A/N: 'KAY SO I'M REALLY HAPPY RIGHT NOW BECAUSE I'M FINALLY FINISHING EVERYTHING THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE IN THE FIRST CHAPTER BEFORE I STARTED REWRITING.

… That glares at me in a very ugly way on MS Word BUT OH WELL. I have a habit of doing that – and by "that," I mean randomly writing in caps in the middle/end of a sentence. Ask my friends Jackie and Nadia. I do it to them all the time when I text them. Anyway – TIME TO READ, CHILDREN.

Disclaimer: I feel like I should do this in caps because of everything else, but I won't – because, like I said, it glares in a very ugly way. Anyway, I do not own anything recognizable from this story at all, such as the Charlie Bone characters, Big Time Rush, Taylor Swift, etc. Though, anything unrecognizable (like Sally and her friends) is/are probably mine.

"Dad, can you go to my room and grab the clip on my dresser?" I called out from the living room, just sitting on the couch. I didn't need the clop, and normally, if I did, I would've gotten it myself, but I was currently angry with my father, and therefore I was going to make him do my bidding as much as I could.

Yes… I considered making my father grab a clip from my room which would most likely take twenty seconds to a minute to do as my "bidding." And also, yes – I felt pathetic for it.

But somewhere – deep, deep, deep down – it made me feel a little good knowing that I could force my father into doing my "bidding…"

If he agreed – which, knowing my father…

"Uh… which one is it?"

Would do?

I turned my head around in surprise, only to see my father standing there, the clip I wanted in one of his hands. In the other was a… bracelet? I looked at him, very confused.

"What are you doing?" I asked him, baffled.

"Didn't you ask me for a clip?" He asked back, also confused.

"Yeah, but..." I said. How was I supposed to tell him I merely wanted him to do my 'bidding?' "I decided I didn't want it. And that blue thing is a bracelet."

My father sighed, ever-so dramatically, and said, "I don't understand why you're so mad. Most kids get mad when their parents make their curfew earlier, not later." When I merely glared at him, he added, "Okay, do you want to steal one of my manuscripts? Will that make you feel better?"

Yes. My father resorted to tactless bribery when he couldn't understand why I was mad. It's such terrible parenting, no?

"Fine – if you want to make me feel better, you can tell me I'm not allowed to go at all," I told him, throwing my hands in the air.

"Sally! Why are you being so anti-social?" My dad asked, exasperated.

"I don't want to go to a silly party! That's why!" I cried back, also exasperated.

"Then why are you going?" He questioned, plopping himself on the couch as if he were utterly exhausted – which, for the record, he wasn't. He was being his usual drama queen self. That, and he clearly hoped I would feel so bad that I was causing him such grief that I would agree to quietly go to the party and no longer make a fuss.

Ha – fat chance.

Honestly – you'd expect me (the teenager) to be mad at Dad (the parent) for not letting me go to the party and giving me an early curfew. But no, here I was, being as sour as a lemon, because not only was I allowed to go, but because Dad said I didn't have to be home until eleven. You'd also expect my dad to at least be worried about my safety and making sure I don't do anything crazy, like drink or hook-up with some guy.

But once again, no – because it's Annie's party, there's nothing to worry about.

Annie Cortez was a senior who knew everyone in their school and their mother. No – she literally knew every single student in the school as well as one, if not both, of their parents. Annie was also a straight-A student, president of student council, a member of senior band, a cheerleader, on the senior girl's rugby team, volunteered at three different charities a week, and (somehow) managed having a job at a clothing store that every girl in her class wanted.

Oh, and she also got into every university she applied to. With her record, I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was when I found out, but I still was tremendously.

Anyway, since Annie was the freaking angel of our school, everyone's parents had let them go, because there was just no way it would get out of hand. In fact, several parents (my father being an example, sadly) had encouraged their children to go.

Now, a person would probably think I hated Annie with the way I was acting now. That wasn't true – not in the slightest. In fact, I knew Annie better than most people in my year did. A year previous, when I had started at the school, Annie had been my guide. She held the door open when she was walking ahead of me, had made a point to explain the significance of everything that was important to the school, and when she found out she was going to guide a freshman, had actually taken the time to draw me a map of the school so I wouldn't get lost. And yet, Annie had a great sense of humour and was really easy to talk to. Even now, after a year, she still made a point to say 'hi' when she saw me in the halls and tried to make conversation when she could.

So why was I being such a monello about going?

It's because I was fifteen and had no idea how to act at a party. All I knew about parties were from the manuscripts I stole from my father as well as the novels I borrowed from the library and my friends or bought from the bookstore. Oh, and of course all the TV shows I'd seen. They were all stereotypically crazy and out of hand with drunken jocks and people hooking up and causing scandals for the rest of the school year.

So I was either going to be really let down by my expectations or completely, one-hundred-percent spot on. Neither one was a good scenario, because either way, I'd feel out of place. And even though my friends thought this would be a good way to celebrate my last days at school with them, feeling like the odd one out at somebody's party didn't seem like too great an idea to me.

Don't get me wrong, they'd made my last week and a half wonderful. Brady, also being an avid reader, had taken me to the public library on Saturday and we'd spent hours upon hours reading and bugging the librarians. Catherine had taken me shopping for some CD's and we'd danced around the music store when a Big Time Rush song played (even though she didn't watch the show or listen to their music). Macy had dragged me to one of the poetry readings her mother always forced her to go to and we'd laughed the entire way through because the MC had a terrible lisp and we just couldn't help it. Chris had taught me how to set off our principal without getting in trouble. He'd also admitted that yes, he was in Self-Improvement, just at a different time from me.

And, speaking of SI, I had handed in my journal that day. It detailed just about everything I hated about that class and I hoped Miss Kestrel had fun reading it.

And Hunter – Hunter had found out later than everybody else, but he'd taken it better than I'd expected. He'd been upset at first, but he'd smiled sadly and said, "Well, I knew this was going to happen eventually. But that school will do better for you than this one can," he then attempted to joke, "At least they don't close down the library."

I was going to miss them so much.

"Dad," I sighed, "I have to unless you say 'no.' Four-out-of-five rule, remember?"

That surprised my dad quite a bit. He looked at me and said, "Macy agreed to this?"

I nodded, "Catherine decided to be annoying and Macy agreed to go if only to make her shut up."

My father nodded slowly. "And you don't want to go, because…?"

"I don't want to spend what is probably my last day with my friends at a party where I could lose them, then end up being alone for the rest of the night and have a miserable last memory with them," I told him.

"Speaking of last day," my dad said, obviously having just suddenly remembered something important, "We got your uniform for Bloor's today. You can try it on when you get home." He looked a little distant, as if he was remembering something else. He also looked as if he wanted to say something more, but held his tongue. I figured it had to do with something that had happened while he was at Bloor's. Ever since our talk at the baseball diamond a week previous, he'd been reminiscing his days at the Academy. I stopped asking where his mind went after about three days.

Suddenly, he came out of whatever memory his mind had been recollecting and tossed the clip he had in his hand to me. I just barely caught it, but did.

"Now, you are going to this party," here, I groaned in protest, "and you are going to do something bad that you will regret and I will be ashamed of you for doing, because that is normal and we want to keep as much of your normality in tact as we possibly can in tact. You're getting a ride with Hunter, right?" He asked. I shook my head and told him Chris' older brother was giving Chris, Macy and I a ride. My dad nodded and continued, "And since you're making a huge deal about this and being all miserable about it, I'm extending your curfew to eleven-thirty," he said smugly, a smirk adorning his currently proud features. I was about to yell out in protest when he paused and finished, "Never mind that last part. Your curfew is eleven again because I'm the parent and I'm not supposed to be okay with this."

I swear I was older than my dad sometimes. It was a scary thought.

Three hours later, when I was at Annie's house, I wanted to jump for joy and call my dad and laugh at him and do a happy dance. But I also wanted to throw a bazillion punches at the tree beside me and scream and just go home.

Why?

Well – because I had been right.

The second we got there, Chris had found the girl from his fifth period that he had a huge crush on and immediately took the opportunity to go talk to her. I turned around to try and call him back only to give up after three seconds. Then, turning back around, I knew only one of two things had happened to Macy.

1 – She'd been drifted away by a train of people that I'd completely missed when I was turned around and had fallen to the floor and been smothered to death.

2 – She went to go sulk in a corner without me.

I found the second thing the more likely scenario. And besides, Annie had come over to talk to me… for a total of seven seconds before she saw someone try to spike her punch bowl and had gone after them in a rage.

Speaking of which – I was also right about the party. I was out of place, because it was just getting out of hand when I got there… which had been an hour ago.

And it didn't help that I hadn't seen Catherine or Brady or Hunter since I'd come… though that might've been a result of the fact I had grabbed a glass of punch (Annie had been successful in making sure it hadn't been spiked) and immediately went outside into her giant backyard and hid behind a couple of trees.

But nobody called to see if I was okay or anything. It bugged me.

I checked around to make sure no one was around. Satisfied in seeing no one, I took out my phone (which doubled as my mp3 player) and began scrolling through my phone to find an appropriate song to match my mood. Then I decided I was too lazy to actually bother doing that, so I instead pressed shuffle in hopes that a mood-matching song would play.

Instead, I got "Ours" by Taylor Swift. I sighed. At least it was something that'd ruin my night more than it already had been ruined. As the light music filled the air around me, I began to sing along. But, seeing as I couldn't sing to save my life, I barely finished the first chorus.

"So don't you worry your pretty little mind, people throw rocks at things that shine…" I trailed off, not wanting to bother anymore.

"And life makes love look hard."

I jumped up in such shock that I actually stood up. Standing there was a boy who I'd never seen before. He had brown hair and was dressed in a much more party-like fashion than I'd been. He had dark-washed jeans and black sneakers on, while he adorned a white t-shirt with a black vest and a red skinny tie.

"Who are you?" I asked, slightly on guard, yet self-conscious of my own outfit, which was a pair of jean capris that went to my knees and a red v-neck t-shirt. Overtop, I had a navy blue zip-up hoodie that was probably only a size bigger than it should've been, as well as a pair of dirty grey running shoes.

I knew it was silly to compare our outfits, but with him looking like a rocker and me looking how I do on a daily basis, I felt even more out of place than I'd been feeling before.

The boy tilted his head slightly (and I couldn't help but notice his hair fall in his eyes) as if trying to remember me from somewhere and couldn't do it. He was probably trying to see if I'd ever met him before. With defeat in his eyes (which I couldn't tell the colour of in the dark), he stuck out his hand for me to shake. I almost squirmed away, because though he'd done nothing to make me uncomfortable (minus sneak up on me… and randomly sing Taylor Swift), I had issues with being friendly with total strangers.

"I'm Elliot. It's nice to meet you," he said, putting his hand down, obviously noticing how I refused to touch it. Though, he didn't seem too put off by it. In fact (and I hadn't noticed until then, but…) he kept a constant smile on his face, as if he wasn't put off by anything.

Normally, I'd find it creepy that anyone seemed so happy, but Elliot had a really nice smile, and I therefore thought it was endearing.

"Um… you know," he said, his smile twisting into a slight smirk, "When someone introduces themselves, the polite thing to do is to introduce yourself back…"

He trailed off, hoping I would get the message. I did. Gulping, I said, "Lynette."

Well, I wasn't going to give a complete stranger my name. He could be some axe-murdering stalker for all I knew. So I'd given him my mother's middle name. I figured that would be a safe bet, right?

He nodded, his smirk softening to a smile again. He then seemed to remember something and turned a bit red. "Uh, sorry, by the way," he said, "About… you know – just now. The whole 'coming-out-of-nowhere-and-singing-along-to-Taylor-Swift-with-you' thing. It seemed to scare you, with how fast you stood you as an indication."

Now I felt my own cheeks redden. That was kind of embarrassing. "Oh…" I said, trying to compose my dignity without seeming bipolar, "It's no big deal. I just wasn't expecting anyone."

"And obviously handshakes are an issue with you," he said. I thought he was judging me for a second, until I realized that he was actually just trying to make a joke.

"Yeah, kind of," I said, a shy smile creeping up on my face. And completely without my consent as well, which bugged me incessantly. Though I was not about tell this guy about…

"Really?" Elliot asked, his eyebrow quirked, "And why is that?"

'Nope,' I thought, biting my lip slightly, 'Close, but no cigar.'

"Well, wouldn't you like to know?" I teased, grinning. I didn't know why, because I'd met him literally less than a minute ago and he was still a total stranger…

But I felt strangely comfortable with him.

I sat down, the song still playing, and began picking at the grass. I motioned him to sit down next to me, and he did. "So…" I started, trying to quickly rack my brain for a conversation starter. Well, we were at a party…

"How do you know Annie?" We asked at the same time. I laughed slightly and his grin grew.

"Well," I started, "She goes to my school. She was my guide around the place last year. You?"

"She's my neighbour," Elliot said, "She used to tutor me on weekends."

"You needed tutoring? For what subject?"

"Science – which, by the way, is literally the bane of my existence."

I decided it didn't matter how comfortable I felt around him – he probably would not take well to me hugging him and telling him he was my new best friend because he understood. Instead, I went with, "You should meet my uncle. He'll think I possessed you into saying that."

Elliot looked at me oddly. I proceeded to tell him about how my uncle (I was referring to Uncle Billy) loved Science and thought anyone who didn't was crazy… or possessed. He laughed at that.

"Hey, you said you go to school with Annie, right?" Elliot asked. I nodded, and said, "Well, today was my last day with her. I'm changing schools come Monday. My friends thought coming to this thing would be a great way to say goodbye to me, but they all kind of ditched me the second they got here." I stopped. Why had I told him that?

"Ouch," he said, "And I thought my being here was bad. I came because I overheard my parents talking about how if either me or my sister decided to come here, neither of us would have to go to a wedding tomorrow."

"Who's wedding?" I asked, slightly curious.

"Not sure," he shrugged, "Just that it's one of my mom's co-workers who I don't know and don't really want to know."

"I see," I said, merely for lack of anything else to say.

We sat quietly for a second and I realized something. I may not have known Elliot well, but it was a good thing I felt comfortable, because I was probably going to be stuck with him.

I smiled, turned to him, and asked, "Hey. Want to head inside?"

He smiled back and said, "Let's go."

Elliot and I had found ourselves in front of the punch bowl (we weren't drinking it. God knows what was in that stuff by now) and I was actually enjoying myself at this thing.

"… Okay, so then my sister goes and screams so loud that our cat hid under the couch and refused to leave it for three days," Elliot finished up, chuckling. I, on the other hand, was about to fall over from laughter. I was also mentally thanking myself that I didn't have anything to drink at the moment, because it would probably be coming out my nose and/or result in me choking.

"Your poor cat!" I exclaimed, trying to sound sympathetic, but not succeeding at all as I was still laughing a bit.

"I'll tell it you said that. She'll be pleased to know somebody's thinking about her," he said loudly, trying to be heard over the music. He was smiling again.

I'd realized that this kid was crazily cheerful. He almost never stopped smiling, grinning, or smirking. And he was really easy to talk to. We'd talked about a ton of things we liked, such as movies (I had this strange love for The Princess Diaries, while he had this thing, as he described it, for Batman films), books (I told him about the manuscript my dad had given me just last week with the annoying characters and confusing plotline. He told me about this book series that was pulled off the shelves because there were so many readers who were offended by it), TV shows (I practically screamed Big Time Rush at him. But what was crazier was that her told me he watched it too because he was a big Erin Sanders fan and therefore had a crush on Camille. We also both loved Glee and Rookie Blue) and music (once again, Big Time Rush. But we both loved Fall Out Boy, Panic! At The Disco, You Me At Six, All Time Low, Vanessa Carlton, The Veronicas, Anna Nalick, Nickelback, and – he admitted with a grin – Taylor Swift. But that was because his girlfriend was a huge fan).

He hated Science as much as I did, but he loved History. I told him English was my favourite and that thought Science was terrible, Self-Improvement was just as bad. Once I explained the class to him, he was laughing because he thought I was joking – though he realized pretty fast that I wasn't. His "what the hell?" look was pretty funny to see.

"What about you?" He asked, "What crazy stories do you have?"

"Um…" I quickly racked by brain for one, "Oh! This one was actually about a month ago. My boyfriend and I went to the movies, and when we came out, I saw they had this 'help wanted' sign, so I asked for an application at the concession stand. My boyfriend was with me – and keep in mind here, my boyfriend has blond hair, green eyes, about three inches taller than me, and we have no facial recognition to each other whatsoever. So I got the application and the guy goes, 'Would your brother over here like one, too?'"

Elliot bit his lip, trying not to laugh, but his twitching smile gave it away. I smiled at him, and he broke down, almost doubled-over. "Wow," he said, and I could tell he really couldn't think of anything else.

I looked away for a second and saw a clock – which is when I remembered I had to be home by eleven. I quickly took out my phone and saw it was almost quarter-to. I blinked. I had spent about an hour and a half talking to Elliot.

And I didn't want to stop yet, either. But I had argued for an earlier curfew, and therefore, I was going to stick to it. I turned back to him and said, "I hate to pull a Cinderella on you, but I have to get home soon."

He smiled back and said, "You'd only be pulling a Cinderella if you had my name."

I looked at him confused for a second. Elliot said, "I wasn't going to give my real name to some stranger. You could've been some axe-murdering stalker for all I knew."

I laughed, because really?

"Want to know something crazy?" I asked. He nodded, and I continued, "I had the exact same train of thought. So I gave you my mother's middle name."

He laughed and said, "I gave you my dad's middle name."

I smiled, and was about to say something else, when my phone rang. I looked down at it and it read "17 New Messages."

… Wait, what?

I scrolled through them, and saw that they were all "Where are you?" and "Are you okay?" and "Tell us you're not dead, PLEASE tell us you're not dead!" from Chris, Brady, Catherine and Macy… They were sent through a scattered amount of time, but they started about half an hour after we'd gotten here.

'So, apparently my phone now hides my text messages from me. Wonderful,' I thought.

"Is everything alright?" 'Elliot' asked. I explained to him that I had to meet my friends.

"But it was really nice meeting you, Elliot," I said.

"Likewise, Lynette," he smirked.

With that, I walked away.

As I left, I tried finding the front door. This is the first time I'd been to Annie's house (which I probably should've mentioned was huge), and so, I had no idea where I was going. I quickly saw a door, and I was strangely compelled to go in.

So I did.

Normally, you'd think I'd lost my senses because the last time I'd been compelled to something, I ended up in pain and screaming and crying and had my father freaking out. But this time, it was that bad. I had just walked into the bathroom.

Granted, it was trashed, but it was still the bathroom.

I looked around. The shower curtain had fallen into the tub, and there were candy wrappers and soda cans littered all over the floor. The sink counter had cosmetics spread all over it, and some of the make-up had spilt into the sink. It was obvious that before the party, Annie and a couple of her friends had probably gotten ready here. After that, people had decided to continue the party it here. I wrinkled my nose at the place. Poor Annie was going to have one hell of a time cleaning up this pasticcio. I turned my head over to the mirror and practically jumped out of my skin.

There, in hot pink lipstick, read, "I WILL GET YOU FOR WHAT YOU DID."

I figured some stupid senior wrote it. I rolled my eyes. Annie was definitely going to have a hard time. I quickly picked up the wrappers and cans and put them in the garbage, before attempting (and failing) to put the shower curtain back up. It was the least I could do. I didn't know what to do with the make-up, and knowing me, I'd just wreck it more. My phone chimed and I saw it was another text message. I quickly remembered that I had to get home soon and quickly left to find the front door.

What I didn't know was that the message on the mirror had been written and erased while I was in the room.

After everything had been sorted out (I had called my friends all to meet me at the front door when I found it, and I had waited outside. When they saw me, they demanded every little detail of where I had been and what had happened to me. I explained to them the whole "being ditched" thing and Macy scolded Chris. When I told her she did the same, she explained that she'd been drifted away by this crowd of people and had almost been smothered to death), I walked inside my house at precisely 10:59, a huge smile on my face.

"Hey, Dad," I called.

"Hey," he said, "You're home later than I'd expect you to be."

I smiled and explained what happened. When I mentioned that the boy had used his father's middle name, he drifted off for a second, but quickly came through and said, "He's a smart kid."

Afterwards, when I was getting ready for bed, Dad called me back down. I walked downstairs in my blue baseball jersey (from being on the junior team last year, and it was still a little bit big on me) and a fair of flannel pants, my hair tied back in a ponytail.

"So," he said, "I got a call today. You know that movie theatre you applied to?"

I nodded. Dad continued, "Well, you got the job."

I stared for a second, then blinked a couple of times, then exclaimed, "Seriously?"

Dad nodded. "I was surprised, too," he said, "since they didn't want an interview or anything. I guess they were really desperate to hire so they just took in anyone."

I couldn't tell if I was supposed to be insulted by that or not.

"Anyway, I told them you couldn't do weekdays because of Bloor's, so they agreed you could just do Saturday afternoons. You start next week," he said. He paused, and then said, "Oh, and speaking of Bloor's, I put your uniform in your room. You can go try it on, if you want."

I nodded and walked away, perplexed. I went up to my room, and saw the a little brown package. Quickly, I closed my door and opened it. There was a black skirt that looked like it went to about my knees and a white button-up shirt, which had sleeves that probably went to about my elbow. There was also a pair of black knee high socks, and I already had a pair of black loafers downstairs.

Aunt June had gone crazy when she found out I was going to Bloor's and had taken me shopping for the shoes. She'd tried to get me to buy other things that were probably unnecessary, but I'd resisted. I loved my aunt, I really did – but she was much too trend-loving for my tastes.

I looked down at the package again and saw my tie and cape. Both were the colour purple, which was for Drama.

Dad and I had agreed that since I didn't play any instruments well and I couldn't sing, I wasn't able to go into Music. And because I couldn't do anything artistic (with the exception of painting my backpacks) to save my life, I probably wouldn't be able to go into Art. Drama had been the best option for me. It disappointed me, as I knew Dad had been in Music when he was at Bloor's and my mom had been in Art. But I decided going into the Department neither of my parents had been in would signify a fresh start at the school for me, as well as them.

Quickly, I changed from my pajamas into the entire uniform. Something about it bugged me for a second, but I couldn't place my finger on it. But then I realized the feeling was the same as when I put the black hoodie on.

The flashes started like last time.

I screamed.

A/N: Sorry it's so short! But I'm going to edit this and add more, so don't worry.

Edit (July 16/11): I EDITED IT AND I LIKE IT NOW. And it's longer than the last two chapters, which is an added bonus :) P.S. Monello means "brat" and pasticcio means "mess."

Word Count: 2,350 (Post-edit: 5,000)

Time Posted: 11:55 PM (Post-edit: 2:45 PM)

- May :)