This chapter is dedicated to all of the reviewers...because without you, I probably wouldn't have forced myself to write this chapter as fast as I did...well, it wasn't that fast, but it was considering how slowly I updated the other stories.

Disclaimer (i know this is the first one..) I wish I owned Zoey 101, but I don't... oh well.

A Weekend in Seattle

Day 2 part 4

May 10, 2008

We walked in a comfortable silence on the concrete sidewalks. The sun was poking above the horizon, trying to get out from behind the tall skyscraper that was blacking its view. The rays danced along buildings and cars, reflecting itself as if to say 'look what I can do, look what I can do!'

We must have looked weird, three girls walking the Puyallup streets at four in the morning, the hoods of our sweatshirts pulled up as far as they could be. But we were on a mission. We needed warmth, and soon.

I ask Morgan how much longer until we get to her friends house, and she says it'll take us about another hour.

"I can't wait that long! My fingers are almost purple…and I'm starving. When can we eat?" Kelsi asks, whining. They both look at me, and I suddenly realize my sisters are respecting me, asking me for guidance. Sure, it's only about when we can eat, but I can see a new level of respect, and I'm liking it. I take out a booklet I got on the bus and open up to the section about Puyallup's best places to eat. I find one, and it's only about a block away. So, we keep walking.

The place is called Big Al's Honkin' Pancakes. That's what the sign says, and under that, it says "They're so good, they're sinful!" it's all in lettering that looks like rope. It's a country themed restaurant, and right when we open the door, we are greeted with the smell of scented candles and pancakes and blueberry syrup. I can see why they say the pancakes are sinful, and we haven't even eaten yet. Behind an old wood counter is a redhead girl with her hair in pigtails. Her face is covered with a splash of freckles, and you can just see a faint hint of mascara on her eyelashes. She greets us in a real southern accent, and she's real perky. I tell her the usual…how many are in your 'party, 'table or booth,' that kind of stuff. We end up at a booth near the corner, with a window right next to us. She gives us our menus, and we thank her.

The menu is full of stud. Entrees, appetizers, breakfast, lunch, dinner…they even had dessert. And it was all breakfast stuff. Much better than the chicken I had when we were on the road. Morgan gets a stack of blueberry pancakes and blueberry syrup, Kelsi gets an omelet with 'savory bacon and cheese, so good it'll make a young girl cry.' And I get French toast with bacon on the side. We all sit down to eat, and I tell them everything that went on in my years at PCA. They laugh at most of the stories, and they almost cry when I tell them about the time Chase's grandmother died when he was at his birthday party. I tell them about Zoey and Chase, junior prom, Logan, Lola and Vince, Michael, and, well, everything. Then they tell me about what I've missed. Dances, boys, music, mom's beatings, Nathaniel, visiting our aunt in Maine, and school in general.

When we're done and our bellies are full, and the bill is paid, we head out into the cold again. Morgan says we're only a block away from her friend's, so we keep walking. Our stomachs are cramping and our feet are beginning to numb, but she says it's only a little longer, so we keep going. When we're so tired we can't move on, we stop at a bench to take a rest. It's silent except for birds singing their songs in the trees, calling to one another, and the occasional car rumbling by. Sometimes, a person would walk by, but they wouldn't ask questions, to our relief. They would only give a curt nod, and regain focus on the road ahead. We wouldn't mind. We liked the silence. I had started getting used to it, and it could be surprisingly comforting at times.

When we were better, we kept walking. Knowing we were only a little bit away from our destination was motivating, and by now our blood is pumping, and we are racing on the empty streets to number six Thrushling Lane. When we get there, we are wheezing and out of breath. Morgan then whips out her green envy and texts Lizzie, her friend who lives here. 20 minutes…no reply. She tries again, and in 20 more minutes, there is still no reply. Therefore, we sit down and wait. When her phone finally rings, it's an hour later, and we're almost frostbitten. Morgan turns to me, and I can see the color flushing from her cheeks, and when she speaks, it's a horrified tone.

"That wasn't Lizzie…that was mom. She wants us home so she can punish us for the last time…"