Eight

As I was wallowing in self-pity of how socially-paralyzed I was, my phone made that familiar buzzing that alerted me to each incoming text. Glancing down at the device, I was pleased to see the name I had been waiting on – Melanie Frostwood.

Licking my lips, a nervous habit, I opened the message and read it over a few times.

I'm on the moon...join me.

What did that mean? She was on the moon. As it pains me to say, I was not as up-to-date on current urban vernacular. Be that as it may, I wasn't about to admit to her that I had not even the slightest idea of what she was talking about. So, with my pride intact, I lied.

Sure.

Her response came a lot sooner this time and I was grateful for not having to wait another three hours for her.

Meet me at the middle school in a half.

I didn't bother with responding this time. The way she worded it, or the way she spoke in general, let me know it was not a request. Melanie Frostwood did not ask for anything really. She was full of demands, that I was about to learn.

I pulled on my jeans from earlier in the day, glancing at the clock on the wall to determine the time. Eleven thirty-seven. Not exactly a time my parents would approve of me leaving the house. So, slipping into my hoodie, I tip toed around my house as best I could until I reached the front door, confident that no one had seen nor heard me. I opened the door as slowly as I could and slipped out just as slowly, closing it behind me. I hurried across the lawn, my car keys in hand, and hoped into the red Nissan Altima parked in the driveway, taking it down the road and twenty minutes away from my

The End

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