Neighbors with the Bad Boy (In Editing And Reconstruction)

Presents and Shock

~not edited

Chapter 21

I smiled at the clerk, visually telling her thank you, and took the bag from her hands. When I turned, my eyes unconsciously landed on two familiar people: Mr. Tanner and Miss O’Bryan. They were seated on the bench outside of the store, cozied up together, a huge grin on both of their faces. Most of the time, if it had been any other day than today, I would have most-likely put on a disgusted face and scurried away. But because it was the jolly season and Christmas was almost here, not to mention the envy that I had felt when I had looked at them, I continued to stare at them in complete awe.

They were a cute couple, even though Miss O’Bryan was a few years younger than Mr. Tanner—also including the fact that they were both complete and utter opposites. Miss O’Bryan was slightly rude and cruel, cold sometimes, and had honey blonde hair and shiny blue eyes. Mr. Thompson, on the other hand, was cheerful and great, never showing any kind of negative emotion unless he was having an absolute horrible day, and possessed chocolate hair and green eyes, his skin almost florescent because of how white he was. They were not at all alike, that was for sure, but their positives and negatives and the missing pieces that their lover did and did not have was what had made up the other’s faults and emptiness. It was as though, in a way, they were made for each other.

“Excuse me?”

I quickly moved a couple of feet to my right so the people next in line could pay for their items. After muttering an apology, I exited the store and traveled to the food area.

I was hungry, and my stomach sounded like a roaring lion, craving for something to devour. I glanced at all of the fast-food restaurants surrounding me and chose to eat at Chick-fil-a. I ordered a combo—chicken nuggets, fries, and a drink—then paid, and took my tray filled with Chick-fil-a wonderfulness and picked a seat to sit at.

No longer than ten minutes, I was done with my food and ready to leave. As I sat in my car, debating on where to go next, I all of a sudden picked up my bag and studied the item that I had purchased. It was a Christmas gift for my mother: a China dish set. All pieces—plates, bowls, cups—were coral blue and painted with a cute, swirly, black design. It was beautiful, and I was positive my mother would love it.

I hadn’t bought anyone else any Christmas gifts, only my mother. I was unsure of what to get anyone else, and currently broke, so I thought I’d go maybe a couple of days later, on Christmas Eve. In my head, it was a good plan.

I laid the bag in the chair beside of me and roared my vehicle to life. Soon, I was on the road and maneuvering to a place I had mentally forced myself to go.

There, in front of me, stood a short brunette. She looked to be in her late thirties, a pair of glasses perched on her nose, and she was clothed in a blouse and dress pants. You could tell, by just one glance, she was no doubt strict and professional.

“Hi,” I said, timid, wringing my fingers together nervously. “Are you Lela’s mom?”

The brunette nodded curtly. “Yes, you may call me Mrs. Saucer. Are you a friend of my daughter’s?” Her tone, slightly surprisingly, was formal, as if we were back in the 1800’s.

“Um, yes, Mrs. Saucer.”

Mrs. Saucer nodded. “You may go to her room. It’s up the stairs and to the right. Please take your shoes off before you enter,” she commanded.

I nodded stiffly, slipping off my converse and setting them to the side. I walked in. The inside, just like the outside, was majestic and gorgeous. Everything looked expensive—the beige walls, the lavender vase resting on the table in the main hallway, the staircase . . . everything. It was just so wow. I, in truth, was speechless.

After glancing at the older woman for reassurance, and noticing her poker face expression, I sighed softly and gracefully walked up the never-ending stairs. My eyes wondered to where rows of pictures were splattered across the walls, once I had reached the top of the stairs, many of them looked to be of Lela; others, though, they were of the whole family. I averted my attention to the door, hesitant to knock. But when I did, I wore determination and waited for her to answer.

The door creaked open, and I was face to face with Lela. The smile that was glued to her lips suddenly fell and a look of confusion, uncertainty, and anger crossed over her features. “Why are you here?” she demanded, her words like ice.

I smiled tentatively. “Can I talk to you, please?”

Lela looked around, a scowl on her face, then back at me with her stone-cold eyes and nodded. She opened the door a little more.

I gasped once seeing her room. It was lovely—the walls were white but the black dots spread all over made up for the plainness, the bed was large and decorated with a purple bed spread, the flooring carpeted, and a flat screen TV was mounted on the wall opposite from her. I envied her, at least her room anyway, and wished mine looked similar to hers. Instantly, I knew she was rich, though this house—in general—should have confirmed any sort of suspicion in the first place.

I took a seat in the floor while Lela sat on the bed, waiting patiently for me to talk.

“I,” I started cautiously, “want to know . . . Do you like Mike?”

All of a sudden, shock shooting through my veins in the process, Lela bent over, laughing uncontrollably, with tears streaming down her face because of how much amusement she had founded in my question.

I froze, looking at her blankly, irritated slightly.

“Sorry, sorry,” Lela muttered through her still-continuous laughter. “I’m sorry . . . it’s just—me and Mike? Ha, as if!”

Mouth agape, I said, “But I thought you liked him, you know, with that dreamy smile of yours . . . and all of those emotions you guys have dancing in your eyes whenever you see each other. It’s as if . . . you guys love each other! I mean, even Linda knows.”

She raised an eyebrow, sobering up. “Did Linda tell you this?”

“No,” I said, after a moment, shaking my head. “But, I mean, that facial expression she wore? It hinted something.”

Lela sighed. “You have no clue, do you? Wow . . . and she’s your best friend.”

I cocked my head to the side. “Know what?”

 For a second, she just stared at me, the room utterly silent, and then she said something I would never, ever forget: “Linda likes your boyfriend. She likes Mike Jones.” 

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A/N

I feel like this sucks . . . oh, well. Shocker? Hehe.

I really want to get this damn book over with . . . but I also don't. I'm excited because this will be the first book I have EVER finished. I know how this will end and I know what I want for the main events . . . it's just the details and small events that are stumping me. 

Any suggestions?

Huh . . . love you guys!

Comment.

Vote. 

Fan. 

Bri<333