Young Writers Society

Oakley honked the car horn for the third time. She was parked outside of her best friend Max's house. Her and Max were supposed to go out for what would have been brunch if not for Oakley having slept in.

The house was a long pale blue trailer with black shingles. It had a window on the front that stared into the TV room, which usually displayed The Walking Dead or Grey's Anatomy or some other popular show Max liked to watch.

Max was running down the driveway, fumbling to hang her purse strap over her shoulder. She was wearing a knee length unicorn print skirt and a pink V-neck that had a cupcake on it with the words "Bad Bitch" as sprinkles. It reminded Oakley of Melanie Martinez's style. Her hair was dark, reaching just below her jawline.

Max hopped into the car, flattening her skirt as she sat, "You're SO late. I'm not even sorry I took a little long to get out the door."

"Good morning to you, too." She replied as she put the car in gear and began driving down the street.

"Actually," Maxine protested, "it's 'good afternoon'. I can't believe you slept that long. I mean, what time did you even get to bed?"

"Around twelve, I think." The nightmare of the crash flowed back into her mind. She pushed the thought away. "You still want to go to Gram's?" Oakley asked.

She was referring to a small cafe called "Gram's Tea House" which served different kinds of pastries, sandwiches and other lunch items. It was a cute little place if you wanted to quickly pick up a snack on the run. Though, the two girls acted like it was any other restaurant, not just a small tea house.

"Definitely. I love the iced tea they have there. So refreshing." Maxine replied.

Oakley shook her head, "It's lemonade, Max. Not iced tea."

"Right, right," she rolled her eyes, "Tomato tamato, potato patato. Just focus on driving."

* * *

Gram's wasn't very busy, as usual. There was only one other person in the cafe, but he was typing away on his laptop. He probably hadn't noticed they walked in.

"I mean, does she really think that she wouldn't get caught? It was a fifty. A fifty dollar bill. If Mom found out that Jaelynn had her girly little fingers in Mom's purse reaching for a fifty, she would freak out. Like, FREAK." Max whined. She crossed her arms over her chest and fell back against her seat, but it only took a second for her to come back to the table. "I can't believe she did that. A five or a ten, she could probably get away with. But a fifty? I wouldn't even try to take a twenty. That kid is messed up, Oakley. Messed up."

A waitress came by with our drinks, handing them out from a tray. "Here are your two lemonades. Do you need any more time looking at the menu?"

"I mean, that chick is crazy. Ker. Ay. Zee." Max ignored the waitress, continuing to talk, "I mean really. I can't believe she's my sister." Oakley gave a sympathetic smile to the girl standing awkwardly at the table, as if to say we just need a little more time.

"Jaelynn is really that bad?" Oakley took a sip of her drink. The mix of lemon and cucumber tickled her taste buds.

"YES." She sighed, ran a hand of fingers through her hair, then leaned against the table, "Did you know she's dating? She. Jaelynn. Dating. She's like, thirteen, and knows absolutely nothing about anything. At all. And she's dating. Dating."

Max used her mouth when she talked, Oakley thought, like everything was very intense, even if it was just to say "I don't like potatoes" or something simple. Her eyes and eyebrows moved a lot too. She just seemed to use her face much more than a regular person when she talked. She was very... enthusiastic.

"His name's Braedyn. With an E where the Y should be, and the Y where the E should be. Like, what is going on with this planet? And she wants to go to a party with him. Tonight. And of course, Mom says yes because she wants her to get 'out there,' and 'have fun,' and 'be social.' But it's with Braedyn. She's going with him. Who knows what they'll be doing?" Her hands were gesturing all over the place. That was one thing Oakley knew about Max. Never stand right beside her when she was talking, or be prepared to get hit.

"She's thirteen, right?"

"Well, yeah. But she wears lipstick and foundation and all these yucky things that she doesn't have to wear."

"Max, don't you wear all those things?"

"Yes, but I'm sixteen. She's thirteen. That's a lot of distance."

Oakley smiled and shook her head, "You shouldn't have anything to worry about. I think that thirteen-year-olds just want to hold hands and call themselves girlfriend and boyfriend. I don't think they'd be doing anything you should be worried about."

Max rolled her eyes, "Yeah, she's thirteen, but she's my sister. I'll probably just end up worrying about her all night."

The waitress came back to our table, with a large tight smile on her face, "Ready to order?"

"Yes," Oakley said before Max could continue rambling, "I'd like the taco soup, please."

Max fluttered her eyelashes at the waitress, "And I'd like the chocolate cake."

"Please," Oakley added. She was sure that if she didn't, the waitress would spit in their food.

"Right," Max smiled, "Please." But she dropped the smile when the girl walked away, "What am I going to do?"

"Well," Oakley suggested clinically, "you could come over to my house. Judge me silently as I read the sixth book of my series. Watch me draw, and erase. And redraw. And erase. And —"

Max interrupted, "Though that all sounds very tempting, I have another idea in mind." She grinned, "What if you and I went to Howler's tonight?"

Howler's was a club that apparently was the best place to find fun, according to Max. However, Max and Oakley's definitions of fun weren't exactly alike.

"Howler's?" Oakley asked.

"Yeah! Everyone is talking about going tonight, and everyone is going to be there. And we should be there, too."

"Howler's isn't exactly my place, Max."

"I know, Oakley. I know, Oaks. But we girls gotta stick together. And this'll be fun. Don't you want to have fun?"

"Max..."

"I know, I know. But everyone will be there. And if you don't go then I don't go, and I really want to go." She whined.

Oakley opened her mouth to speak when a voice interrupted her, "Howler's, eh?"

She looked up to see a boy in an apron leaning against Max's seat. He was smiling, showing off white teeth. His hair was a shiny white, and Oakley was more than sure that she had never seen him before. His name tag read "Silven."

"Yeah," Max spat, "What do you know about it?"

"Not a whole lot," he replied, "I've been there a couple times. It just, it tends to get a little rough sometimes. I don't know if it's your kind of place."

"Oh yeah? And what is our kind of place?" Max growled.

Before he could reply, Oakley said, "Your name tag."

"What?" He asked.

"It says Silven. Is that a last name?"

He chuckled, "No. Just my name."

"That's a pretty cool name," Max said in a child-like voice, suddenly interested.

"Uh yeah," he replied, taking a seat beside Max. Oakley saw his eyes flick to the crack of her friend's V-neck for less than a second, and she suddenly felt conscious of how covered she was.

"But, I still don't think Howler's is your type of hangout. You might just be better at home working on the art of yours." He blinked, his eyes on Oakley. She had never told him she was an artist.

She was about to respond when she noticed a familiar dark figure at the window. He was wearing dark jeans despite the heat and a dark hoodie. His hair was dark as night, and he seemed so out of place, a burnt marshmallow next to all the untouched ones.

Silven turned around to see where she was staring, and cursed under his breath so quietly that Oakley almost didn't hear him. He smiled at the girls, excused himself, and got up to leave. He went straight to the door, turning around the corner and out of sight. The man went with him.

"That was weird. That dude, he looked so sketchy. Kinda hot, though." Max babbled.

The man, he was so familiar. Oakley didn't seem to remember him from anywhere, but then she realized. She had seen him before. He'd been staring at her at a convenience store not far from her apartment a few days before. She had completely forgotten about it; she just thought that he had mistaken her for someone else.

But, Silven knows him, she thought, and he knew about my art. Something's not right...