Chapter Two

Madison "Missy" Rae Crough. 

That's my name.

                                                                                                                                                             

Twelve.

That's the total number of people I've killed in the past 4 years.

All ex-boyfriends, and people I have shared mutual hate with.

.....

Just kidding.

....

Maybe.

                                                                                                                                                             

It was about Friday afternoon that things got weird for me. Normally Fridays are supposed to be those nights you party till you can't party no more. Not for me. Not tonight. I was bound and determined to hunt down the a*****e who stole my bike while I was in the bookstore.

Minutes after finding my broken lock on the ground, I'm on the phone with my father.

"Dad, come pick me up. I'm at Borders."

"What the hell? Don't you have a bike?" there's a sense of irritation in his voice, as if his jobless a*s has something to do on a Friday afternoon.

"Dad, just come pick me up."

"Maddie, I mean come on. I just don't understand why I have to come get you, when you have a bike to ride on home." By this time, I had already been crying a bit before I called him, so naturally I was sniffling just a little. He obviously heard it even though I was trying to hide it. "Are you crying? Maddie I'll come pick you up, it's not that serious to cry over."

"Dad! Just come pick me up at Borders now!!"

"Haha, 'kay Maddie." Click.

By the time he got there, I had composed myself and picked up my broken bike lock, sitting on the curb moping. He left the engine running in the Nissan and walks over to me, standing with his hands on his hips and just stares down at me with a "dad grin".

"So do you have..." he raises his eyebrow and glances around, scanning for the bike that isn't even there. "Do you need help walking, or something?" His sly smirk raised up his big cheeks ever so slightly. All I could do was look at him and glare, showing him the broken lock in my extended hand.

"Pshh. Haha! Maddie, see! I told you that lock was a piece of s**t! I had said not to buy that cheep a*s thing!"

"What do you mean? Why couldn't you buy it?!"

"'Kay, well let's just go home, kiddo."

Pulling into the driveway though, I can't help but long to be a child again. With my mom still in the picture. I could go running into the house and find her in the kitchen baking some cookies... or some of her special almond rocha candy. Mmm. Memories. Aside from the cookies and candy, what I would really want is a hug. One that would tell me everything was going to be okay. I'd never get that from my dad. Not anymore.

It was while I was in my room that I hear my dad talking to my (wicked) stepmother downstairs.

"Hey honey!" There's a pause, all I can think is that they kissed. Barf. "Guess what happened to Maddie today!" His almost cheerful tone made me want to run downstairs and slap him across his face.

"Oh god, did she get herself pregnant?" I can hear the disgust in her voice, of course I'm sure my dad is immune to it. Then. "Cause Larry, that's not funny." Well, I guess she's playing "nice step mommy" today. I hear my dad laughing.

"She lost her bike!" I could feel my face getting red hot as I shoved myself up off of my bed and stormed downstairs.

"NO DAD! My bike got f****n' stolen!" He gets up off the couch and walks into the dining room where I had decided to place myself between the two of them talking.

"It's okay, Maddie." 

He has the audacity to pat me on my head, which I only wish I could shift right now. I'd bite his hand right off. Before I really have time to react, he retreats up the stairs to his room. Naturally, my step mom couldn't give two s***s about me, gives me a look, and returns back into the kitchen. I get up and walk out to the front porch, slamming the front door behind me. Hard. I sit on the front porch, and that's where I get my brilliant plan. I grab a bunch of small gravel rocks from our little garden planter, throwing them one at a time at his truck. Tink, tink, tink.

Dad is always looking out of his bedroom window at the (normally) lifeless street we live on, so I keep throwing rocks at the Nissan to try to get him mad. That's when I hear his annoying "parental sarcastic" voice drift down to me.

"Um, I'm pretty sure that's not going to cause much damage." I turn and glare up at him with the meanest possible look I can muster up. All he does is look at me and laugh though.

"Hey Connor!" Oh no. Please don't tell me it's my ex, Connor Sykes. Somehow, even through our break up over a year ago, he managed to keep one thing out of our relationship. A friendship with my father. Which gives him right to just randomly invite himself over, since my dad doesn't care and seems to enjoy hanging out with someone I hate (and haven't managed to kill yet) rather than me.

Connor is 6'1 with long wavy dirty blonde hair. Kind of like a Justin Bieber haircut. D****e.

"Hey Larry!" Then he just looks down at me, waving like the idiot he acts up to be occasionally. I give him the evil look too though, cause I would prefer it that he wasn't here. Maybe rather falling off of the tallest skyscraper downtown. He too, just laughs at me, looking to my dad.

"Lets watch the Steelers game. Liz (my stepmother) is making us lemon chicken, riceroni and broccoli."

Connor hesitates and looks back at me, only to look at my dad again pointing his finger at me.

"Should I just, like, leave her?" Once again, for the billionth time today, dad laughs.

"Yeah, yeah. You know she's just throwing a tantrum." The look on Connor's face says it all, but I'm too late before he's already started whispering to my dad like I'm not there beside him. (not to mention, in arm's distance)

"Is she acting her shoe size again?"

"Eight and a half. Yup!"

                                                                                                                                                            

F**k. My. Life.

This is the bullshit my "normal" (human) self has to deal with.

                                                                                                                                                             

Once dinner was over, they continued to linger at the dining table. All seeming to stare at me. I wanted to scream at them, well, Connor in particular. He shouldn't have ever come over in the first place. I didn't want him around anymore. Why did my dad not care about how I felt about this f*****g guy? No sympathy whatsoever! I may have broken us up, but it still kinda stung every time he showed his face around our neighborhood.

"Goodnight." I get up, not bothering to push my seat in as I walk to the staircase.

"Where you going? Aren't you going to say goodbye to me before I leave?" Gritting my teeth, I ignore Connor's snide comment and trudge upstairs. The house seemed so much quieter without Liz's demonic minions running around the house. It was quite lifeless in the hallways, without them frantically running around screaming their heads off while they horsed around. 

As for me, I just wanted to lock myself in my room... and cry.

So I did.

Author's Note

How was that for a second chapter? :) Not much having to do with the plot still, just building the story for now. :]

Reviews

[Kaylor Mason]

Oh geez . . . that was wonderful and a little heart-wrenching. Brings back memories of my own teenage years (though they were very different, seeing as to how I'm a guy and all). Still, the pains and grief of teenage years--that never completely leaves the mind. I can tell you I wouldn't be a teen again if you bribed me with a million bucks! As you grow up and get your own life, it does get a lot better.
I really think this book has promise--the suspense it has keeps me wanting to read the next chapter, and that's a major part of being a great writer.

[emilythestrange]

again,this is fab.want to read more,but im tooooooooooooo busy.bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

[EMF]

Really well done. Sharp, funny and realistic, and so what if it doesn't advane the plot. Often it's the more realistic bits that make the book. Not the running, shooting and dying. Keep plugging away, and jsut do what feels right.

[Coyote Poetry]

I like her anger over losing her bike. I like the phone call and the way you are telling the story. Direct and honest feel to the story. A very good chapter.
Coyote