Today was not a good day to wear sexy underwear.
I mean, not like there's ever a good day to wear sexy underwear, but…
I take that back. Honeymoons, Prom, and formal occasions could fall under "good ay to wear sexy underwear".
But a Friday at Lexington High, in the middle of gym class, is totally not a good day to wear sexy underwear.
I totally would not have worn that stupid black lacy push up bra and the lacy black kind of half your butt style panties if it weren't for my best friend, Tiffany.
Who wasn't even here today.
My name is Lana, which always reminds me of Smallville and how Clark Kent (aka, Tom Welling) was so hot. Which is totally off-topic in the first place, but whatever. I can't help it.
Anyway, my name is Lana. I'm a senior (almost graduating!) at Lexington High, California. Wait, that came out wrong. I mean, the city I live in is not Lexington High, but I live in California. I go to Lexington High. Which is in California.
Okay, enough of me being stupid. All my friends think I have this stupid disorder that I can't even keep one train of thought going for a two minutes straight. I simply tell them that their stupid thoughts aren't worth my time.
My best friend's name is Tiffany. I'm always so jealous of her, because she's around five-nine, with long legs, pitch black hair, and warm brown eyes. Her mother is Hispanic, while her father is African-American. Her skin is always so tan, and she never even has to work out.
Ugh. She makes me sick sometimes. I mean, I'm around five-five which extremely sucks because I've heard guys complain that they hate having to bend down to kiss a girl. Not that I have to worry about it.
And I'm so not even proportioned. All my height is in my legs, and I have this stupid torso that doesn't even correspond to the rest of my body.
My hair isn't a vibrant red or even a wood colored brown. It's a stupid shade of blonde that makes me have to use this special shampoo just for blondes, which probably costs like twelve dollars more then regular shampoo.
My eyes aren't a warm brown, like Tiff's, but a strange shade of green. Not like electric green that makes people stop and stare at you for awhile, or even a cool shade of olive green. It's like grass green. Plain green. Not even hazel. Well, I take that back. It's a pretty bright shade of green. Just not electric or neon green. That would be kind of weird.
Tiffany always says I'm pretty and that she's jealous of me, but you see, I'm not the one with practically five boyfriends at a time. Not that she's any time of whore, mind you…she's just very flirtatious.
Anyway, as I was contemplating my bad choice of sexy underwear, the bell rang, signaling the end of the day.
It was a fairly hot day, nearing the end of May, with only two weeks left in school. I was sad, not wanting to leave the place that had been my second home for four years, yet strangely happy because I was moving on to bigger, better things.
I probably sound like a complete and utter prep to you, huh? Well, I am pretty preppy, but I'm not popular. And I'm not bitchy at all.
At least, I don't think so. I'm not mean to anyone, and I don't hate anyone, except my English teacher.
I don't have a guy that I'm rivals with, which we'll soon become lovers or whatever. I don't have a bad ass guy that I pretend to loathe and then slowly become friends and see his sensitive side and why he's such a bad ass in the first place. I don't have the popular jock that notices me when I'm so unpopular, and then we fall in love.
Nah, those are all Tiffany's guys.
I don't have a guy. With having such a gorgeous, funny, quirky girl for a best friend, there are consequences. I haven't minded, because I focused on school work, and my dance classes after school.
I'm not going to lie, my dance classes are not ballerina lessons, and are not like actual dances…
It's ballroom dancing.
Shut up, I know. But it's so much fun. You get to learn waltzes and everything, and when there's a ball, you show up in pretty Victorian style dresses and dance the night away.
It might be a loser thing to do, so that's why no one knows about it. Not even Tiffany.
As I put on my regular clothes, I saw that the locker room had pretty much emptied. I could relate, wanting to get out of here as quickly as possible.
I shoved my legs through the tight jeans I had on, and the sparkly red, "There's no place like home" Dorothy shoes. I stripped off my PE shirt (white and blue, our school colors), and threw on my red tank top with my sparkly red head band.
Yeah, I know I kind of resembled a firework.
Grabbing my backpack out of the locker, I headed outside, swinging my car keys around my finger.
I started humming underneath my breath, the current song stuck in my head, "And I Love Her" by the Beatles.
I just got to my car, noticing the parking lot was strangely empty. Huh. I glanced at my cell phone; the time glowing said that it was more than forty-five minutes after school. What the heck, where did I spend all that time?
I shrugged my backpack off in the backseat, opening the front door.
"Don't move." I didn't. Well, you wouldn't either, considering if you felt something pressed up against the back of your head. I swallowed.
"Don't kill me." Was all that I said. I didn't even know who it was, only the fact that it was a guy. Who was probably going to rape me.
Ugh. Life sucks.
The guy laughed at my previous statement, saying, "I'm not going to kill you. I need you."
"Um, okay? For what?" I made a move to turn around, and he pressed me up against the car, slamming the door shut. His body was pressed really firmly against the back of mine, and I was surprised to feel that there was no pot belly. Sweet. At least if he was going to rape me, he was in shape.
He sighed, as if reading my thoughts.
"I'm not going to rape you." Um, okay. Yeah, I'll really believe that. "I need you, I won't hurt you."
"What do you need me for?" This position was getting kind of uncomfortable.
"Get in the car." No need to tell me twice. I began to open the driver's door, when he slammed it shut. "Other side." I nodded obediently, turning around. I looked at him for the first time, somewhat in shock.
He wasn't a hot guy; I'm not going to lie to you. He was a man in his thirties, not totally ugly, but not a hot, twenty-year old like I was expecting.
My face fell, going over to the other side of the car.
Er, my car.
My car is pretty nice, I'll have to admit. My dad's a doctor, and my mom was a lawyer before she died. It was pretty cliché, because they both were high school sweethearts. She died when I was in forth grade, getting hit by a drunk my mom left us with a lot of money, on top of all the money my dad makes already.
My car is a Mercedes, a black one with a Driving System because I always get lost and my dad kept getting mad, so he had one installed.
I walked around the other side, getting in and buckling my seat belt.
The guy was already in, starting the car.
"How did you get my keys?" I asked, somewhat amazed.
He looked behind him as he backed out. "From your pocket."
"How did you know they were there?"
"I saw you put them there." He pulled out of the parking space, going down the still deserted lane.
"How did you get them though?" He sighed.
"I took them out of your pocket."
"How come I didn't feel it?"
"You didn't notice."
"Who are you?"
He didn't answer. I sighed, "Are you kidnapping me?"
"In a sense, yes."
"What about my dad?"
My heart stopped.
Dad is not dead.
He can't be dead.
He's not dead.
Oh my God.
My dad is dead.
My vision blurred, and I felt sick to my stomach.
I tried gasping in air, and the guy driving looked at me, maybe worriedly.
"How…how could you do this?" I said, burying my face in my hands. I mean, I thought all it was going to be was a simple kidnapping, ransom, home. Whatever, I've had worse.
I mean, I almost flunked my finals last year. I wouldn't have gotten into a really good college because of that.
So this guy just killed my dad.
The more I thought about it, the more angry I became.
"How could you do this?" I whispered. He was looking at me now, with a look of confusion and worry. "How could you kill him? He did nothing to you. He was a good man. He was my father."
The guy's confusion went away. "I didn't kill him, Lana." My head snapped up.
"How do you know my name?" He gave me a small smile.
"I know a lot of things about you." I almost choked on air, and my vision blurred with tears again.
"Sleep now, child. I'll explain everything in the morning."
So I did.
Okay. Don't kill me. I am working on the other stories, I swear on my life. I just needed to kind of write this one down. Tell me what you think about it?