Chapter Song: Funkytown by Lipps, Inc.
(This chapter is chaos and so is this song.)
Evelyn
"Michael?"
"Yeah?"
"You said Derek used to be a drug dealer, right?"
"Yeah," he said slowly.
"Unless you're one too, I just found crack in your closet."
Michael walked up to me and stared at where I lifted the floorboard. And the bag of literal meth.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Michael seethed. "He was hiding drugs in a fucking crayon box in my old room?"
"Maybe it's not meth?"
Michael deadpanned at me.
"Yeah, never mind. Should we...get it out?"
"My mom will see."
"Good point. But we can't leave it here! Maybe we can flush it down the toilet? Or leave it under the floorboards and hope it decomposes?"
"I don't think drugs decompose," Michael said, giving me a questioning look.
"Well it's not like I would know because I'm not a drug dealer. I mean, I've watched Narcos but that doesn't exactly make me qualified in the drug disposal department."
"I'm not either. Shit," Michael swore. "How could he be stupid enough to hide drugs in our mom's house? And in a fucking crayon box? I'm going to kill him."
"How about we kill him after we hide the drugs?"
"I'm going to go to the store, I'll be back in an hour maybe. Is that okay?" Ms. Laurent called from downstairs, causing Michael and I to jump.
"Yeah, that's alright. Thanks mom."
Once the door closed, we both started to panic even more.
"How does one even dispose of drugs? It's not like I can Google it, the FBI agent behind my phone will probably bust down the door, arrest us, then take my fish."
"We can't give it to the police because my mom will get wrapped up in all this drama again and I don't want that for her. She deserves better."
"But if we stash it somewhere then our fingerprints will be on it or someone could see us."
"We can't sell it or else that'd be a crime."
"We also can't- wait. I have an idea."
Michael perked up, "What is it?"
"Your mom said that she'd be gone for an hour, right? Here me out, why don't we go take it to that big field we just drove by and bury it. It's not like it'll look suspicious because we'll be carrying around a box of crayons. All we'll have to do is bury it a few feet down and let a true crime fanatic go crazy in a few years if they ever find it."
"That's...a really good plan."
"Thank you, but we need to go. We have less than an hour and that field is about twenty minutes away, so we need to go. Right now."
"Right," Michael replied, looking around. "Right."
I reached forward to grab the crayon box, but Michael stopped me. "Absolutely not."
"What? Why?"
"Just in case we get caught, I'm not letting you go down for any of Derek's psycho shit. I'll take the drug crayons."
"Wait," I grabbed his hand, stopping him picking up the box. "Don't touch it."
"Why?"
"I've watched enough TV to know that you should wear gloves if you don't want your prints on anything illegal."
"Smart," Michael nodded. "I'll go grab gloves just-don't touch anything."
"Not even the drugs?" I asked jokingly.
Michael tilted his head and arrowed his eyes, "funny."
"I aim to be."
YOU ARE READING
Evelyn
Romansa"Why do you always look like that?" "Like what?" "Like you hate every person in this room." "That's because I do." "Why? What did these people do to you?" "Nothing. Yet." "You're a pessimist. Every morning you come in, order black coffee, and glare...
