Here's chapter 3. Admire my unbelievably creative chapter title. Really, it should be called "Samantha's surprising discovery that she is in her Dad's childhood." But that would give it away, wouldn't it? Well, this gives it away, too.
Oh, yeah, shout out:
Thank you, reviewers! This is my most popular story! If I were London Tipton, I would be tip-toe dancing and clapping while shouting, "YAY ME!! I mean—YAY REVIEWER PEOPLE!!!" Well, yay reviewer people. Since I'm bored while typing my author's notes, at the bottom I will say thank you to my reviewers. Here are a few:
Girl-X-91: Guess what? I did NOT see The Sandlot 3! However, I read a review, and I have to say, you were right. Santa is an ass. (Thought you were talking about Santa Clause, lol. Santa Clause is no ass, my friend.)
Shawnee: OMG I LOVE THE JONAS BROTHERS TOO!!! I'll put some random quotes by them in my pro, lol.
SilverRain1.3: Never fear, 'cause your update has arrived!
Now that I've gotten totally off track, here's the chapter.
Chapter 3: Daddy?
"Need some help?"
The blonde boy looked up in surprise. I raised my eyebrows in distaste. His hair was slicked to the side in distinct resemblance to Michael Walden, a loser in my English class who talked about nothing but Star Wars. I remembered with pleasure that I shoved him off the bleachers after annoying me too much. He may sound like the type of guy who didn't deserve cruelty, but all he does is insult people if they don't know about Star Wars. I mispronounced the name of the giant hairy thing once, and he called me stupid. He makes me sick.
Anyway, the kid stood up, a heavy box in his hands. "Uhh-uhh-"
Oh, fun. A shy boy.
"Yes you do." I grabbed the box from him and put it on the already huge pile of boxes in the driveway. I turned back to him, but the trailer was empty.
"So…what's your name?" Comb-over Kid asked. I began walking away from the pile of boxes over to him. "Samantha. Call me Sam or die. And your name, Bubba?"
"Err- I'm Scotty. Scotty Smalls."
When I heard his name, I tripped over one of the bigger boxes and fell flat on my face. I swore so loudly that if my grandmother had been within hearing range, she would've come straight over and shoved a bar of soap in my mouth (Rose Bloom or Freshly Scented- my choice) and drown me in Holy Water (where the heck do you get that stuff anyway?). Yes, we're very religious.
Then again, if my hunch is right, she's nearer than I thought.
"So, Scotty," I said, still sitting on the ground. "I'm guessing you're new here?"
Scotty looked thunderstruck. Apparently he'd never met someone as strange as me. I guess I'm ahead of his time.
Oh. Right.
"Wonderful," I said before he could answer. "Really great. I know what being the new kid is like," Okay, that was a total lie. I've lived in the same town all my life, and I could hardly call this situation normal, like I was moving here.
"Anyway," I said, still interrupting him, "It was nice talking to you. Have fun in your new…umm…" I trailed off. "House. Later."
I hopped up and brushed off the dust that covered my legs. I waved to Scotty, who waved back, and then I turned and ran down the street, back to the sandlot.
Now it id time for Sam's Thoughts About This Insanely Weird Situation. It's the portion of the story where I tell y'all when my thought are. Parents, control your young. This may get vulgar.
Thought number one: IT'S FREAKIN HOT. It's maybe about five in the afternoon and I still feel like I'm in the middle of the Sahara Desert when Mother Nature's on a good day.
Thought number two: Remember when I said that "HIM" from school called me stupid? Well, I'm not stupid. I'm turning fourteen next month and I refused to sign up for the honors classes, due to the awful stress. As opposed to my friend Crystal, who signed up for FOUR honors classes, not to mention taking Honors Japanese! She'll have a nervous breakdown by midterms, I know it. For the record, she hates Michael Walden too. Poor thing had to sit next to him in English. Yep, true story. Now that I've gotten completely off track, here's the REAL thought.
Actually, I'll make it another thought, since I'm so random. Hey, I am what I am.
Thought number three: I can put two and two together: Scotty Smalls, the comb over wonder, is in fact my father. As a dorky little fifth-grader. I know what year it is, since I've heard so much about his "fantastic" childhood, and the story started off with Daddy mentioning the year "1932" and then saying "thirty years later" YES I CAN ADD.
So, I'm in Daddy's childhood. Hopefully, this whole thing is a dream. It should be, since that little BRAT practically killed me with a bat! No one enjoys having blunt force trauma inflicted upon them, especially with a bat!
I had spent so long seething that I forget my other problem. I stopped in my tracks, staring at the sandlot's large dugout that reeked of sweat, dirt and dead things.
"Where the hell am I supposed to sleep?"
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There's chapter three! Thanks for those of you who reviewed!
--V