Young Writers Society

Sometimes I think my sister hates me.

I'm sure it's because I'm something she can't fix. Ever since Mom and Dad died, Autumn started cleaning, organizing, and making things perfect. Our house has been spotless for three years.

Gran and I worry about her. Most of the time I worry more than an actual person should. And even though I know she hates me, I can't stop worrying. Maybe it's because, once upon a time, Autumn and I were best friends. You can say she was my only friend.

I knew instantly that all this was because of Mom and Dad. Gran knew it too. She and I were almost as close as Autumn and I used to be. And after Gran came to live with us, and my sister and I started to drift apart, Gran became my new Autumn. I could tell her anything.

So I told her about Nate Bishop.

"He's a little trouble-maker?" she asks me at breakfast.

I nod. "Yes," I say. "He drives a motorcycle. I've seen it, you know. And some girls in my homeroom told me he smokes on the roof. He's always getting in some sort of trouble all the time."

Gran takes a sip of her green tea. I can tell from her expression that she's mulling things over in her head. "Is he a good boy, Pammy?"

It's an odd question as I just explained to her all the bad things he did. But Gran always strived to see the good in people, and I wanted to be like that too.

"I don't know." I sigh and rest my chin in my palm. "I think he might be a good person if he tries. But he acts like such a tough guy that I don't think he'll be able to try."

Gran chuckles. "Typical man."

*

Charlotte, whom I call Char most of the time, thinks I should go out with him. Nate Bishop.

Char knows about these types of things, seeing as she’s had twenty-two boyfriends over the past three months (she counted; not me). I guess it’s because she’s the kind of girl boys like to go out with. Char is blonde, blue eyed, and not afraid to be outspoken. I, on the other hand, am brunette, green eyed, and meek.

Char tells me all the time I’m not like that, but I know I am. So when I got up the courage to speak to him (Nate Bishop) I felt proud of myself. But then I started to ramble, something I do often, and that pride diminishes.

“You should defiantly go out with him,” Char says repeating herself. We are seated on a bench in the school’s courtyard enjoying our lunch break. Char’s fingers are skillfully weaving a braid that she is putting in my hair. “Perfect contrast. A match made in Heaven!”

“I’m not so sure,” I say. I continue to watch the other students milling around the courtyard. Some are strolling underneath the apple blossoms with their friends, and some are eating lunch at their designated picnic tables. I was slightly happy that the rain had laid up before lunch. “He doesn’t like me, and I don’t like him. How is it a match made in Heaven?”

Because I’m sure God is not looking down on me and contemplating whether or not I’ll be with a delinquent.

“Jeez, Pam.” Char laughs. “I’m just kidding. That guy’s a moron. But Tim is defiantly not. He’s perfect.”

I frown. “Perfect?”

I didn’t like that word. Gran says no one is perfect. Everyone has their own unique flaws and personality quirks. Like Char always being too overly dramatic, or Tim’s habit of being a jerk.

“Yeah!” Char puts the finishing touches on my braid. “We were meant for each other. Like soul mates.”

“Soul… mates.” The words sound funny when I say them.

She nods. “Soul mates are destined for each other from the beginning of time.”

Mom talked about soul mates too. She told me how she, and Dad were destined for each other from the beginning of time. He was an art major, and she was working at a Starbucks. The first time she saw him she fell in love with him.

Love at first sight usually doesn’t happen to everyone. And it sure won’t happen to me.

*

It’s raining when I leave school for the day.

My umbrella is long gone so I have to use my bag for protection against the rain. As I start my long trek to the nearest bus stop, I hear a loud, roaring sound. A black blur shoots past me before I can even see what it is. The blur surprises me so much that I accidentally drop my bag into a nearby puddle.

“Oh no!” I say exasperatedly. “My bag!”

Another roaring sound rips through the air, but it’s slightly less loud then the one before it. A few seconds later, a black motorcycle pulls up beside me.

“What’s with you?” the helmeted figure asks. I can tell he is smirking even though he has a helmet on. “Your always dropping things, or letting them go.”

I pick up my bag, which is pretty much soaked through now, and hold it to my chest. I have a good idea of who this mysterious motorcycle rider is by now.

“It’s you, right?”

“By ‘you’ do you mean the guy who you ambushed yesterday?” he says sarcastically.

It is him.

“Do you need a ride?” he asks suddenly.

Huh? Is Nate Bishop asking me if I want to ride on his motorcycle? This doesn’t seem right. Maybe it’s just a big joke his friends asked him to play on me.

I bite me lip. “I… don’t know exactly…”

He revs the engine. “Make up your mind already!”

I guess I’ll just have to take my chances. If I say no he’ll probably kill me, or something.

“Okay,” I say finally. “Thank you.”

Nate points to a saddlebag attached to the left side of the motorcycle’s back wheel. I awkwardly open it, and see a helmet squished inside. I take it out, and admire the silver flames painted onto the helmet.

“Come on, woman!” Nate says impatiently. “I haven’t got all day.”

I hastily put the helmet over my head, and climb onto the motorcycle’s seat. I shouldn’t be doing this. Riding the motorcycle, I mean. I’m going to fall off, or get sick, or something else totally horrible!

“Hello?” Nate nudges me in the side with his elbow. “Hang on so you won’t take a dive on the road.”

My arms feel numb as I reluctantly wrap them around Nate’s middle. I seriously cannot feel anything. I

“Are you done?” he asks without turning his head around.

“Yes.”

Nate presses his foot down on the pedal, and I fly forward as the motorcycle speeds down the road. It feels so weird. Through my helmet I can buildings pass us so fast that they don’t even look like buildings anymore. I can hardly see the rain outside, but I can sure hear it pounding on my helmet.

I feel another jab in my side.

“Where do you live?” he shouts over the engine.

“Oakland Street!” I reply.

He nods his head, and the motorcycle takes a sharp turn to the right. I grab tighter around him, for fear of ‘taking a dive on the road’. I starting to feel sick too, so I close my eyes tightly. Suddenly the all the loud noises come to halt. I open my eyes slowly, and see my house.

“Your lucky, Pamela,” Nate says. I feel my face flush. Good thing I still have this helmet on. “I live down the street from you.”

He jerks his thumb toward the tall, run-down apartment building that is located only a few blocks away. I didn’t even think anyone lived there, or that it even was a livable environment.

“If I had to drive you all the way out to God knows where, I would have just left you for dead.”

I take off my helmet, and put it back into the saddlebag. “Thank you,” I say again.

He doesn’t say anything back to me. I take this as my cue to leave. I put my bag over my head, and run to safety of my front porch. When I look back, all I see is a cloud of exhaust.

*

“Your home already?” Gran says when she sees me come into the living room.

I sit down on the aging sofa across from where Gran is seated in her favorite rocking chair. She quirks an eyebrow at my sopping wet hair, and clothes.

“A friend brought me home,” I say quickly.

Well, it was true.

“Charlotte has a car?” Gran asks, her trademark smirk on her face.

“No,” I say slowly. Then I catch myself and say, “Tim does.”

This is true as well. Tim owns a Mercedes, something he pretty much loves much more than Charlotte (though he won’t admit it).

Gran nods. “Of course, of course.”

I run my fingers through my hair trying to make it dry. I keep doing this until I realize something. Something wasn’t in my hair that was there before.

My clip.

I dive off the couch, and start looking on the floor, the doormat, and my pockets. I couldn’t find the clip anywhere. It must have fallen off when I was riding on Nate’s bike.

“Are you okay, Pammy?” Gran asks also standing up from her chair.

“Gran…” I say hoarsely. “My clip is gone.”

*******

Thanks you to all of you who reviewed the last chapter. I appreciate your help with all of my many grammar mistakes. By the way, if you haven't already noticed, this story changes perpectives between the two main characters.

Also I need title ideas, because I'm getting tired of the one I have now. I would enjoy hearing your thoughts about that.