A Collection of Short/Long Stories I've Written;

Becoming Ronnie: 4.

Okay, I don't live and I've never been to New York in my life *cries with dissapointment*(I wanna go there!) So if anything is wrong, I apologise!

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“Passes please, Miss.” The security guard held out his arm, stopping us from leaving the school.

“It’s lunch time,” My sister replied, as if informing him on information he didn’t already know.

“I know, Miss. Passes please.”

“Why?”

“Are you a senior, Miss?”

My sister flicked her hair, “Yes.”

“Well then, if you’re a senior, pass please.”

My sister dug around in her bag and pulled out two plastic I.D cards. I was about to ask who the second one belonged to when the guard looked up at me and then back down to the card.

“Thanks,” my sister said dryly as he gave us back our passes and let us through the metal detectors.

“Why do you have my pass?” I asked, grabbing it from her hand.

She shrugged, “You left it on the counter one day, I put it with mine so Audrey couldn’t tamper with it or anything.”

“Why’d you call mom that?”

“Huh?” My sister asked as she dug through her bag, looking for her car keys.

“Why do you call mom by her name?”

“Because I feel like it, I mean, why should I call her mom, she’d never there, right?”

“She’s home in the mornings before school and on weekends!” I said defensively.

“I know, honey, but she’s never around for me, she’s never someone I can talk to.”

And this is where I couldn’t defend her – okay, so yeah, I talk to her in church, but that’s about the only time. My mother only ever says one sentence to me in the morning and that’s ‘Cinnamon latte, Veronica.’

My sister found her keys, looked up and grinned to me, “See; now you understand.”

After getting in her car, and turning the radio up, I turned to look at my sister who was reversing out of her space, right up the front of the lot – it even had 'reserved' painted on it and a gold plaque that said ‘Demetria Harris’ my space, however, was near the back of the lot.

“Where are we going anyway? Lunch finishes in fifteen minutes.”

I thought it was a good idea that seniors had the freedom of leaving school at lunchtimes, but the condition was that you had to come back.

My sister got to the edge of the school premises and searched for the rent-a-cop who patrolled the boarder, writing down the names of all the students so that when lunch was over, they could check to see who wasn’t back in school and give them a detention.

“It doesn’t matter when lunch finishes.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re not coming back…”

“But– wait, what?”

“Look,” my sister pointed towards where the rent-a-cop should be.

“What?”

“There’s no-one here, we can have the rest of the day off.”

I shook my head as we sped past the school, away from the demons and the ones who like to laugh.