After Kiya snapped at us and ordered us to go home, we went our separate ways. The plan was that we would go home before the authorities showed up, packed our bags while our parents were away, look for as much cash as possible and then jet before the school contacted our parents and they came dashing home in a panicky mess.

It wasn't really the three-dimensional interwoven plot only masterminds could conceive…it was just a bunch of exhausted high-schoolers coming together to haul ass as far away from their lives as possible.

Felix and Mitch, who usually rode their bikes to school, had to walk home because their bikes were still padlocked in the school parking lot. Paige's dad usually dropped her off to school because they lived a good distance away, so she had to take the bus with me and Kiya. Nate decided to take the subway because it was easiest and brought Blair along too. He said it was so he could "make sure she didn't get hurt" or something else equally dim-witted that he could say that would make him look like a chivalrous hero. I was waiting for Blair to say "Blah blah blah I'm a big girl blah blah and I blah don't need your blah blah protection blah". But she didn't start verbally massacring him, so I guess maybe she was a little freaked out about this whole thing and really did need him.

We had to walk a good distance to get to the bus, which ended up being, like, 15 minutes late. And when we finally boarded I had the worst experience of my life: Paige started talking to me about girly shit I really didn't care about.

We had to wait a few minutes to allow everyone time to get settled, but when the automobile finally started moving, it was like I was headed for hell at 50 mph. I looked to my left and saw Kiya staring blankly out the window. Well, it really wasn't a blank stare…it was just…soft. And its hard for me to admit because Kiya really isn't the soft, cuddly type. I began to wonder why she was that way exactly. I was reading this newspaper article once about how childhood experiences could drastically effect who you became. I thought maybe she had been victim to cruel abuse or bullying…I couldn't imagine that was the case with her though. From what I could tell, Kiya came from a snugaboo family from Barbados. I didn't think people would bully her either. And not just because she had a backbone of steel, but because when you really got down to it, there wasn't much to bully. She was clever and pleasant enough if you could get around the edges. She was…you know…pret___

"So, Westley, I have a question," Paige's voice was like a scythe, tearing up my thoughts in one sharp slice.

"Umm….okay. But if it's about those times in P.E. when I____"

"No, no, silly….it's about something else. Something more…surveyish"

It didn't take Einstien to know that "surveyish" was not a word, but before I could point out to her how grammatically incorrect she was, she continued her question…a question that would, no doubt, be saturated and dripping with stupid juice.

"Why is it that guys wear Axe cologne and other bad-smelling crud to be more attractive to us females? If they really wanted us to attack them fiercely out of raw lust, why don't they just ask us what our favorite smell is from Bath & Body Works and just wear that. It makes things easier, dontcha think? Why do guys put on smelly crap like that and expect us to make out with them?"

Gee, I don't know, Paige. Maybe because asphyxiating from inhaling too much "Daydreamer's Peach Breeze" isn't on my "Top Ten Ways to Die" list. I mean, I had been in that place before with my mom. It was like torture. It's one thing to be able to stand the smells, but you could really only breathe in too much before getting, like, toxic poisoning in your lungs or something.

"Maybe our noses are trained to like Axe, and yours are trained to like Bath & Body Works?" I guessed. I didn't feel like talking to her and the aura of her idiocy was literally sucking every joule of energy in my body straight from my limbs. I could hear Kiya chuckling under her breath next to me, in her own seat. I had really sounded like a complete moron just then, but I was too exhausted from today's previous events to care.

I won't bore you with the silly details of the rest of our trip, just as long you know it involved a potty-mouthed worker from McDonalds, a deranged old lady singing "99 Bottles of Pop On the Wall" until her granddaughter started throwing hard candies at her, and an obese middle-aged man feeding his poodle licorice sticks.

Anyways, after Paige got off, we stopped near the same street that you needed to take to get to Kiya's house. I don't know why, but I wasn't so sure she should go in alone. Sure, she was more than capable of handling herself, but there was just something that didn't seem right about the neighborhood. Maybe it was the aftershock of my powers beginning to play tricks on my mind, or maybe I just wasn't used to seeing a whole bunch of houses with girls skipping rope outside and windows all intact. Either way, I had to open my big mouth.

"Maybe I should go with you," I had blurted, beginning to get out of my seat before it came to a complete stop.

She had whizzed around to glare at me as though I had just grown a second head.

"No, no…you need to go home. The quicker, the better. We're going to meet at the bus terminal a few blocks away remember? Just take the bus and meet us there…"

She turned on her heel to begin stepping down the steep stairs of the bus, but I stubbornly argued, "It won't take me long. What's the harm?"

I could almost imagine a vein bulging out of her head. I remembered all those times my mom joked about how I could drive a priest to drink. "Why the heck do you want to go so bad? It's just my house."

Why did I care again? Was I worried? Was I interested in her past? Trying to make a new friend?

"I don't want to___my house is a few blocks away___I just___"

"Can't finish my sentences?" she guessed snappily, before rolling her eyes.

"You getting off, Ma'am?" the bus driver asked. She leaned back in her chair, scratching the leather covering off of the steering wheel and eyeing the road ahead of her as if it were her arch-nemesis. Kiya sighed and turned to me, "Come on" she moaned.

I lazily (but happily) stumbled after her as we walked down the clean sidewalks…or, ya know, as clean as New York streets could be.

"So you live with your mom and dad?"

"Yeah," she murmured. It was soft and unsure. I presumed she was just fatigued like I was and didn't feel like talking about her family.

"And you?"

Fatigued or not, I hated talking about my family…if you could even call it that. There was mom. She was the only normal one out of all of us. Then there was Brandon Dostlebein, my schizophrenic, buttface stepdad, my own personal ugly stepsisters, Madonna and Britney (please…don't ask about the names…), and they're devious kitten, Piranha. We were so dysfunctional it wasn't even funny.

"My mom and step…people," I forced out.

She covered her mouth suddenly and I could see her eyes twinkle mischievously. She was obviously trying to hold back laughter…and one of her world-famous wisecracks.

"Yeah…I know what that's like," she explained after she'd removed her hand. But how could she? She came from a snugaboo family.

"You come from a snugaboo family," I said plainly. It occurred to me at that moment, though, that I didn't have any facts to back it up. I just naturally assumed someone like her had it all made out for her.

She snorted and rolled her eyes skyward, then turned and faced me as we stood on the bottom step leading to her house's entrance. "Is that what you think?" she asked me. Uh oh, trick question time. Was this rhetorical or did I need to answer that? She stood there for seconds, awaiting some sort of response from me, so I muttered, "Yeah…yeah that's what I think."

Wrong move. Here we go…chess time.

"Well, I don't. Just because a family is legally intact doesn't mean they are mentally or emotionally. I couldn't expect you to know or even comprehend half of my situation. Know why? Because you're too damn stuck on yourself, Westley. It's all about you. Your mom packs you lunch and sends you a sticky note with mushy love on it every single day. And what do you do as soon as you get to the cafeteria? You fish it out, crumple it up, and then go on eating your peanut-butter sandwich as if you didn't just single-handedly manage to tear up your mother's love into tiny bite-sized pieces. Your mom actually cares about you, dipshit. So don't screw with what you've got and don't bite the hand that feeds you…" she trawled through her backpack until she found the keys and opened the door with a small shove, "It might just bite back one day. And the last thing you need is another enemy."

Pawned.

The door creaked open grimly like something you'd see from a horror movie. I heard a small patting noise and looked up into her eyes to see if she had heard it, but she didn't seem to, so I blamed it on my overactive imagination. Her lecture had kind of gotten to me and I guess I should've seemed more…ya know…thankful…but really, that noise had blasted any semblance of gratefulness from my mind.

We walked through the hallways of her home. It was pretty big actually, but she had 4 siblings (she had told me so once), so I expected as much. It was dark too…she hadn't bothered to turn the light on when we came in, so when I felt something scratch against my jeans, I yelled and kicked hysterically.

A black cat went skittering across the floor at the speed of light, meowing all the way there.

"What the hell are you doing to Gabby!" she fussed, shoving me out of the way to go after her precious cat, who was busy licking its fur and looking innocent in that way cats do after they did something to mess with your head.

She waltzed over to the feline and picked it up, scratching its head lightly. All I could hear was the cats satisfied purring as its master itched that nice spot behind its ears.

I had never been so jealous of a cat…

"Stay here!" she ordered, beginning to climb the hardwood steps that led to the second floor, "I don't want you kicking any of my personal belongings."

"I didn't kick her!" I whined back, but she was already out of sight, her godawful cat in tow now.

Now I was alone in a strange house in the dark. So I did the one thing she told me not to do…I roamed around a little bit, got familiar with the area. I tip-toed deeper into the hallways, checking every room.

One room had a fireplace and a couch, then the restroom, the kitchen. I stopped at one room though, one that took me by surprise. It was probably the biggest room in the house, stretching a good ways. It was filled with a piano and a metal rail went across the wall across from the door. There were shoes lined up against the wall…ballet shoes. I didn't think much of it at first…I figured one of her siblings did it or something. But then I noticed a picture on the wall to the right. It was professional picture, black and white. It had Kiya in it, her curly hair cascading perfectly down her shoulders, and dressed in a leotard and tutu. Ballet shoes adorned her feet; the very same ones that were lined against the wall.

"They're Pointe shoes," her voice called from behind me. I froze, trying to think of an excuse…