Evacuate

Chapter One

"I hope you aren't wearing that to school," Natalie says to me without looking up from her phone.

I look down at my jeans, black shirt with a flannel, and combat boots. "What's wrong with it?" I

say while sighing.

"Well," She sets her phone down and looks me up and down. "For start­"

"Natalie, are you ready for school or are you wearing pajamas?" Mom rushes in from her room.

Natalie rolls her eyes and goes into her room to get ready.

"Mom, do I look okay?"

"Yes," She looks flushed and out of breath. "Where are my freaking keys!" She shuffles around.

Fortunately, I have my own car and don't have to hear mom's griping about her hair or her

makeup or her work or how Natalie is always on her phone and how I never listen. I grab my keys and

backpack then mumbled a goodbye and stride out to my entirely black 1980 Camaro. I took a lot of pride

in this thing. It was my dad's, and still smells like him.

He disappeared about seven years ago, when I was around ten. I've practically dedicated

everything to figure out where he went and why.

The air was freezing, oh my god.

I hurried to my car and shoved the keys into the ignition and started the heater. Before I pull out

of the driveway I watch as Natalie and Mom come out, Natalie's face shoved into her phone. She was

wearing leggings and a long sleeve tee­shirt with her white high top converse. Of course.

I pulled out of the driveway, being careful of where I was going, like every day. We have the

most complicated driveway ever.

School is one of the most dreadful things ever for me. I mean I had okay grades, but sitting

through every class was dreadful, learning something useless, and then reviewing it over and over and

over again, countless times.
And maybe it's to better my knowledge and what not, but honestly, it's irrelevant to me now. But

I still go. It gives me something to do every day. And by the time I graduate, I might change my career

choice and blah blah blah.

I pull into the school parking lot, about thirty minutes early as usual, to give me time to copy

homework or to let someone copy my homework, or just to talk. I have a group of friends that are pretty

tight. There's no constant rotations between people, and we all practically change together. If one goes to

another house, basically everyone goes.

There's Xach Roberts, who I've known since first grade, when he was new and I gave him an

apple. "Here ya go, watchya name?" And he told me and we became closer than close.

Then Kurt Armoni, who is super Itallian. The olive skin complexion, dark hair and eyes, and his

accent is heavy. He always wears a jacket of some sort, leather, jean, or one of those button ups left

unbuttoned. His family is rich but he isn't stuck up about it. He transferred two years ago in his