As a fan of horror movies, I always fancy myself to not die stupidly in a dark room in a haunted mansion by calling out, “Who’s there?” and then being stabbed repeatedly at the neck. It seems like the most cliché way to die – especially when there is a serial killer in the neighbourhood. I’d rather die in a far more gruesome way; something that might involve the usage of being blown to bits because of swallowing a bomb and having my guts fly onto other people’s faces. I’d like that.
I walk out the door of my flat to head to the park to play some ball with my friends. It’s not unusual – we girls can play basketball too. “Hey Alex,” Jake greets, and I pass him the ball. They have to play with my ball because the grip on theirs sucks, and I’m generous enough to allow them.
“Stop being a piss and let’s start playing,” I say. “Same teams as yesterday, yeah?”
He nods. “Let’s go!” We get into teams of six and five – Vick hasn’t come down today, he’s unwell – and my team starts because of the disadvantage. The other team starts scoring with the first three baskets, at which time Nate from my team gets really angry and shoots from the 3-P line. He scores and I smile, impressed. I’m hopeless at shooting, if you want to know the truth.
An hour later, the twenty-something-years-old guys come and take the court from us, and we give it up, knowing it’s useless to argue. Jake passes the ball back to me after squeezing it between both palms. “Get it filled up tomorrow,” he says. “It’s getting squishy.”
“Do something yourself for a change,” I say, throwing it back. “Get it filled up. Same time tomorrow, yeah?” He nods, taking the ball. “And hey!” I yell as we both walk in the opposite directions. “I’ll kill you if you vandalise my ball!” He grins and turns away, and I walk back home.
I ring the doorbell, waiting for my mom to answer as my little neighbour Nicky comes out. Her family lives opposite mine, and our flats are the only two out of three that are occupied on this floor. She isn’t older than four, and I suppose she’s kind of cute (I mean she has really chubby cheeks) but other than that, she’s always annoying me. Not in that annoying pudgy way like, “I’ll cry if you don’t give me what I want,” but more in the, “I want you to come and help me build and set my dollhouse with all my Barbies and then we can have teatime with my teddy bears,” sense.
I fake a smile as she throws herself up and down on the floor, jumping with excitement in hopes that I can now play with her. But I have the least interest in playing with children (I really don’t like them.)
“Alex! You said you were going to help me paint my picture yesterday! But you didn’t come!” She pouts.
“I had to study,” I say, ringing my doorbell again, cursing at my mother if she isn’t at home.
“You’re always studying!”
“Because I have a lot of exams to give in tenth grade.” Open the damn door already!
“Can you help me now?”
“Can’t, I have to study,” I say, extremely relieved as my mom holds the door open. She makes small talk with the kid as I walk inside quickly without giving Nicky another chance to complain about how I don’t help her draw a stupid picture.
“That girl is a pain in the ass,” I mutter.
“Watch your language,” my mom says, walking back inside her room to work on her drawings after shutting the door behind us. She’s a consultant architect.
“Oh, Jake, Allie, Nate, Skip and I are going for a movie tomorrow, yeah?” I say, hoping she’ll give me permission to go, it being a Saturday and all.
