The Chatbox

18// Duckhead

Daphne's PoV

"Daphne!"

The door swung open and there stood my mom in an apron, her hair up in a bun. I quickly shut my laptop, twirling around on my chair and faced my mom.

"I've been calling you down for dinner for three times already," Mom said, putting her hands on her waist.

"Sorry, didn't hear 'ya," I shrugged and stood up. I motioned her to get out of my room,"I'll be down in five."

I changed into my Winnie the Pooh sweatpants and a black v-neck that I randomly pulled out of my closet.

As I searched for a scrunchie on my table, my laptop popped. I slowly opened it and I saw that someone messaged me. I nervously opened it because I don't know half of Megan's friends in Facebook. I only know our schoolmates and Kenzie. My message board finally stopped loading and I swear I blinked twice as I glanced at it.

Kenzie Simpson: Heyy gurll! I'm back!! :))

She's back. She wasn't joking I thought that picture was photoshopped. Well, if it really was, she's damn good at editing.

"Daphne!"

"Coming, Mom!"

I shut my laptop and skipped down the stairs. I savored the smell of my mom's homemade meatloaf as I sat down on one of the chairs. Dinner went quickly as usual, Dad talking about how his job went, Mom asking me about school, and me constantly shrugging and saying 'yes' to every word they say.

As I ran up the stairs to my room, my phone blared through the whole house.

"Hey, Nat," I greeted through my phone.

"Have you seen it?" She asked.

"It like the it?"

"Yes. That it."

"How many months was she gone?" I asked, plumping down on my bed.

"About 7 months," She replied. "They said someone bailed her out."

"Who the hell would do that?!"

"Guess."

"Brad?" I asked.

"Nahh, I'll tell you tomorrow," She laughed. "You're not even close."

"Whatever. Laters, baby!" And with that I hung up the phone.

'.'*'.'*'.'*'.'*'.'*'.'*'.'

"Ms. Hampton, you are late. Again." I heard Mr. Roosevelt murmur.

"Do I get to clean the school's gym for detention?" I spat.

"Oh, good idea, Daphne! Why haven't we thought about that?" He beamed.

Because you're an idiot.

It's true though, not the one where Mr. Roosevelt's an idiot (But I think it's half true.) but the one where I prefer to clean the gym instead of spending a whole hour in the library with no phones, no food, and of course, with Mrs. Torres. I'd rather eat my own shit than to spend detention there!

"I'll tell Primcipal Hart right away!" He exited the room leaving me there half excited and half suprised. Was he serious?!

I headed my way to my assigned seat and fished out my phone and my earphones as I felt something wet hit my cheek.

I looked around the room to find who threw it at me.

Shit, there goes another one. And another one. And another one.