broken, but still.) I never cared much for him anyway. So he can hang around with Madison Avery or other types of annoying brainless girls all he wants, because I am gonna hang out with cool punk rock people.
But still, the fact that I just lost my first friend besides Darla from my mom's knitting club hurted.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps coming towards me. Quickly, I stood up, brushed the dirt from my clothes and casually stood up and whipped out my phone like I meant to stand here and do cool stuff all the time. I leaned against the wall, crossed my arms in a supposedly menacing way and stared down at my very interesting home screen.
"Ah hem."
Remember how earlier I said there were no evil cliques where I was? Well, now there is.
A group of four people that looked like they could be in a motorcycle gang stood in front of me, in all their leather jackets and spiked belts glory. Compared to them, my outfit looked like a wannabe rock-band groupie. Great.
A lanky guy with a denim vest and a red mohawk, who had an air of arrogance around him that confirmed that he was indeed the leader of the group, spoke first in a rugged voice that sounded like he had too much to smoke.
"So, I'm guessing you got our note."
The guy smirked, and seized me up. The girl behind him with fire-engine-red hair and really thick bangs just looked bored and examined her cuticles. Another with bright pouffy pink hair which incredibly resembles cotton candy and too much purple eyeshadow glared at me, and despite her Hello Kitty slash Raccoon look, sent chills down my spine. The last guy, which had to be at least 2 feet tall with a black bandanna, seemed slightly chubby and the only one smiling brightly at me in the group (I wasn't going to smile back at a potential murderer though. He could be smiling at the thought of my head hanging in his living room for all I know). And all of them, I noticed, had a cloth with the symbol from the note, tied around Mohawk's arm, on both the girls' hair serving as headbands, and around Bandanna guy's ankle. Okay, what had I gotten myself into?
Hello Kitty - Raccoon girl spoke in a high-pitched voice, twirling her hair in the process. The pink was so bright that I literally felt my eyes watering from looking at it. (The tears could be because I was peeing myself with fear, though. But still, I wonder what brand of dye she uses? How many times did she bleach her hair? How does she keep it so fluffy? I'll stop now.)
"We are the Punxters, and we noticed your change today-"
"Punksters? Like P-U-N-K-S-T-E-R-S? Sorry, I have to get the spelling right, I'm writing a book about my adventures to post on Wattpad."
I interrupted, grinning brightly at them. What? Spelling is important.
HK-R (can we just call her that?) snapped her gum and rolled her eyes, annoyed, then continued. Redhead just mumbled something and went back to examining her nails.
"No, Punxters, with an x. Now, before you very rudely interrupted me-"
"Like P-U-N-K-S-T-E-R-X? Isn't that supposed to be pronounced 'punk-sterks"?
"No, Punxters-"
"Punk-sterks?"
"No, you pronounce it like this: PUNK-STERS"
"Ermm... Punk... Steers? Did I get it right?"
"OH MY FREAKING BUDDHA HOW THICK ARE YOU, IT'S PUNXTERS LIKE P U N X T E R S I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL RIP YOUR HAIR OUT-"
"Oooh, I'm a Buddhist too, thanks for the spelling instructions by the way, let me just write it down first, now, where the heck is my notepad, I swear it was just here somewhere-"
"God, can you just shut up? And Kitty, don't freak out over her."
Mohawk finally exclaimed, waving his hands between us. And I was right after all, HK-R's real name is actually Kitty. Reluctantly, she quietened down and turned to Mohawk, pouting.
"But she was making fun of me".
"I was not actually-"
Mohawk held out a hand, indicating I should stop, before turning to Kitty, whispering something in her ear, which thank the Lord, made her back down, standing next to Redhead to gossip about something. Bandanna was still grinning at me, his crooked teeth showing. Seriously, what was with this guy?
Ensuring that all was silent and his gang was under control, Mohawk finally turned to me.
"I'm Cobra, and that is Kitty, Cashmere, and Bald Eagle. We are, as Kitty had said, members of Punxters, which is spelled like P U N X T E R S, and we want to know if you're fake punk or real punk."
I just stared at them.
They stared back at me.
And then I bursted into hysterics.
"You guys are so funny - Cobra, Kitty, Cashmere, Eagle and Punxters? And sending a weird note with a creepy symbol? Man, this is the best prank I've seen in years! This is pure genius, guys!"
I sputtered out between fits of laughter. These kids are sure good at what they do. I literally rolled on the ground, holding my stomach. After what seemed like 15 good minutes, I finally managed to stop laughing and stood up straight, though I couldn't help the grin that was working its way onto my face.
None of The Punxters were laughing.
Uh oh.
Cobra raised an eyebrow.
"Care to tell us what you find so funny?"
"Oh... You guys are serious? I mean, of course you are serious, umm, I was just laughing at, er, myself, you know. Hahaha, I'm so funny."
"So, answer my question. Are you fake punk or real punk?"
Okay, what the actual freak? What do they mean fake punk or real punk? This never showed up in Google search. If I give the wrong answer, will they kill me? Bandanna, I mean Bald Eagle is really big and Kitty looks like she could dig my eyeballs out with her nails. Okay, calm down, think, think, Charlie.
"Umm... Well, that's a really interesting question, and you certainly have the right to know. Umm, so before I can say anything, I need to ponder this a bit, you see, so I'm just gonna go and I'll catch you guys later and give you your answer then. Bye!"
I turned on my feet and tried to run, but quick as an eagle (oh, the irony), Bald Eagle blocked my way, no longer smiling. He was like a gigantic brick wall with spikes on it. Screw my life.
Cobra smirked, and leaned in so close to my face that I could practically smell the smell of smoke in his breath.
"I'm going to ask you one last time, are you fake punk or real punk?"
"I....well... I don't care!"
I exclaimed, and suddenly, Bald Eagle grabbed me in a bone crushing bear hug. Okay, am I missing out on something here?
"Marshall, she doesn't care! She's real punk! Welcome to our group!"
Cobra, whose real name I just found out is Marshall, growled.
"For the last time, Bob, it's Cobra. And we don't know what she is yet so let go of her, you dumbass. And you, you gave the right answer, but we still need to test you further. Now, I need you to tell me, when was Slipknot founded, and can you name 4 Led Zeppelin albums? Also, who is the father of Glam Rock, and-"
"What are you croonies doing?"
A girl's voice suddenly interrupted. We all turned around to come face to face with a stunning girl with pale white skin and black hair, tattoos covering her body like works of art. Her eyes are grey, and there was something about her face, perhaps it was the high cheekbones, or maybe the perfectly arched eyebrow, that made her look powerful and she knew it.
After a few minutes being shocked into silence, the Punxters hurriedly crowded around her, muttering apologies.
Marshall the Cobra, now not so fearful, stared at his shoes and mumbled.
"Rhiannon, I swear we weren't doing anything wrong, i was just trying to check if she's fake punk or-"
"There is no such thing as fake punk or real punk. If there was, I would have gotten rid of you lot a long time ago, since even Barbie is jealous of your fakeness. Now, screw off before I kick all of your asses."
Kitty raised her pretty pink head and opened her mouth to protest, but Rhiannon just gave her a look that could kill.
"I said, screw off."
They immediately scurried away like scared little mice, and I can't help but smirk, and gave a little wave to Kitty, who was turning back to look at the pair of us.
Finally, Rhiannon turned to me and smiled.
"They're harmless, really. A bunch of wannabes. There's no need to be scared of them. Oh, I'm Rhiannon by the way."
"Like the Fleetwood Mac song?"
"Yup. What about you?"
"I'm Charlie. Charlie McCarthy."
"Like that kid in Peanuts?"
"Yup."
And just like that, I made myself a new friend.
Hey guys, it's me.
What do you guys think of Rhiannon? My friend said she sounded mean, and I'm a bit confused with how to portray her next. But yeah, chapter 8 is coming up soon, I already wrote it. And I know this book has like 2 readers or something, but still, I love y'all.
That's all, adios!