The Relationship Writer

New story! ;D hope you like it :3

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Chapter 1

“Gooooood morning, Chicago!”

I groaned at the sound of the stupid radio talk show host. I slammed my hand down on my alarm clock, turning it off. I don’t even know what he looks like, or even his name, but I really hate that host’s voice. It’s just so… annoying at six in the morning.

Maybe everything’s just annoying at six in the morning.

I forced myself to get out of bed, throwing the covers to the floor. I shuffled sleepily to my closet and threw it open. One of the doors banged against the wall. I winced at the loud sound.

Good thing I’m an only child, or else my siblings would be beating me up right now.

I looked at the array of outfits in my closet. It was a small closet, but it was absolutely brimming with colorful clothes. A normal girl would probably be in love with everything in my closet; the flowery patterns and the bright, girly colors.

Too bad I’m not a normal girl.

I settled for a striped tee and some comfy jeans, and then I ran downstairs, making sure not to forget my bookbag. Really, I couldn’t care less about my bag; all I really care about is my notebook.

Ever since sixth grade, I’ve loved journalism. Not writing, journalism. I promise, there’s a difference.

I pretty much live to write. I mean, I’m considered a total loser at school, but I’m perfectly fine with it because I can still write. Now, if someone tried laying a hand on my notebook, that’s a whole different story.

I’ve even lost my social life to writing. I know it’s taking the whole “aspiring journalist” thing to a whole new level, but it’s totally worth it. Why go out when I can write? My journal is just as fun as going out to a movie with friends.

On the way downstairs, I made sure to keep a tight grip on my notebook. It’s sacred to me. I’ve never dropped it or given it to anyone else in my life.

“Riley?” my mom said from the kitchen. I nodded and walked over to her, raising my hand slightly. “Here,” I said, mimicking a student. She laughed and shook her head, but then her smile fell. She looked up at me and raised her eyebrows. I raised my own eyebrows in response. “What?” My mom sighed.

“Sorry, hun. I can’t take you to school today. You’ve got to walk,” she said apologetically. My eyes widened. I have to what?

“Mom, you know how I feel about physical activity,” I told her matter-of-factly. Her expression turned into pleading. It made me feel guilty. But I can’t cave in, that’s her whole strategy!

“But Riley, I’ve been driving you to school for the past fifteen years. This is finally your sixteenth year and you can’t walk yourself to school?” my mom begged. She was pouting now, giving me the puppy-dog eyes. I sighed. I swear, sometimes my mom acts like an eight year-old sister.

“What if I get jumped?” I said, the idea popping into my head. It sounds scary, but to me, it was a golden ticket out of walking myself to school. And it’s true. “I’m a scrawny girl; I can’t defend myself,” I added.

For some reason, my mom perked up. Geez, it hurts when my mom brightens up at the suggestion of me getting jumped. “Mom, why are you smiling? It’s not funny,” I said, staying serious. My mom laughed.

“No, sweetie. I’m only smiling because I wanted our neighbor to walk you to school anyways. He’s a sturdy boy; he’ll protect you. Thanks for reminding me,” she said cheerily. I opened my mouth to protest, not even remotely aware of how I reminded her about our neighbor, but before I knew it, my mom was shoving me out the front door.

“Mom, I—” I started. My mom shushed me, ushering me onto the front porch. The floorboards creaked under our weight. We should probably get those fixed if they can’t hold a one hundred pound girl and her almost equally scrawny mother.

“No buts,” she said. “He seems like a nice boy. You’ll be friends in no time.”

I was doubtful. The only friends I had were the ones that worked with me on the school paper, but I didn’t have any more. I’m just so socially awkward when I’m out of my element.

“But—” I started again. My mom finally just gave me a light push, making me stumble down the stairs. Then she hurried back inside the house, locking the door behind her. I stared at the door, wide-eyed.

What kind of mother locks her daughter outside?

I ran to the door and started pounding on it. “You’re a horrible mother!” I shouted. “It’s cold outside! I forgot my homework! My ankle’s sprained!” I added loudly, thinking up every possible excuse for her to drive me to school. I paused for a second, trying to make up something else.

“There’s a rapist in Lincoln Park!” I shrieked urgently. I clawed at the door, probably resembling a stray cat or a needy puppy. No matter what I looked like, I still didn’t want to walk to school. I was desperate.

I pressed my ear to the door, but I heard nothing. Not even some sort of reply, or any moving around. My mom had probably gone back to sleep. I pressed my forehead against the door. There was nothing to be heard.

But out of nowhere came low laughter behind me. I froze, afraid to turn around. I waited for a few seconds, hoping that the onlooker would eventually get weirded out and just walk away. After a few more moments passed by, I turned around, figuring that enough time had passed.

I guess I was wrong. I found myself staring up at some guy I had never seen before. He was smirking at me, amusement dancing in his dark blue eyes. He was handsome, but the expression on his face seemed mocking. I mentally rolled my eyes. I could already tell what kind of guy this is.

“Who are you?” I said in a bored tone. I raised an eyebrow at him. He raised his eyebrows in response. I pursed my lips. His smirk widened.

“I’m Aaron,” he replied, almost exactly matching my tone. I sighed internally. Oh, I know exactly the type of guy this is. I don’t have much experience at all with the opposite gender, but I’ve written enough personality and horoscope articles to know someone’s personality right off the bat. This is one of those obnoxiously arrogant guys that doesn’t care about anyone but himself. One of those naïve guys that thinks he can get away with anything.

“And what are you doing in front of my house?” I asked, a little reproachful. Aaron’s expression didn’t change, the amused look still on his face. How annoying. His smirk widened. Even more annoying.

“Because,” Aaron said smugly, “I just moved in next door.”

Oh. Greeeaaat.