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Description
                                                 Chapter 2
     The day continued on just as every other day of my high school life. It was ridiculously long, involved the usual scream time at lunch, because what else can you do when everyone’s talking and you can’t even hear the person next to you?
     It ended the same as every other day too. Sitting around, making faces, wondering why the dumb newspaper hasn’t come out yet. I swear, there hasn’t been one paper we put out this year that hasn’t been sent to press on time. If this were my yearbook class, we’d have fines coming out our asses.
     So now I’m sitting at home, Tigger propped up on my lap (and good lord is this cat heavy!), eating some Mac n’ cheese and reading over the latest version of the manuscript of my novel. Tigger is purring so loud that he’s vibrating on my legs. Weird…
     Ping! An orange bar flashes on the bottom of my screen and I click it hastily. It’s an instant message from Alla. I don’t know what I’d do without instant messaging. Geeze, it goes down for one day and I flip out and almost have a heart attack and bug the crap out of my dad to fix it.

     Cheezus: Kitty Kat!

     My fingers tap at the keys as I type. I’m a pretty good typer. Better than my dad at least. It’s funny to listen to the difference between the two of us when we type. My dad’s over in the corner, pluckin’ at the keys with two, maybe three fingers, and I’m fingers are flying over the keyboard like phoosh! I wish someone would record it and put it on YouTube because it’s so funny.

     Kat-the-Ripper: Alla! What’s up?
     Cheezus: Nuttin much. Just chillin. You?
     Kat-the-Ripper: Same here. Readin’ over my novel. Nothin’ too important.
     Cheezus: Want to see if you can come over? I’m dying of boredom.

     I smirk as I type my next response. Of course I want to come over. I love Alla’s house, even though we’d like to bang her siblings’ heads in a solid concrete wall till we can see their brains. Oh boy, I need help. Wanting to see brains of young ones…I have got to stop watching so many horror films.

     Kat-the-Ripper: Yep, yep! Gimme ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. I might have to gas up my car. I forgot to look to see if I needed gas this morning.
     Cheezus: lol, nice. See you soon!

     I x out of the conversation and shut everything off. Novel is saved, the music paused, I’m ready to go. I grab my keys off the designated thumbtack on my wall and skip down the stairs, Tigger following like an obedient little minion.
     My car is still really new. It’s shiny and dark blue and I named it Alice. I think it’s a sweet little name for a sweet little car. Until you start it, then it’s like a demon because it picks up speed really super fast. I’ve got the Apple logo sticker on my back window along with a bumper sticker that says ‘I’m with the vampires of course,’ because well, I am. Who doesn’t love vampires these days?
     The tank of gas is full (thank goodness) and I turn the heat on instantly. Having been sitting on my driveway for days now, it’s freezing inside. Even for Las Vegas, the winters get rather cold. It gets windy and cold and miserable and all kinds of other not fun words.
     My phone vibrates in the cup holder as I get on the freeway. Alla doesn’t live far away, but far enough that it’s faster to take the 215 and that she needs a zone variance to go to our school. But that’s ok. She’s an awesome friend and it’s totally worth the drive.
     4-3-2-1. I punch in the numbers to her gate code ten minutes later (ok, seriously. Couldn’t they have come up with a better set of numbers? Like intruders aren’t going to guess that one!) and get the ‘Please Enter!’ from the masculine male voice out of the box. I always used to think when I was a little kid that an actual man lived in there. Guess not.
     Make a right, then a quick loop around at the end of the cul-de-sac, and bam. I’m at Alla’s house. She smirks down at me from her window and tosses down the house key. God, us teens are so lazy we don’t even unlock the door for our friends anymore. How sad.
     I’m not even ten steps in the house when her little brother attacks me. He’s like a little hip piranha or something, because his arms go around my waist (that’s all he can reach) and tighten in a death grip.
     “KAT! KAT! KAT!” he yells.
     “Darren! Leave her alone!” Alla yells from upstairs. I can hear her music from where I’m standing. Looks like I’m getting more Buckcherry today. Nice.
     “Can I have the lower part of my body back Darren?” I ask nicely. I used to do a lot of babysitting, so I’m used to detaching young children from my legs and hips and arms and hair. He gives me one last squeeze before letting go and darting across the house.
     I jog up the stairs two at a time, stop to pet her kitty at the top, and make a left then down the hallway to her room. Alla’s room isn’t hard to spot out from the rest of others—it’s the only clean one. Currently her walls are brown with leopard prints all over them (we’re painting her room this weekend—bubbles! Yeah!) and she’s got her artwork posted all over her door. She’s like this amazing artist, I swear. She drew my book characters once and I called her a thief because it was like she stole them right out of my head. It was crazy.

Description
                                                 Chapter 2
     The day continued on just as every other day of my high school life. It was ridiculously long, involved the usual scream time at lunch, because what else can you do when everyone’s talking and you can’t even hear the person next to you?
     It ended the same as every other day too. Sitting around, making faces, wondering why the dumb newspaper hasn’t come out yet. I swear, there hasn’t been one paper we put out this year that hasn’t been sent to press on time. If this were my yearbook class, we’d have fines coming out our asses.
     So now I’m sitting at home, Tigger propped up on my lap (and good lord is this cat heavy!), eating some Mac n’ cheese and reading over the latest version of the manuscript of my novel. Tigger is purring so loud that he’s vibrating on my legs. Weird…
     Ping! An orange bar flashes on the bottom of my screen and I click it hastily. It’s an instant message from Alla. I don’t know what I’d do without instant messaging. Geeze, it goes down for one day and I flip out and almost have a heart attack and bug the crap out of my dad to fix it.

     Cheezus: Kitty Kat!

     My fingers tap at the keys as I type. I’m a pretty good typer. Better than my dad at least. It’s funny to listen to the difference between the two of us when we type. My dad’s over in the corner, pluckin’ at the keys with two, maybe three fingers, and I’m fingers are flying over the keyboard like phoosh! I wish someone would record it and put it on YouTube because it’s so funny.

     Kat-the-Ripper: Alla! What’s up?
     Cheezus: Nuttin much. Just chillin. You?
     Kat-the-Ripper: Same here. Readin’ over my novel. Nothin’ too important.
     Cheezus: Want to see if you can come over? I’m dying of boredom.

     I smirk as I type my next response. Of course I want to come over. I love Alla’s house, even though we’d like to bang her siblings’ heads in a solid concrete wall till we can see their brains. Oh boy, I need help. Wanting to see brains of young ones…I have got to stop watching so many horror films.

     Kat-the-Ripper: Yep, yep! Gimme ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. I might have to gas up my car. I forgot to look to see if I needed gas this morning.
     Cheezus: lol, nice. See you soon!

     I x out of the conversation and shut everything off. Novel is saved, the music paused, I’m ready to go. I grab my keys off the designated thumbtack on my wall and skip down the stairs, Tigger following like an obedient little minion.
     My car is still really new. It’s shiny and dark blue and I named it Alice. I think it’s a sweet little name for a sweet little car. Until you start it, then it’s like a demon because it picks up speed really super fast. I’ve got the Apple logo sticker on my back window along with a bumper sticker that says ‘I’m with the vampires of course,’ because well, I am. Who doesn’t love vampires these days?
     The tank of gas is full (thank goodness) and I turn the heat on instantly. Having been sitting on my driveway for days now, it’s freezing inside. Even for Las Vegas, the winters get rather cold. It gets windy and cold and miserable and all kinds of other not fun words.
     My phone vibrates in the cup holder as I get on the freeway. Alla doesn’t live far away, but far enough that it’s faster to take the 215 and that she needs a zone variance to go to our school. But that’s ok. She’s an awesome friend and it’s totally worth the drive.
     4-3-2-1. I punch in the numbers to her gate code ten minutes later (ok, seriously. Couldn’t they have come up with a better set of numbers? Like intruders aren’t going to guess that one!) and get the ‘Please Enter!’ from the masculine male voice out of the box. I always used to think when I was a little kid that an actual man lived in there. Guess not.
     Make a right, then a quick loop around at the end of the cul-de-sac, and bam. I’m at Alla’s house. She smirks down at me from her window and tosses down the house key. God, us teens are so lazy we don’t even unlock the door for our friends anymore. How sad.
     I’m not even ten steps in the house when her little brother attacks me. He’s like a little hip piranha or something, because his arms go around my waist (that’s all he can reach) and tighten in a death grip.
     “KAT! KAT! KAT!” he yells.
     “Darren! Leave her alone!” Alla yells from upstairs. I can hear her music from where I’m standing. Looks like I’m getting more Buckcherry today. Nice.
     “Can I have the lower part of my body back Darren?” I ask nicely. I used to do a lot of babysitting, so I’m used to detaching young children from my legs and hips and arms and hair. He gives me one last squeeze before letting go and darting across the house.
     I jog up the stairs two at a time, stop to pet her kitty at the top, and make a left then down the hallway to her room. Alla’s room isn’t hard to spot out from the rest of others—it’s the only clean one. Currently her walls are brown with leopard prints all over them (we’re painting her room this weekend—bubbles! Yeah!) and she’s got her artwork posted all over her door. She’s like this amazing artist, I swear. She drew my book characters once and I called her a thief because it was like she stole them right out of my head. It was crazy.