Chapter 2

"My twisted imagination does its work"

Quick Disclaimer: I don't own HP. I disclaim Bob the freakin' Builder. I don't own freakin' Dora the freakin' freak with her freaky side kick, The Rat Who Claims To Be A freakin' Monkey. Thanks!

"Hello Harry." I greeted him calmly. "Am I insane?"

"No, Cara, you are not insane." replied Harry Potter.

"Really?" I asked, shocked. "Are you sure?"

"Not especially," he shrugged. "You need to wake up now."

"Aw, but I was having such fun with Bob."

"Bob?"

"Bob the Builder? You know him."

"Kind of…" he looked undecided on the matter.

"He and his foster kid Dora were helping Barney teach the kids how to tie their shoes."

He muttered, "I don't think I want to know…"

"Okay, I'll wake up, but I won't like it."

I woke up.

"You were talking in your sleep." Jennifer informed me. "Something about Bob the Builder and being insane."

I lied again, saying, "I don't really remember my dream."

This dismayed Jennifer quite a bit. "BITCH!" she roared at me.

"Sorry," I said.

"GET OUT OF MY SIGHT! I NEVER WANT YOU SEE YOU AGAIN!"

"I said 'sorry'!" I exclaimed, leaving the room.

"THIS TIME 'SORRY' AIN'T GONNA CUT IT!"

I went downstairs for breakfast. Neddy was sitting in my usual spot, eating my pancakes. I dived at him from across the table, attempting to strangle him. He called out in surprise, but his exclamation died, not unlike him. His fell, limp, face first into his half-eaten pancakes. I laughed with malicious pleasure, threw back my head and howled like a wolf on a full moon.

"Good morning." Neddy said, jerking me out of my fantasy. He sure was enjoying those pancakes. MY pancakes. I grinned, remembering the sight of him sitting with his face in the stack of sticky hotcakes. "What you smirking for?" he questioned me suspiciously.

"Nothing." I fibbed quickly.

He notified me, "I don't believe you."

"Good, 'cause I was…um…being 'economical' with the truth."

"You mean lying?"

"Yes. Why are you eating MY pancakes? Those are MY pancakes!"

He shoved a forkful into his mouth. "I don't see your name on them." He retorted, mouth full.

"It's right there!"

"…"

"What are you doing here anyways?"

Neddy looked at me funny. This is not unusual. "I spent the night, remember?" I shuddered, realizing the double meaning of his words. "What?" He is so clueless.

"'SPENT THE NIGHT'?" Rick said from the kitchen, trying to be obvious without explaining.

"I still don't get it."

Jennifer stated the obvious. "You are stupid."

"Duh." Neddy responded.

"Where did you come from?" I wanted to know.

Jennifer shook her head sadly. "If you don't know…"

"I know where you CAME FROM; what I ment was 'when did you get here?'"

"Then why didn't you just say that?"

"I thought you never wanted to see me again."

"I got hungry."

We ate breakfast with the family. All through the meal Jennifer kept saying things to her imaginary British friend "Lacy" like, "That's rot," "you wanker," and "snog me, you fool," with an accent. Then Neddy got a phone call from his mother saying he had to get home to pack. I nearly cried with delight.

"You need to go? Now?" I uttered with ecstasy.

"Yeah,"

I gave him a big hug. "That's for your mom," I explained. He looked rather pleased with himself for some reason. Then I realized what I had done. I ran upstairs to take a shower and burn my clothes.

I headed downstairs with a towel on my head, whistling "Oh What a Beautiful Morning" to myself. Then I noticed someone working at the computer. "Who are you?"

"I am your conscience, Cara,"

"Oh. What are you doing?"

My conscience's eyes darted back to the screen. "I'm playing Hearts."

"Oh." I said again. "Well, have fun. I'm going upstairs to change." I selected a pair clean blue jeans from my dresser. I pulled on my bright pink Lion King socks, and snatched a T-shirt from a drawer of my dresser. I put it on. It was backwards. I shrugged and went back down stairs.

Mom and Rose and Jennifer were all knitting in a row on the couch. I didn't really understand why you would want to knit. Unlike Jean I've never been good at that homey stuff like knitting and cooking and counted cross-stitch. "Your shirt's on backwards," Mom informed me.

"I know."

Rose looked up from her work. "Your shirt is on backwards." I was told.

"I know,"

Jennifer looked at me. "You shirt's—"

"I KNOW." I interrupted her. Because…I knew, you know? And I was getting kinda pissed, don'tcha know.

"DON'T YOU INTTERUPT ME, YOUNG LADY." Jennifer shouted. She shouts a lot.

"I'LL DO WHATEVER I WANT IT'S A FREE COUNTRY!" I shouted back. Then again, so do I. Shout a lot, I mean.

Mom looked at us disapprovingly. "Inside voices, girls, please."

"I HAVE NO INSIDE VOICE!" I said with my outside voice.

"Then go outside."

"I WILL THEN!" I stomped angrily over to what we called our "Artic Entry". Dorky, yes, I know. Mom called it that when we moved in and it stuck. She even tried to call battered-up gray Suburban the "Tundra Mobile", but nothing doing. I put on all my gear and stomped outside. I stomped over to Annette's house. I knocked on the frozen door that sat under the sign that said, "THE HARLEY'S". Annette opened the frozen door. "Hi." She greeted me.

"Hi."

"What's the matter?"

"NOTHING! LEAVE ME ALONE!" I stomped away. I was mad, and she was making it worse! HOW DARE she! And I thought she was my friend…apparently I was wrong. Fuming, I punched a clown that was washing his tiny little car by the Aurora Inn.

"What was that for?" It demanded.

"Go scare an innocent child!" I retorted, not answering its question. I walked around the block. Again. And again. And again. Finally, getting tired of the pointless wandering, I decided to go to the ice rink. I went into the shed there and pulled on a pair of ice skates. Too small. I tried another pair. Again, too small. I have enormous feet. If I laid on my back and held them out in front of me, they could block out the sun. Finally, I found a pair that looked like a hand-me-down from Goliath. I laced them up and stepped onto the ice. I sort of skated forward (I don't know how to skate that well) and looked around. Some teenage boys were playing with a cat that looked like it was high on catnip. A couple of sixth-graders were trying to get their attention and giggling madly, frantically trying to catch their breath and look attractive at the same time. They only pulled off looking drunk. I scooted forward, legs rigid and teeth chattering from the cold. Did I mention I get cold easy?

"That's no way to skate." Said someone behind me.

"Wha!" I tried to turn around and stay upright at the same time, failed, and fell backwards. I could see the clouds above me. I stared at them until my view was obstructed by face of the person who had surprised me so. It was either Mike or Johnny Wong. "Johnny?" I guessed.

"Mike," he told me.

I did my best to get to my feet as his eyes followed my every movement, drilling into me like he had x-ray vision. He's always watching me. I am so serious. Like I'm the only person on the planet. It's kind of annoying. Sometimes I want to stomp on his foot. Him and his stupid twin. "What are you doing here?" I looked at his feet. He wasn't wearing skates.

"I'm with them," he nodded at the group of boys, which were now holding the poor cat up on its hind legs and making it rap.

"Where are your ice skates?" I interrogated him.

He simply answered, "I don't skate."

"As you can see, neither do I."

"Are you running next year?" He asked. I run cross-country. So does he. He likes me, I think. Though I think he's somewhat of a stud among the junior-highers. Sad? Why, yes, yes it is. He has really bad acne. And even without the pimples, he'd still be butt ugly. And I've seen him with his shirt off. Three words: JOIN A GYM. He's kinda…well…scrawny.

"Yes." I glanced at his friends. They were making the cat brake dance. "That's horrible," I said, feeling his dark brown eyes dig into me.

"What?" he wanted to know, still looking at me with no expression whatsoever. I pointed.

"Whose cat is that?"

He shrugged. "Stray."

I shook my head. "It's still horrible." I chanced a step, or ratherglide, forward. I immediately fell on my face.

"Watch it!" he said, pulling me to my feet. He was obviously trying to win my heart. Wasn't gonna work on me, no sir.

I said, somewhat grudgingly, "Thanks,"

"Mm-hm." He said in acknowledgement.

I've got to get out of here. I don't think I can stand this any longer, I thought, my heart racing. He was making me feel very uncomfortable. Besides, our hands had touched. I didn't like his rough hands and I didn't like his staring and I didn't like his friends, who were now watching us. I towered over him in my skates. His zits shone with grease in the sunlight.

"Look, I gotta go," I said, making my way haphazardly toward the door out of the rink. He tried to help me by taking my arm, but jerked it away. "I'm fine," I said in a breezy tone, betraying my thudding heart. That was the second time we'd touched…

I don't like him, by the way. In fact, I hate his guts.

I plopped down on the snow (very un-daintily and un-ladylike) and started unlacing my ice skates, replacing them with snow-boots. He watched me. He's ALWAYS watching. And he only likes me cause I'm skinny. His brother Johnny is always competing with me. Which is very aggravating at times. "So what about you?" I inquired, anything to keep him under control. "Are you going to be in high school next year?"

"Yeah," was all he said. So much for keeping him talking.

"I'll be a sophomore," I stated, trying to make the point that he was younger than me. But only by maybe a year, if not that, I realized. "What year were you born?" I blurted out what I had been wondering.

"1991. Why?"

I replied truthfully, "Just wondering," because I was, you know.

Wow, I actually told the truth for once. "Well, nice talking to you." So much for truthfulness.

I walked away, feeling his eyes still beating on my back. If he was born in 1991 and this was almost 2005…then he must be 13, just a year younger than me! That was creepy. I shuddered. But he didn't know I was 14…he must think I was 15…I was going to be, next November. This was December. I was yet to have my birthday. I hope he asks me out, I found myself thinking, then I would say "no," in a disgusted voice and offend him. I smiled to myself and started to sing.

Tee hee more about Mike in Chapter 4. Thanks for reading! Oh and next chapter Ron becomes Ronda!

"Flames are welcome to cook my lunch." –Crystal Soul