Run, girl, run, was all that came to mind.
"THERE, THERE!" Voices. Too many. Oh Lordy.
I tuck-and-rolled over a car hood and fell flat on my butt on the pavement. I hid behind the old scarred Volkswagen hippie van and watched about 50 girls run past me. My breathing was all over the place as I slumped down to the ground. I held my jean satchel to my stomach and closed my eyes. My hair was nothing but a giant brown mess, now. Thank god no one was around to see me, anymore. I picked myself up and cupped my hands to the window of the van. The keys were in the ignition, which was ridiculously stupid, but it looked empty. I tried the door and luckily, it popped open. I crawled in, slapping a few spiders off the seat. The engine roared to life. Like a charm.
I pulled out from the drive way, pulling on my base ball cap with the Montreal Canadians sign on it, making sure no one could see my face. I turned onto the highway, smiling with relief that no one recognized me. I flipped my cap backwards and threw my bag in the back. I liked this. I liked this very much. I decided to turn left instead of right, which was my usual route to get home. I felt like a rebel at the moment, although I had nothing or no one to rebel against. My mom was on her honey moon with her new husband, and my dad was on a business trip in Tennessee. I guess the only things that would miss me were the moths in my room.
The black and white cat who crawled out from the back of the van was so unexpected that a deafening scream escaped from my lips.
"HOLY SHIT!" I yelled a few times, slamming on the brakes and beeping the horn. My head snapped back onto the seat, the force of the brakes lunging me forward. I sat there, out of breath, glaring at the cat. If looks could kill, that cat would've been ashes.
"You stupid cat! What the hell!" I forced myself to touch the killer cat, which was actually less hard to do then I imagined.
Sirens.
Recognizable sirens that everyone was afraid to hear.
The fuzz. Damn.
