Turtles. (Not a story about turtles), chapter 3
Will pulled into the driveway of their new house. It was big. It was nice. But whatever.(For all of you who hold that agaisnt me!) Margaret turned the lock. "Oh my Gosh, it's so beautiful!" she squealed. April looked around. It didn't look bad, but it didn't look too great, either. "This is weird, parents. Can we leave?" she quickly said. Her mom looked at her, smiling eerily.
"No, silly! We're staying! You'll LOVE it here!"
She smiled sarcastically at her mom, "Yeah, it'll be fucking peachy!"
"Don't use that language with me."
"Fine, where's my room?" I said, looking up at the stairs. Her mom came to her and grabbed her arm.
"It's nice to see you being such a good sport!" she smiled.
"You should stop mistaking sarcasm for other things."
She led April up to her room and April turned the doorknob. It was an off-white with sheer curtains that were blowing. Her parents had bought all new furniture. It was nice. Better than her old room which was pretty goddamn shitty. It was, like, purple.
Her mom left her alone and she lay down on her bed. It was all poufy. She liked it. Oh my Lord, call the authorities, she likes it. How-leeeeeeeeee shit! She saw her closet was big and she went into it. There was something scrawled in the corner. She got closer and read it, Billie Joe Armstrong is an ASSHOLE!, Someone kill Billie Joe!, Billie Joe should go fuck his mom!. Wow, she thought. This chick must really hate him. She went back and sat on her bed and looked out the window. It was nice outside. She got up and ran down the stairs. "Mom, I'm going out!" she yelled to her mom. "Okay, sweetheart!" she yelled back. She slipped on her Converse and tied them up. She was the only person that she knew that took time to tie up their shoes.
She turned the doorknob and went out. It was chilly-ish. The kind of weather she liked. It looked like it was going to rain. She looked down at herself. She was wearing a red long-sleeved shirt with black Dickies and a black zip-up Roxy sweater. Nothing white. Good. she thought to herself. She walked down her driveway and onto the sidewalk. It had started spitting outside, so it was a little wet. She heard some guys talking and yelling.
"Hey, it's a girl!" one of the guys yelled and she looked up. There were three of them. She thought it came from the one to the far right. He had blue eyes and brown hair. He was cute. She smiled shortly. The guy then said, "Hey. What are you doing?" She looked her right and then at him, "Walking around." "Okay, so.... my name's Tre Cool! Or Frank Edwin Wright III. That's Mike Pritchard--" "Dirnt!" "Mike Pritchard, and that's Billie Joe Armstrong." Her eyes widened. Holy shit, it's THAT guy. "Hi." "Soooo... You wanna hang with us?" Tre asked. She was afraid to say no and Tre WAS so nice, she had to say yes. "Uhhh, sure. What are we doing?" "Going over to the Gilman. Wanna shake on there? Or we can do something else?" Billie Joe said. I looked at him, disgusted. He's probably terrible... But pretty damn good-looking. But still terrible. Can't overlook the bad by the good. "Yeah, we can go there." she said.
"No, silly! We're staying! You'll LOVE it here!"
She smiled sarcastically at her mom, "Yeah, it'll be fucking peachy!"
"Don't use that language with me."
"Fine, where's my room?" I said, looking up at the stairs. Her mom came to her and grabbed her arm.
"It's nice to see you being such a good sport!" she smiled.
"You should stop mistaking sarcasm for other things."
She led April up to her room and April turned the doorknob. It was an off-white with sheer curtains that were blowing. Her parents had bought all new furniture. It was nice. Better than her old room which was pretty goddamn shitty. It was, like, purple.
Her mom left her alone and she lay down on her bed. It was all poufy. She liked it. Oh my Lord, call the authorities, she likes it. How-leeeeeeeeee shit! She saw her closet was big and she went into it. There was something scrawled in the corner. She got closer and read it, Billie Joe Armstrong is an ASSHOLE!, Someone kill Billie Joe!, Billie Joe should go fuck his mom!. Wow, she thought. This chick must really hate him. She went back and sat on her bed and looked out the window. It was nice outside. She got up and ran down the stairs. "Mom, I'm going out!" she yelled to her mom. "Okay, sweetheart!" she yelled back. She slipped on her Converse and tied them up. She was the only person that she knew that took time to tie up their shoes.
She turned the doorknob and went out. It was chilly-ish. The kind of weather she liked. It looked like it was going to rain. She looked down at herself. She was wearing a red long-sleeved shirt with black Dickies and a black zip-up Roxy sweater. Nothing white. Good. she thought to herself. She walked down her driveway and onto the sidewalk. It had started spitting outside, so it was a little wet. She heard some guys talking and yelling.
"Hey, it's a girl!" one of the guys yelled and she looked up. There were three of them. She thought it came from the one to the far right. He had blue eyes and brown hair. He was cute. She smiled shortly. The guy then said, "Hey. What are you doing?" She looked her right and then at him, "Walking around." "Okay, so.... my name's Tre Cool! Or Frank Edwin Wright III. That's Mike Pritchard--" "Dirnt!" "Mike Pritchard, and that's Billie Joe Armstrong." Her eyes widened. Holy shit, it's THAT guy. "Hi." "Soooo... You wanna hang with us?" Tre asked. She was afraid to say no and Tre WAS so nice, she had to say yes. "Uhhh, sure. What are we doing?" "Going over to the Gilman. Wanna shake on there? Or we can do something else?" Billie Joe said. I looked at him, disgusted. He's probably terrible... But pretty damn good-looking. But still terrible. Can't overlook the bad by the good. "Yeah, we can go there." she said.
