FireFlies Chapter 1 part 4

Demi, Nick's co-worker, came into his office wearing skinny jeans, platform pumps, and a white blouse tucked into her jeans at the waistline. She beamed when she saw Nick, and then sat across from him. "I didn't think you'd come in today," she said.

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't I?" Then he laughed. "I sort of own this art gallery, Demi."

Demi tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Never mind," she mumbled.

Nick and Demi were like brother and sister. The two were inseparable from the start; they worked together from the moment Nick opened the gallery and ever since, she became practical family. She was a sweetheart; gentle and caring. Sympathetic. She actually had baptized Ollie. And she got along perfectly with Selena. It just worked out naturally.

"Now, shouldn't you be helping some clients?" Nick inquired.

She sighed. "I just wanted to know if you and Selena would like to go out for some drinks tonight. You know, hang loose. Have some fun for once in your life . . .? Just a suggestion, you know," she added between giggles.

Nick shrugged, trying to hide his hurt at Selenas name. "I'll get back to you on that."

Demi nodded, not asking any questions. She knew better. "Okay."

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Ollie hated the school's cafeteria. It was big enough that you could hear the echoes of the laughing kids voices. They bounced off the walls and into your ears. The lunch aides pretended to care about you, but they really didn't.

One of the things that bothered her the most was that all the tables were occupied. Once you sit at a table, thats your table. You can't move around, alternating seats every day at lunch. But sometimes, people can kick you out of the table.

Like Delia did to Ollie.

___________________

Ollie had known Delia was upset at her. It was obvious; the look in her eyes, the way she ignored her questions. But instead of asking, she bought her hamburger and French fries on the hot lunch line and walked her way to her usual seat, right across from Ollie and Angela Moss. She made her way to the table, a blonde girls back facing her. She was sitting in her seat.

"Um . . .," Ollie said, clearing her throat. "That's MY seat."

The girl turned around. It was Monica from Biology. She rolled her eyes. "No it isn't, Ollie," she snarled. "Delia said you don't sit here anymore."

Ollie's brown eyes met those of Delia's. She had a mean smirk on her face. Her lips were moving, telling Ollie something she didn't want to her. Blocking her out, she made her way to another table—a table that was empty; a table where people questioned her continuously why she was sitting there, and not with Delia and her other friends.

Her answer was simple. She didn't know.

___________________

Ollie's dad had packed her lunch that morning when she was taking a bath. He labeled the bag: OLIVIA . She rolled her eyes; she hated her name so much. She searched it online once, and it meant "elf army". What sort of name was that? She preferred being called Ollie. In the beginning of the school year, she always pulled her teacher aside before the attendance roll call, to make sure they called her Ollie Jonas, and not Olivia.

Nick packed her a ham sandwich on wheat bread, a water bottle, and an apple. As she took out her paper napkin, she recognized her father's handwriting.

'Ollie:

You have soccer practice this afternoon. I'll pick you up earlier than usual; you have a dentist appointment at four thirty. Got any suggestions for dinner? Its just me and you tonight. Moms gonna be at a meeting. Love, Dad.'

She sighed, crumpling the note with her hand. "Did you really expect Mom to be home, Daddy?" she whispered to herself as she stood up, throwing his note into the garbage bin