793Chapter Two
Confessions of a Letterbox
Monday mornings normally meant me sitting on the front steps of my veranda, perhaps doing the rushed remnants of a procrastinated homework as I waited for a lift from my best friend and her brother.
I would be frantically finishing off the answers to a series of complex equations until I could hear the distant rumble of the maroon Jeep. At that point, I would have happily skipped down the steps, hopped in the vehicle, and the three of us would cheerily drive to our prison for the next six hours, otherwise known as school.
Note how I used the word 'normally'.
'Normally' in this sense did not mean being caught red-handed the previous afternoon staring at my neighbor. A rather attractive one too, but that was besides the point.
The point was that, as a result of utter mortification from the illicit viewing, I had spent this Monday morning hiding in my house, avoiding being spotted again by the infamous Josh Mitchells. I wasn't really embarrassed at him catching me looking, but it was the thought of him probably assuming that I was a stalker, if not a jealous admirer. That was an unbearable insult to my dignity!
Much to the puzzlement of my worried parents who suspected that I had developed a strand of photophobia, I had shut all the curtains, blinds, and anything remotely transparent in my house. My wonderful hamster-wheel, which other people would call a 'brain', had informed me that by doing this Mitchells would not be able to see me.
The problem with this brilliant logic was that it applied vice versa and I had no idea if Mitchells had left or not.
Annoyed at the loophole in my ingenious plan, I moved the flowery curtain a fraction of an inch and quickly peeked out of the window – only to see his midnight blue Ferrari still parked in the driveway. Damn. Why couldn't the stupid boy, who just happened to be my next-door neighbor and Creswall High's Bachelor of the Year (for perhaps the next century or so), hurry up, finish whatever he was doing, and – keyword – LEAVE THE MANSION!
I had a distinct feeling that he was perfecting his gelled hair or choosing some designer outfit – things that I never bothered to do. Today, for an example, I had carelessly brushed my hair in a loose ponytail, blindly felt around for an item of clothing which turned out to be a baggy brown hoodie, and slipped it over my shirt and faded jeans. I never bothered with makeup – what was the point of applying an artificial layer of color when nobody would notice it and I didn't want anybody to notice me in the first place, let alone my make-up?
The smooth but unmistakable rumble of a high-powered vehicle interrupted my thoughts and I gave a silent 'Hallelujah' as I heard it speed down the street. I breathed a sigh of relief and, double-checking that the coast was clear, grabbed my patched denim bag and the eulogy off the coffee table.
One good thing that came out of yesterday afternoon's incident, I thought bitterly as I headed out and sat on the veranda steps, was that it caused me to become so humiliatingly depressed that put me in the perfect mood to write an equally depressing lament.
I took the eulogy out of its plastic sleeve and surveyed it, deciding that it wasn't so bad after all. Only it was lacking one thing: my name. Rummaging through my bag, I pulled out a dying biro and proceeded to neatly write two words that defined my existence. Brace yourself:
Lynne Chester.
I blamed the simplicity of my name on my Grandpa.
My father, being cursed since his christening with two distasteful middle names (Benedict Ambrose), vowed that his only child should never suffer the mental agony that he went through and gave me what he put as a 'nice, straightforward identification as how it always should be'. Hence I was Lynne, just simple ol' Lynne that was not short for Evelyn, Jocelyn, or other names with a 'lyn' in it as I was frequently asked.
But I supposed that 'Lynne' was perfect for an average looking girl like yours truly. I had pitch black hair that never seemed capable of reaching past my shoulders, which perhaps could be forgiven as I was slightly on the tall side if not for the fact that it was equally incapable of deciding whether it wanted to be straight or wavy. This meant that my bad hair days were frequent – and explained why the ponytail was my hair style of choice. My eyes, which had been bright emerald at birth, had for some unknown reason darkened since kindergarten and now it resembled a mixture of rich chocolate brown and deep hazel. (Once, my twin cousins aged five, having learnt the word and giggled themselves silly, decided to act their age and describe the color as 'diarrhea'. I was, however, reassured by my grandmother that my eyes were an usual and 'unique' shade of hazel, and this suited me 'very well'.). I had inherited my father's natural defense against UV radiation by tanning easily so my skin was a natural golden hue, rendering any exploration into tanning salons quite unnecessary. The only features that I thought were nice about myself were my straight, somewhat elegant nose and full lips.
Then again, my lips were pale lilac most the time and the nose isn't exactly the most appealing part of the human body…
The sound of grinding gravel alerted my senses and I looked up to see a Jeep stopping in front of me. I quickly scrambled to my feet and opened the back passenger door. Vivian was already seated there on the opposite side except-
"Viv what did you do to your hair?" I gasped, eyeing the new attraction.
Viv grinned and ran her hands down what should have been – or previously was – dishwater blond strands. Instead, there were now additional streaks of flaming scarlet and bright green, and her short hair had been layered so it covered a small proportion of the left-side of her face. I also noticed flashing reindeer earrings dangling from her ears.
"Hey I'm just getting into the Christmas spirit," she mock-pouted, crossing her arms over a 'Lord of the Rings' t-shirt.
"Well you're about two months off," I informed and sidled next to her. "It's October, Einstein."
"That's what I told her," her brother Seb rolled his eyes from the driver's seat, "but apparently the mall's Christmas decoration are up too so we all should get into the festive spirit now."
"It's true," insisted Viv earnestly. "They've put up the giant tree with stars and everything!"
"Just because a shopping center has problems with reading the calendar doesn't mean we all do," replied Seb, making a U-turn and driving down the street.
As Viv opened her mouth to retort, I leaned back into my seat and watched the Montana siblings. No doubt they were going to have another of their frequent sibling spats and, as they proceeded to do just this, I couldn't help but notice their similarities. Of course, Viv would kill me if I told her she looked like her brother so I was glad that psychics were rare and psychic best friends were even rarer.
Viv and Seb both had the same almond-shaped blue eyes and smooth dishwater blond hair. Their facial structures were also alike, smooth faces tapered to a narrow jaw, but Seb, being the male he was, was taller. However, Viv was the more eccentric of the two, with her vibrant personality and creative ideas (hence her extraordinary ability at Art), and Seb was more serious. But this was not to say that he wasn't just as interesting when he was joking around. He could be the life of a party if he felt like it. Yet when it came to clothes, they were opposites. Seb chose somewhat preppy clothes that radiated his 'cool guy' persona, whilst Viv wore just about anything random that she picked up in unheard of shops. She had the tendency of mixing-and-matching strange, and often clashing, clothes.
I had known them both since kindergarten where I first learnt that Viv was a year younger than all of us. Apparently, their mother couldn't wait any longer for a child-free day so she went and sent them both off to school at the same time with Viv aged four. Consequently, we were all in the same grade and shared a lot of our classes together at Creswall High.
They were my closest friends and currently they were in a major row that started over the seemingly peaceful Christmas.
"SEBASTIAN-JEREMY MONTANA!" Viv was shouting.
"VIVIAN-HERMIONE MONTANA!" Seb yelled back.
Evidently, they suffered the same sort of mental agony as my father – the lifelong curse of over-creative parents.
"Hey, cool it you you guys." I was always the peacemaker in these situations. "We're in a car and we don't want Seb to crash us into a pole and kill us all. Do you really want your brother's name as the last thing on your lips before you die?"
"No way," shuddered Viv and quietened down. She peered out of the window for a second then pulled a piece of paper out of her bag. "Lynne pass me your eulogy and you can read mine." She shook the piece of paper for dramatic effect. "I have a strong feeling that mine sucked. Perhaps a tribute over the bird skeleton I found on the roof was a bit lame."
I laughed and swapped papers with her. I read the eulogy – which was about the passing of a beloved uncle not a dead bird – and, on the contrary, I thought it was well-written with compelling imagery and emotion. Though I wasn't quite sure about the last two lines:
Hence amidst the ravenous Giant's tides, your sea-faring dinghy sunk,
But disappear not in my ocean of thoughts, for I will always love you dear Unc.
"It's great," said Viv after a moment of silent reading.
"Yeah," I agreed. "But I'm not too sure about the sunk/Unc part-"
"No, silly, I meant yours," corrected Viv, admiring my poem. "You've managed to really capture the mood and atmosphere."
"And it's all thanks to Josh Mitchells," I muttered darkly.
Viv's blue eyes widened. "What! Mitchells helped you with this?"
"Not exactly," and I launched into a recount of Sunday's events, raving about Mitchell's inconsideration for his neighbors – err, neighbor. By the end of it, Seb was laughing and shaking so hard that it gave an impression that the Jeep was being driven by an alcoholic. Viv, being the supportive best friend she was, frowned at her brother.
"Oh well, Mitchells always came across as a showoff to me," she said, scrunching up her nose. "And this just confirms my suspicions." Viv had always disliked such, as she put it, 'Think-They're-Hot-But-So-Not-Attention-Seekers'. And as for the rant that usually followed it, I don't want to think about it, considering how last time a fervent Viv almost decapitated me when she found out that I was daydreaming in the middle of her infamous lecture. Glazed eyes are such a giveaway.
I looked at Seb for his reaction to Viv's comment because Mitchells was one of his close friends, but he was still chortling from the recount, a wide grin plastered to his face. Technically, Seb was one of the 'Populars'. He was well liked throughout student body for his amicable personality, and his good looks meant that he had his own crowd of girls. Although he would sometimes hang around us during breaks, he also sat with Mitchells' group.
Wait…
"Seb," I narrowed my eyes. "Were you at the pool partly yesterday?"
He smirked. "Well now that you mentioned it…"
"Jerk!"
He burst out laughing again. "But you should have seen the look on your face!" The rest of his sentence became incomprehensible due to his fits of laughter.
I glared at him until ...
"Oh crap! Do you think Mitchells still remembers it?"
"Nah," Seb chuckled. "I bet he forgot about it after some heavy lip lock action with Samantha Watson."
Samantha Watson was the head cheerleader of Creswall High and had the looks of a supermodel. And the brains of one too. Even if I had a hamster wheel for a brain, I was thankful for not having Samantha's brain because at least mine was capable of intelligent thinking (despite spinning in constant circles). Samantha's brain was like a new toilet – anything that you manage to cram in gets flushed out a second later into the land of 'God-Knows-Where'.
The Jeep slowed down and I realized that we were in the students' designated car park. We arrived five minutes before the bell so most of the car spaces were already filled. But, fortunately for us, we had Seb's social status as an advantage and he parked his Jeep in a place unofficially reserved for him, which was close to the entrance gates. The bell rang just as we got out of the car.
"I'll see you in English next period," I waved to my friends as we entered the building.
I turned to my left and climbed up a flight of stairs to my homeroom. You would have thought that because my last name started with C, my homeroom would be somewhere at the front of the school. But as Creswell had a sadistic dictator for a principal (during freshman year Viv was convinced that Mr Smith was the reincarnation of Stalin), I had to pass two floors and countless corridors before I arrived at 503, the Physics room.
The rest of my fellow students were already there, avidly chatting about Mitchell's pool party by the sounds of it. They draped themselves over the chairs, rebelling against the conventional form of back against support and feet on ground, and were either sitting on it backwards, had their feet on the tables, or swinging on the chairs - admittedy rather cautiously as the frail cheap plastic school chairs looked like they were about to break.
I merged right into the shadows, unnoticed by the others as I chose a stable-looking chair that was far from them as possible. I drew my hoodie over my head and tucked earphones into my ears. Again, I encountered another instance of faulty sound barriers and I could still hear the conversation clearly through my earphones.
"The party was so cool," a preppy girl squeaked. "Josh is like so hot! And-"
"Like you'd have a chance with him Danielle," a more mature sounding girl said coolly. "And besides, I heard that he's dating that Samantha slut." There was a hint of jealousy in her voice.
"Bree, admit it. You just don't like her because she stole your ex," a guy on her right said, lazily leaning back.
"Humph," sniffed the girl disdainfully. "Josh is way too good for her, I expect him to dump her in a week or so." She paused for a moment. "Did you notice that little hut next to Josh's? I wonder who lives in it – I mean, just imagine if you were his neighbor!"
Another senior giggled. "Yeah that would be dreamy as. But I bet that a psychotic cat-woman weirdo lives there. There's no way that person could come to our school. I mean, we'd know, right?"
The bell rang as the girl said that, and I quietly slipped past her. Ironic – one word to describe these situations. It was another reason why I preferred to be invisible; I was left alone and I could avoid annoying 'Populars' pretending to be my 'bestie' when all they wanted to do was use my house as a spy center for Josh Mitchells. I had few friends but they were definitely true friends.
Moving through the hall at peak hour was like a huge obstacle course. I had to weave in and out of the milling crowd, careful not to bump into someone, and, at the same time, making sure I didn't trip over anything. I met Viv in the music corridor and, together, we struggled through the ocean of bodies, quite like salmon against a multicolored tide. However, when Seb joined us, the struggle became so much easier as the crowd literally parted for him as though he was a post-biblical Moses leading the poor Israelites, aka Viv and I, to the safety of Ms White's English room.
712 loomed into sight – mission accomplished!
The moment we arrived, heads turned our way and there were shouts of welcome.
Directed solely at Seb, of course.
"'Sup man!"
"Reckon we'll kick Riverside's ass in the Saturday match?"
"Wanna get smashed this Thursday night at Riley's?"
"Oh Sebbie, please sit next to me!"
At this Viv and I rolled our eyes. We also made a mental note for future sadistic reference: 'Sebbie' would never live this one down.
Seb gave us a departing glance as he was led away by the 'Sebbie'-calling chick.
"Bye bye Sebbie," smirked Viv and we took our places at the back of the room. I grinned in return and dumped my bag on the table, which let out a small groan of protest. As we took out our textbooks, Ms White walked in.
Ms White was one of those teachers who started out as energetic young teaching graduates, eager to change the lives of students and filled with grand, but false, illusions that students were cramming to be taught – only to realise and be gradually weighed down by the stupidity and reluctance of her charges. Learning, she discovered, required the possession of a real brain – an uncommon substance in this 21st Century of mindless television and Internet zombies. She had gray tired eyes and, though she was hardly thirty, there were already signs of premature ageing on her forehead and the corners of her mouth.
She compulsively took a large gulp of coffee as she settled behind her desk and nervously coaxed some frizzy strands of brown hair back into the tight bun at the nape of her neck.
"Well class," she began, her voice already croaky. "We've been studying emotive poetry for the past month and last week I sent you home with an assignment to test what you have learnt. The eulogy is due today so please pass them down the rows."
There was a shuffle of paper. A boy in the section of the classroom where most of the 'Populars' sat waved his hand in the air, his crystal blue eyes bright with earnest. It was Philippe Lefé – Josh's best friend. As Philippe's father migrated from France, the emphasis in 'Philippe' was on the second syllable so it was pronounced 'Phil-LEAP' not 'PHIL-lip'.
"Yes Philippe, what is it this time?" asked Ms White exasperated.
Philippe grinned cheekily, revealing straight even teeth. Throughout Creswall, he was infamous for being a practical joker. He was well-liked for his lively personality, however I always thought he used it to mask his academic brilliance. Once I saw red flash of 'A plus' on his history composition before he quickly stuffed it in his bag.
"I haven't done it," he said, running a careless hand through his spiky brown hair.
"And why is that?" Ms White plainly dreaded the answer.
"I made it into a paper plane and it got hijacked."
There was an eruption of laughter and I heard Philippe mutter something about 'Al Queda' to the people sitting next to him, causing more laughter. Of course I won't comment on the likelihood of an infamous terrorist organisation wanting a folded up piece of homework. But perhaps Philippe's verse was so bad that it could be used as a Weapon of Mass Destruction - just read it out loud and people would be screaming for the hideous ramble to stop.
Ms White cast her 'Why-Me?' eyes heavenward, mumbled a quick prayer, and looked down.
"We've been over this Philippe. You've got to do your homework so you can get into a good college. Lunchtime detention today and I want an eulogy handed in at the end of it."
Viv and I exchanged looks of surprise – so Ms White hadn't entirely given up on us yet.
"See ya tomorrow Linny!" Viv yelled out of the Jeep window as she reversed and drove away.
There might have been a time in kindergarten where I would have winced at the prospect of being called 'Linny', but, after more than a decade, I was used to it and I just smiled and waved back at the departing car. Seb had football practice today so it was Viv who gave me a lift home.
I heaved my bulky schoolbag over my shoulder, ignoring the painful weight on my left shoulder blade, and fumbled for the keys in my pocket. My prying hands contacted metal and I quickly unlocked the door, catching the familiar whiff of dried lavender and sage that distincted my home from all the other places that I've been to. My mother simply adored these 'natural wonders'; she was very much a modern-day hippie – as well as Buddhist, she was a vegan and practised Feng Shui. This meant that every object in my house was systematically placed so it encouraged the good qi in and the bad qi out.
Mom, coincidentally, was the first thing I saw when I dumped my painful bag on the floor. She was dressed in her matron's uniform, a clean light blue shirt with a navy skirt, and she poured over sheets of paper scattered on the dining table. A slight frown creased her forehead as she scribbled something down.
"Mom," I exclaimed in surprise. "What are you doing here so early?"
An employee of the state hospital, it was rare for Mom to be seen at home before six.
"Oh hi honey! I left some paperwork at home so I'm just finishing it off before I leave again," she said, crossing words out. She looked up at me. "How was school today, sweetie? I've washed some cucumbers for afternoon tea." She gestured at a bowl on the end of the table.
Ah cucumbers. While other kids had Mars Bars and ice-cream as an afternoon snack, I had freshly-washed cucumbers. This was a result of combining a nutritionist and a vegetarian and giving the end product to me for a 'mother'. Nevertheless, for the sake of my stomach, I made my way over to the table and plopped myself down on a chair.
As I munched on the cucumbers, I realized the scattered pieces of paper were actually arranged in organized piles on the table and the majority of them appeared to be pamphlets.
"Mom, what's this?" I picked up a pamphlet and dimly read the cover before dropping it in shock and repulse. "VIAGRA?" The graphic on the front did not go well with my stomach which had just eaten a particularly large cucumber. My mind couldn't help but recognize the resemblance between the cucumbers that I had been happily munching away on and-
"Don't be childish Lynne," reprimanded Mom in a no-nonsense tone. "It's just for an awareness campaign we're doing at the hospital. It's to inform couples of all the different options to help them solve their sexual incap-"
"Okay Mom, I get the picture!" I said hurriedly and pushed myself from the table. "If you don't mind, I'll just excuse myself and go to my room."
The stairs loomed so tantalizingly near – until my mother called my name again.
"Sweetie? Could you be a doll and pop these letters next door? They've been misplaced by the new postman."
"Sure-" I started until I made the vital connections. Next door? As in the Mitchells Mansion next door? Not the very household of the guy I was looking at yesterday?
At this, a rush of horror swept through my body and I remembered at once that this was the place I was determined not to, particularly after yesterday's rather embarrassing incident.
My cheeks flamed up at the mere thought of it and I protested quite diplomatically with my mother.
"WHAT! No way am I going inside there! Not even if I'm being chased by man-eating lions and aliens have destroyed all the buildings except it on the face of the earth!"
Mom did not look impressed at all and peered severely at me.
"There's no need to make a fuss about it. And exactly why can't you go inside?" She surveyed me expectantly with those piercing blue-gray eyes.
"I…I…" I stammered, color rushing to my face. The real reason was far more mortifying.
"Exactly my point. Now go next door and give them their mail," she ordered with an air of finality and pointed to a pile of paper on the table.
I stared at them with uttermost loathing – them, the seemingly harmless innocent-looking former-trees-pressed-thin that signaled my inescapeable bleak future. I thought I survived all day by not seeing Mitchells (the logic being that he would not see me), but they had to get misplaced and I had to be the one to un-misplace them.
This left me in a very exposed and vulnerable position for Mitchells to catch sight of what he might forever think as 'Stalker Neighbor Girl'.
Great, I must have done something really screwed up in my past life for my karma to be turning against me like this. And I'm not even Buddhist!
But then again, as I thought about it more, the situation wasn't that bad. Perhaps Seb was right and Mitchells had forgotten all about it. For all I know, Samantha Watson's saliva could have amnesiac properties, and maybe he was used to girls drooling (not to say that I was drooling!) all the time that he never paid attention to it anymore?
What was more, I wouldn't even have to go as far as the front door!
At this, I figured out a new plan: I would quickly stuff the letters into Mitchells' cursed letterbox then scamper the hell out of there. If I was quick enough, Mitchells might not even be home yet – didn't he have football practice with Seb or something?Brilliance, thy name is Lynne Chester.
I ought to know a failed plan when I think of it.
But I was oblivious to this aforementioned fact as I hastily grabbed a pile of paper off the table and power-walked out of the house.
Only, as I approached the mansion, I realized the first – and fatal – flaw in my plan. The Mitchells didn't have a letterbox. Instead, they preferred the old-fashioned English slit in the front door which meant I had to go to it after all!
That's it! I've discovered a new conspiracy against me! The postman didn't really 'misplace' the letters as he wanted Mom to believe. I bet he was probably too lazy to get off his bike and go to the front door himself so he just dumped them in the neighbor's letterbox, knowing all too well that the poor girl who lived there would have to do it for him.
I growled under my breath and stalked towards the mansion. As I passed under a tall oak tree, strategically positioned at the side of the picturesque house, I heard a distinct 'meow' and looked up.
Boo was sitting on one of the higher branches, swaying his black-and-white tail contently as he surveyed me with a slightly bemused expression as though to say 'What are you doing down there when you can be up here?' He was not alone – a ginger tabby snuggled next to him, brushing her bushy amber tail against his back. I was peeved; Boo was mysteriously disappearing all week to spend time in the Mitchells' trees? Traitor!
"Boo," I hissed though my teeth. "Come down right now."
He just stared at me with those clear sapphire eyes. "No thanks" his lazy eyes seemed to say.
"Boo," I raised my voice to a livid whisper. I honestly did not know why I was whispering. "Boo!"
"If you want to scare someone, try making your voice louder," a masculine voice behind me commented.
I literally jumped as if I had been electrocuted, a jolt of shock zapping through my body.
Although unlike normal people, I did not jump in the air – I jumped backwards.
And landed on something soft.
In a whirl of surprise and new textures, I found myself on the ground, limbs entangled something firm, very firm. Once my brain regained its senses, it told me that I was lying on a person – a person with very nice abs (the very firm part of my experience). Flushing, I quickly pushed myself off the ground, and the person got up and looked at me.
Thoughts of 'crap, crap, crap' raced through my mind as I gaped at the face of Josh Mitchells. His dark blond hair was tousled and glinted with condensation, and his amber eyes stared intensely at me, not too dissimilar from from yesterday. He was wearing a white polo shirt, rolled up to his shoulders, and a pair of navy shorts. He rubbed his ribs – the place where I assumingly elbowed him.
"S-sorry! I was just calling my cat," I stammered, walking backwards and making a very vague gesture at the tree. It was hard to concentrate when you know that you're less than a feet away from Mr. I'm-So-Popular-And-Hot-And-I-Caught-You-Eyeing-Me and, at the same time, the philosophical part of your mind is screaming "Why me? Of what sins have I committed?"
"Oh so that's your cat," commented Mitchells, glancing upwards. I was relieved that he didn't sound hostile nor treat me like some sort of stalker – Seb was proven right. (Thank Seb). "I've been wondering who Rhoda's friend is for a while. Rhoda," he called.
The ginger cat obediently and gracefully pranced down from the tree. She immediately strolled to Mitchells and started circling his legs, rubbing her face against his shins and purring happily. I shot a glare at Boo: why can't you be like that?
As if to taunt me, he hopped down as well, although he chose to stand next to Rhoda.
Sneaky cat.
"I never knew you had a cat," I said half to him and half to myself.
"She's was my Aunt Ethel's," replied Mitchells, slightly smiling at me. "She passed away a few weeks ago and I got Rhoda."
"Oh," I muttered. Then I realized that I was still holding the envelopes in my hand. "Here, these are for you – they got misplaced." I shoved the pile of letters to Mitchells and he examined them curiously.
As I bent down to scoop up Boo, Mitchells spoke up. His voice was amused.
"Thank you for your consideration," he smirked. "But I assure you that I am perfectly competent. I don't need them." And he handed them back to me.
I looked at him as though he was crazy and shoved the bundle back at him.
"They're for you!" I insisted.
He handed them back at me.
"I'm competent."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
I glanced down at the bundle of paper in my hand. What was wrong with that infuriating Josh Mitch-
Oh boy!
Instead of what I thought were envelopes, I was clutching a dozen pamphlets on ...
Viagra!
Realization sunk in. I turned a dark shade of scarlet, my cheeks burning up.
"I'm sorry!" I managed to blurt out. "I was supposed to give you some misplaced letters, not pamphlets on-" I couldn't bring myself to say the hated V-word.
Josh Mitchells laughed, no doubt amused by my blunder. Stupid sadist.
I turned to leave but before I got a chance to bury my head in a pillow (with the possible aim of self-asphyxiation), Josh spoke again.
"And weren't you spying on me yesterday?"
I gritted my teeth.
Sorry about the delay in updating but my mother had thrown out the original draft plus plot/character sketch in her process of cleaning the house so I had to start over again – no doubt was I slightly disheartened.
And just for a weird sidenote, I did not get "Hermione" (Viv's middle name) from J.K Rowling. I have a dictionary with an appendix of names at the back and it was opened at that particular page when I was writing/thinking. But what I found amusing was that "Hermione" was under the category of "Common Christian Names."
But a MILLION THANKS to all the people who reviewed – you guys seriously made my day – and here are a couple of replies:
HiryuuGekijou: First reviewer! Cheers to you!
SketchingaCYNIC: Thanks for your review and I'll try not to make it too cliché!
Sparx100: Yeah I know what you mean with stories that have a grammatical potential of a five year old – it really does ruin what might have been a good plot. And thanks for the review – don't worry I intend on writing this to the bitter end!
sexy-bratz: If you haven't deduced from these two chapters, her name is Lynne "Linny" Chester and I've added a description of her in this chapter as you requested ;)! I'm weird – I don't like revealing everything about the character immediately ….
CuteButPsycho27: Yeah I adore Nickleback! Have you heard their latest song? Probably one of my favs. I agree – 50 Cents isn't really my type either but I just added it to annoy Lynne …hehe.
KNE: Well it's all in the world of cliché, but good cliché when well written. My friends LOVE your story and want to know when you will update (hint, hint)! ;) ;)
MERRY CHRISTMAS to:
Juniper Nights, mistii, cupsofcoffee, the used, Ren, anonymous (sp?), ebtwisty9, ealuv79, taste-of-tears, mo, sandra, Rebecca Cecille, codyismypup, kaikaicutie, meMOimyl, Othala, Bellababe, hezja, yayalee, hollykesten, Mandy (I can't believe you actually read this), I don't feel like a …, Queen of Word, complacent-lin, j.u.s.t. .f.o.r. .m.e.!
Lastest re-edit: 15 Nov 11.