Hey people! So I had to write a short story for Language Arts. It's supposed to be two paragraphs long but I found that out after I wrote it. On google docs it's 4 pages long. So I thought, "Why not change Crystal to Kim and Dustin to Jack?" So I did. I apologize if I left Dustin or Crystal in there. Tell me if I did. I don't think I'll be continuing this with all the other storys I've got planned. I promised kmsdance1 and Unknowngirl1299 I'd try to write a crossover story with them. Plus I still have to send an email to the people of this website to add the "Sweet Venom" series by Tera Lynn Childs to this website. I'm obsessed with that author! I think I've got all of the name down. PM or review if you've read the series. Sorry for the wait! Here you go!

Did I mention this is based off of my life? Well it is! Switch Jack to my friend (Girl) and Courtney to my enemy. (Devil disgised as a girl.) Oh! And Kim to me. But I don't move every month.

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Sweet Venom, iPod, the Apple company, or Kickin' It.

"The lonely sea,
It never stops,
For you or me,
It moves along,"

Ugh, I roll over and slam my hand down on my alarm clock.

"That's why my love,
You'll never stay,
You'll never stay,"

The dragging melody of the music doesn't stop. I jerk up from my pillow and yank my iPod out from it's speakers. The music stops and I lay back down in bed. I look at my alarm clock which finally stopped it's continuous melody.

6:20

Having quite a bit of experience, I learned that being late for the first day of school isn't exactly setting a good mood for the day, I get up from my pile of fluff that we humans call pillows, and get ready for another longing day at another new school.

Well, that went well. I found all my classes easily. Sure, I'm still a loner. But I'll make friends in a few months. If we don't move... again. I walk out the front doors and breathe in the cold, autumn air. I've stayed late, to put all my things in my locker and to use the computers in the library for the essay we have to write about John Quincy Adams. The teachers at this school are harsh. I've never even heard of this guy!

As I put my skateboard down on the concrete and hop on, I notice that the kids from the elementary and middle schools were already let out. Some of the younger kids are on the community playground, running around, laughing, yelling, hiding behind equipment, things that make no sense to me. It must be nice to have a childhood with friends. Or, a life with friends for that matter. Moving around all the time, doesn't help too much with the friend making. If I'm lucky enough, I end up making a friend and moving the week after. My Dad just had to get a job that "requires" them to move to the other side of the country every few months.

Doesn't help too much with the education either. I didn't do too well on the SATs last year so I know there aren't too many colleges that will accept. I'm lucky if a collage even considers. Yeah, it's that bad. My parents think that making friends and keeping my grades up is simple. "It was simple enough when I was a kid." They always say. Yeah, well, try moving every three months, let's see how that turns out.

I've noticed this happens to a lot of people. Probably every person I've gotten to know—when I get lucky enough to find someone who will actually give time to get to know the new kid—every time I've moved. Okay, maybe it's just about four or five total, but still! They all have that one thing in common. Parents don't understand us! This is the twenty-first century! Things are different now! We have different ways of doing different things! I'm not saying they have to understand us teens, I'm just saying it'd be nice to see someone who tries.

I soon reach my driveway. I skate up to the pale white garage door and pick up my skateboard. I put in the pin number—1234—and the garage door opens. I drag my feet along the cold pavement with my skateboard dragging behind. I walk up to the door and turn the rusty knob. The door creaks open. You would it expect it not to look so old since we just bought it. It was my parents' choice, not mine. I press the button to the left of the door for the door to close. The garage creeks—much like the door—as it closes. I walk in and close the door behind me, repeating the creaking sound. I kick off my worn-out converse as the hit the wall, making a small dent. Did we really have to buy a house this old?

I walk through the arch and lay my skateboard down on the wall beside it. I walk up the stacked wooden boards we call stairs. I drag my bag along the so called "stairs".

Step, thump, step, thump, Step, thump,

This goes on for about ten more steps until I finally reach the top of the stairs.

I drag my bag into my room. There's boxes everywhere, and I mean everywhere. I have to drag some of the boxes out of the room to be able to get to my desk. I take off the two boxes on the desk and set them on the bed. I stop when I see the word JACK written on the side of the box in a fat sharpie. I smile at the name of the only friend I ever had.

I rip the tape off of the cardboard box. I open the two flaps to find all the pictures of us. I remember all of the time we spent together. I remember when we took that trip to the beach. I remember how we had our Frozen Yogurt Sunday. I remember how we used to write each other notes in the morning to set the mood for the day. I remember how we did everything together. I remember how we met.

I met Jack before my dad got a job at United. (A.K.A. the reason we move every two months.) Before I met Jack I had another best friend.

Courtney.

Ugh, now I shudder at the name. She was my best friend for five years. Five years I wasted my live on the brat. She used to be nicest person I've ever met. Five years later she made a new friend.

Jack.

Courtney (*insert shudder here*) soon started to be that brat that lives in my memories. She started to do anything that popped in the little devils head. The thing is, everything that popped in her head, was something to make me miserable. She and Jack started to leave me out of everything. I could tell it was 'just to make me miserable. Jack just went along with whatever she thought of. Every once in awhile, Jack would stop her. This continued for about two months later.

One day, I got tired of it. I stood up to Courtney and told her to back off.

She never did.

She never did even though Jack always tried to stop her.

She still didn't.

I soon left her.

She started to do the same thing to Jack. She might have not had anyone to use to leave him out but that didn't stop her from being the brat she is. She'd boss him around, telling him what to do as if she's the Queen of England.

Jack followed me.

Jack left her. He noticed what she was turning into. I made a best friend out of my enemy's new friend. Jack and I did everything together. We'd always skateboard to and from school to escape seeing Courtney on the bus. We'd always spend every weekend together. Right before school ended, my dad got a job at United. We had to move. (We all know how that move was followed by another and another and another and—you get the point.) After I did move, we'd call each other every day. Every day turned into every week, which turned into every month, which turned into never.

Now, if I see that devil we call Courtney ever again, I'm pretty sure I'll start World War III.

I spend about an hour looking through the old pictures I kept of us. I find a broken rock in the shape of a teardrop. I smile at the memory. We found a broken rock, lying in the sand when we took a trip to the beach. When we held both of the pieces together, they formed a heart. We carved our name on one side. His says Kim and mine says Jack. Remembering this, I turn mine over and see his name carved in. I wipe away a tear I've been trying to hold back. I snap out of my trance and pull out my essay rubric from my backpack.

My life would be a million times better if I had a friend like Jack in my life.

I may not believe in home, but I do believe in true friends.

I drag my feet along the school floor. I've been dragging my feet a lot lately. I ignore the passing students and finally reach my locker. I twist the metal knob, putting in the combination. I pull out the books I need for my first class. If I remember correctly, it's math. I slam the door shut that would usually create an echo with an empty hallway but this is nowhere near an empty hallway.

I turn around just to run into someone. I drop my books and scramble to the floor to pick them up. I hear the person in front of me who is doing the same mumble something along the lines of "sorry." Wait a second...

"Jack?"

Tada! Don't worry, I left my Language Arts teacher at the same cliffy, you're not alone. Don't forget to review! Seriously, I'll tell my Language Arts teacher and she'll be so proud that I got so many reviews. If I enough...

By the way, you can see the original version on my FictionPress account; same user name.

America, Cheese, and Reviews!

P.S. If I get enough reviews, I might give you people and my Language Arts teacher an epilogue.