The day after detention.

Sunday was dragging on and on for Allison.

She had woken up a bit too early, cleaned her room, and even did her hair and make-up just as Claire had shown her the day before. Allison enjoyed having the hair out of her eyes, yet couldn't completely feel comfortable without it there; hiding her from the wrath of everyone and everything else around her. Over time, it had became her sheild. The sheild she was having hard time parting with.

But in all of that, she embraced the new found beauty she finally saw in herself due to being able to see her caremel and chocolate eyes. The ribbon in her hair was a light shade of blue, matching the sweater slung over her shoulders. The same sweater Andrew Clark had given to her the day before. The day that changed her perspective on life and everything else in the world.

She knew kindness and appreciation really did excist in the world now.

"Allison!" An angry yell climbed the stairs and intruded the 17-year-olds room. She sighed heavily, making a slow descent down the stairs, her jet black skirt sliding on the floor all around her Chucks.

As she walked sluggishly into the kitchen, Allisons mother not-so-tenderly handed over the phone to her only child. Lana Reynolds was a bitter woman who drank and who gambled. No one knew that bit of information aside from her daughter. The woman snatched her new bottle of wine from the old refridgerator and pounced out of the room and out of sight.

"Hello?" Allison never got phone calls, ever.

A soft, familiar voice answered, "Allison,"

The feeling amungst her body was one relating to her heart and her stomach in a never-ending dance to the latest pop song. Fluttering and nervous. Not wanting to callapse and give up but also not wanting to face the fact that that Saturday in detention actually happened. It scared the shit out of her and her body knew that. Hince, the butterflies and wavering of her most important organ.

"Andrew?"

She heard a soft chuckle on the other end of the call, "Yes, it's me."

"Oh, hey." Allison couldn't help but let a smile spread onto her face.

"H-how're you?" Andrew sounded nervous. That made her heart skip more than before.

"I'm great," Her voice held joy but also hesistance.

"That's good," The boy asked another question, "What're you doing today?"

Nothing.

Allison replied with an, "I have no idea."

"I can change that,"

She smirked, "Oh, really?"

"Anyday," Allison could hear the smile on Andrews face through his tone of voice.

"What'd you have in mind?" She had no idea why she suddenly wasn't as shy as usual. Then again, the day before, talking with Andrew came so easily and comfortable it's no wonder they're not as awkward as they should have been.

Andrew chuckled, "How about lunch?"

"Sure," Allison tried her hardest to not sqeel with excitement.

"Where do you live?" She suddenly became very protective.

"Why?" Allison and her so-called family lived in the worst side of town, with a run-down vehicle in the front lawns grass that was never trimmed, and a load of dog shit pilling up in the side yard. A single lawn chair sat on the small porch, usually occupied by her elderly father as he took his naps. The inside wasn't too much better; her father was forgetting more and more as the days went on and slowly became accusomed to hording.

"So I can pick you up," Andrew answered sincerily.

Patrick Reynolds was a senior citizen with a fairly good track record. In highschool he was the football teams captain and always was crowned king at prom. Once he hit his mid-thirties, he met a perky brunette who had just finished high school herself. She had been looking for an older man who could provide for her and her careless behavior. Needless to say, she did. But with every good thing comes something not so pleasing as well.

In this case, it being getting pregnant not even a year after they met.

"No,"

"Allison, I don't care about what kind of house or neighborhood you live in," Andrew seemed to be reading her mind, "I only care about seeing you and your gorgeous face."

Allison couldn't hold in the next sqeek from escaping her lips.

Andrew laughed.

"241 Sixth Street," She was estatic, "And hurry."