I Tried to Kill My Dumb Friend and Now I'm on Probation

Chapter 13: No Hard Feelings

A/N: I was debating whether or not I should upload this chapter because of reasons or whatever, I don't know, I have a headache. Anyway, I know the title doesn't connect to anything (yet), so I may or may not continue this. Maybe. I mean, nobody's even reading this so who cares if I update it or not.

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Alright. Close your eyes right now and picture one of your friends. Just picture one; it doesn't matter who. Picture your life together so far. The ups. The downs. Everything.

I make my way down the middle of the sidewalk. I feel the semi-warmth of the sunlight hitting my shoulders, my chest, and my cheekbones. I hear the sound of the light breeze rustling the tree tops; I feel it toying idly with my hair.

Are you still picturing that friend? Good. Forget about him or her for a second. Now I want you to think of your most embarrassing moment. But don't just think of it—remember it. Remember it like it was yesterday, or, better yet, like it was today. Feel the sting. Relive the horrible, sinking feeling. Go on. I know you don't want to, but do it anyway. Make yourself uncomfortable. Live that moment. Feel it like you're drowning in it.

I walk lightly up the driveway, feeling my ankles go from warm to cool to warm again as I step in and out of the shadows of the tree leaves. I'm finally bathed in cool shadow as I step onto the porch. The smell of spring flowers and fresh-cut grass wafts through the air on the mischievous breeze from a recently tended garden.

Are you still picturing that moment? Good. Now picture your friend again. Except, this time, imagine that the embarrassing moment could have been prevented if it weren't for your friend. Better yet, imagine that your friend not only caused that horrible experience, but wanted it to happen. He or she did it to you on purpose. How does that make you feel? Angry? Really angry?

Angry enough to show up at your friend's house on a lovely spring day and beat him to death with his own cell phone?

I hear the porch creak almost musically as I make my way to the welcome mat. I stroke back some of my slightly wind-blown hair and ring the door bell. I clasp my hands together for a moment, warming them up from the cool, early spring air.

I'm going to make it painful.

I hear the soft, padded sound of Irwin's socks on the thick carpet. I see the screen door jiggle, then move. Irwin's face is partly visible through the sun-tinted glass of the front door.

When he sees my face, his expression changes from welcoming to the sullen indignity from the lunch table.

"Oh. Mandy," he greets stiffly, opening the door. "Here to blame me for another one of your problems, yo?"

I keep my face expressionless, keeping my eyes locked on his. "As a matter of fact," I nod, "I am."

I step into his living room without waiting to be invited.

"What is it this time, Mandy?" he folds his arms. "Did I lose your homework? Did I hurt one of your friends, yo?"

"No," I reply. "Just the same-old-same-old."

He frowns. "How many times to I have to tell you, yo? I didn't do it!"

"You sure?" I open the small bag I brought with me, taking out a copy of the school newspaper and my cell phone. "Because I think you might want to take a look at this."

I hold out the newspaper.

"So what?" he says. "I already told you I didn't take it, yo!"

"Really?" I hold out my phone as well, showing him the evidence clearly. He looks at it.