Seeing as it's only been a few minutes since I posted the first chapter, this story is still currently untitled. But, here's the second chapter!
So, you might be wondering why a 14-year-old girl, who comes from a family with a fine enough reputation, an IQ “off the charts!” (according to my prescription-drugged-up guidance counselor, who punctuated that too cheery remark with an awkward fist pump thingy she obviously thought all the cool kids were doing, having seen it on Saved by the Bell reruns or something. Yeah, not so much, hon), all that, would be running away from home. To which I say, I’m not running away, I’m going to.
Yup, I can see you now. Maybe you’re chuckling to yourself knowingly and shaking your head wisely, recalling memories of when you were a “kiddo”, seeing how I’m adorably naive and all that. Not it.
I guess why I’m doing all this- actually, I know- is because I had to get out of that 2-star, 2-inch town, so small that you could stick all its inhabitants- even Fat Sal- into an envelope and mail it for a buck 40. Everyone was so in your business and in your face. There were no secrets, you were never alone. And that bugged me (now there’s the Understatement of the Year).
I couldn’t hide so much as a grade on my algebra quiz. I tried the squeaky clean, preptastic thing a bit- even had the outfit. With the argyle knee socks, pastel sweaters. It was so boring. I don’t know why so many OK that as the People You Should Be Like.
That was, at least, until I met Luke. Luke helped me be what I am today- tough, sure. And some other things, too.
At night, he’d come up to my window, tapping it. I’d hop out, and we’d run like little kids- or criminals- to wherever. He’s the one that taught me the art of Stealing.
I remember the lessons well- at first he got it for me, little romantic present-y type things- a fun size candy bar here, a plastic pharmacy rose there. Just for a thrill. But then it was everything.
Eventually, he got bored with our life of alleged love and definite debauchery, switched it out for multiple girlfriends (after all, he needed more than one fool to do the dirty work) and alternate forms of recreation. Eventually, it got him killed in a motorcycle accident- yes, he had a motorcycle. No comment on the predictability- which was blamed on alcohol. All I can do is shrug it off and think how very “Toy Soldiers” my life is.