sorrysorrysorry. i know that this is supersupersuper late but i hope it's worth it! i'm going to finish this a/n at the end of the chapter. so. without further ado…

Chapter Seven

--

Later that night…

--

I felt drained of everything. Blood, muscle tissue, bone, everything. I felt like a shell of my previous self. On the outside I was the same person - same in-need-of-a-trim dark hair, same heart-shaped face, same chipped nail polish, same dimples, same scary-looking amber eyes - but on the inside I was empty.

It was all because of an MIA Claire Lyons. I stayed up for hours, lounging around in my minuscule bedroom, awaiting her call. Or a text, even. Something to explain better than her broken up, grammatically incorrect, shaking fingers could ever provide me. It never came.

It didn't come at nine o'clock when I snuck some popcorn into my room.

It didn't come at ten o'clock when I watched, in a trance-like state, William Shatner seduce an alien vixen.

It didn't come at eleven o'clock when I re-painted my nails ice blue - like Claire's eyes, nails, and signature dyed-hemp bracelet - while re-reading a tattered James Patterson paperback. (For the record, they're never quite as exciting the second time around. I found myself skipping paragraphs, pages, to find the action.)

It didn't come at twelve o'clock when my brother knocked on my door - with the toe of his Converse, from the sound of it - and told me Mom said her moping was 'bumming her out.' Quote-unquote. Yeah, my parents, who both went by their first names Kendra and William, were glorified hippies. Want to hear a secret? I was named after the state they conceived me in - gross, I know! - while doing some political protest crap. Massachusetts Block.

It didn't come at one o'clock when I finally clicked the Power button on my Dad's laptop - which I'd, er, borrowed a few days earlier.

And, of course, it didn't come while I fell asleep with my tired fingertips poised over the keys and a 'you will die on midnight...blah blah blah' chain message open.

--

"Massie," Kendra said sharply.

I was startled and quickly opened my eyes. She was never 'sharp' with me or my thirteen-year-old brother. Kendra claimed one of her high points was the fact that she and William didn't believe in 'tough love' as an effective method of parenting. They were more the chocolate for breakfast, no Internet blocker types. Not that we minded.

Not. One. Bit.

But today was different.

Everything was different when it came to my too-expensive school and scholarship.

"Wake up." Her short fingernails dug into my shoulder. Like an uncomfortable massage. I shrugged them off and searched her ocean blue eyes for an answer. I found none.

"Okay, okay!" I raised my palms in an I-surrender! gesture. "I'm up!" I repeated this, "I'm up." In a far less groggy tone this time.

"That's good." In a huff, Kendra stormed out of my bedroom, not bothering to close the door.

Mentally, I asked, What's up with her?

There was no wise, all-knowing Inner Voice to answer me.

Whatever.

Idly noticing William's laptop was turned off and closed, I made my way over to my teensy tiny closet. From a beige-coloured hanger, I pulled out my wrinkled school uniform. Oh, well. There would be no time for ironing this morning. What time was it anyways?

Eight-fifty.

School started at nine.

I walked with Layne - she stopped when we reached the public high school - and it took twenty minutes.

Shit.

What a great start to a surely great day.

My own sarcasm made me smile darkly.

First, I closed the door. Little Brother usually had his pervy friends over before school and they didn't need a glimpse of the promise land. I quick-changed into my skirt and blouse. Forgetting the rule about 'closed-toed, dark-coloured shoes,' I slipped into a pair of Little Brother's boat-sized, scuffed, checkered Vans. It would probably earn me a 'responsibility slip' from a school official, but I didn't really care.

Then, I stuffed all the books, binders and pens I could possibly use into my messenger bag. Bag over my shoulder, I hopped out of my room, only pausing once in the kitchen to thank Kendra, give Little Brother and William kisses on the forehead and snatch a piece of buttered toast and a yogurt-dipped granola bar off their blates, before swiftly exiting the apartment.

I impatiently rode the elevator down with a sweet, cheek-pinching, cooing old lady - her hair still in hot pink rollers and no dentures in her mouth - and a shifty-eyed drug addict who mumbled gibberish under his breath. Or maybe it wasn't gibberish. Frankly, I didn't really want to know.

With a wave to the super - a size-twelve woman with a heart of gold and penchant for making incredible-tasting butter tarts - I shot out the revolving doors, only to come face-to-face with the first limo I'd ever seen. (Not counting the few times I'd flicked past a re-run of Gossip Girl or the tacky white ones at weddings.)

Wanna guess who greeted me with a crooked smirk and a mock-salute?

Derrick freakin' Harrington.

What did I say about having a great day?

"Derrick Harrington," I said coolly.

He gave me a strange look. "Massie Block."

"This is so weird," I mumbled under my breath, tucking a wisp of hair behind my ear - oh, great. I forgot to brush my hair. It probably looked like a wavy, kinky, knotted mess. That's ggggrrrreat. I beat the Frosted Flakes tiger never had a bad hair day in his entire life.

"Not for me." His grin widened.

Gesturing to the slick, black vehicle behind him with his thumb, he asked, "Wanna hitch a ride, darling?"

It was like signing a contract with the Devil.

But I was running really late and...

There was no time to read the fine print.

As sweetly as I could, I said, "Only if you promise not to call me 'darling' ever again."

"Deal."

"Deal," I repeated.

As gentlemanly as I'd ever seen him, he held open the door for me as I ducked inside it.

Everything about the interior was as sleek as the exterior. Leather seats that felt like clouds. A cooler stocked with what I could only imagine to be the best of non-alcholic and alcoholic beverages available to humankind. High-quality speakers surrounded us, but no music played. Only the soft tinkling of white noise.

He slid in next to me.

"I'm sure you're just dying to know what's brought me to this neck of the woods."

I rolled my eyes. "Let me take a guess." I brought a finger to my chin and pretended to think long and hard. "The stalking of innocent young girls?"

"Wrong." He made a low, guttural sound. It was vaguely like a game show buzzer. "It's you, my dear."

"Hey." I frowned. "What did I say…?"

"You only excluded 'darling.' Are there any other words you'd like to wipe from my vocabulary?"

"Yes." I nodded my head vehemently. "Any term of endearment."

"While, I guess that leaves only a few words." He smirked. Again. I rolled my eyes. Again.

"And what would those be?"

"Will. You. Go. On. A. Date. With. Me?" He said each word slowly, drawing out the syllables. But the meaning was clear.

Derrick Harrington, profession jerk, womanizer and trust fund baby, wanted to go on a date with me.

Hell, no.

--

hello again. i have a question for you. i like your opinions, because you are all veryveryvery genius-smart girls. what should massie's brother's name be? i haven't picked one yet. you guys can. just send in your choice with your review. (btw, that's me-speak for REVIEW, PLEASE?!)