Curfew Under Management

2

Picture of Dexter Conroy right there, folks. SO EFFIN HAWT

Chapter 2

5: 02 PM

I'm awake by the sudden jolt. The lullaby of Nate and Bethany's muffled conversations blended with the songs played on shuffle drifted me to sleep. This car is a hell lot more boring than a theoretical physics session with Stephen Hawking's voice. I hear my name being mentioned in his sentences.

Unexpectedly, the earphones are violently pulled out from my ears. "Ow." I irritably open my eyes. Bethany's hand is just about to go back from reaching out to me.

"We're here." She states remotely. The engine and the radio are turned off. Outside, just across the sidewalk, is a two-storey house. Tall autumn trees trail a canopy over the red-painted residence. The others that neighbor it are also surpassed by a few meters of artificial grass. I step off the Chrysler obediently. A couple of kids ride their bikes just inches past me. I turn towards the car and ask.

"Nate, are you picking me u-"

The beat of The Chainsmokers' Selfie resonates before I could finish my question. Leaving me unanswered, Nate drives off. They take a swift turn around the corner and disappear from sight. I huff exasperatedly and jog a couple of steps after them. Dogs from the house next door start barking at me. Good thing they are chained to the wall. One looks like it lost an eye and the other is abnormally huge. Both of them go ballistic with every step I take towards Bethany's house. I immediately stroll to the entrance where my eyes first catch sight of a carpet rug. Scripted letters of 'Welcome Home' embroidered on it.

I wonder if Bethany left the door unlocked. How does she expect me to get in if she drove off with the house keys? Skipping the knocking part, I twist the knob and surprisingly, it clicks open. A girl about months to a year old is watching TV on a walker beside the couch. She babbles along to the intro theme song of Spongebob Squarepants. Not what I expected, but it is way too early to back down on my accusations of her evil descent. She's, nonetheless, adorable.

I can't believe someone would actually consider leaving a child all alone with the door open arms to intruders. Making my way towards the couch where she sits next to, I notice laminated yellow-colored post-it notes all around the living room. One is on the telephone mat, on the wall near the door, on the TV, on the couch, on a vase, on cabinets and other places.

The toddler finally looks at me. I don't see the startle in her eyes, but I know it's there. She studies me for a while, and later on, points to the TV. "spabasarpa (?)" Bethany's sister utters gleefully. I think she wants me to sit down, and watch the show with her, so I did. It was an old episode about Spongebob's bubble friend. I don't pay that much attention for the next six minutes. It seems that there's a huge party with all the messages I'm receiving.

Phoebeee Cathy invited me to Olivia's party!!! - Kendra Dodds

Cath texted me. She's driving us to olivia's - Bailey O'Connell

By the looks of it, Catherine Jenkins is trying to bribe my friends away with her Chevy again. That girl just never gets tired of squeezing herself in our lunch table ever since the year started.

10:29 AM

It's just one more class 'till lunch. I hurry along the corridors carrying a bundle of ridulously large textbooks Bailey asked me to borrow from the school library. The only reason I agreed to do this is because it makes me look smart right now. Other than that, I wouldn't resort reading them even if it guaranteed the end of global warming.

Unfortunately, things heat up when someone shoves past me. I fall to the floor, and the books, well, any cliche can narrate what happens to them. "Oops! Sorry, didn't see you there." I find cunt who's such a Catherine. Her smirk assures the intention in the so-called accident.

"Yeah, I get it. You're not very coordinated."

"Very funny, Brookes." She walks away, unamused. As for me, I pick up the books scattered on the floor. God can queue in a hot guy to help me now. Then again, I realize that since the whole book-falling-due-to-social-climbing-antagonist scene is happening to me, all hot guys might as well disappear from the face of the planet.

The only person who bothers to help is Gunther, and he's not even a student nor my age. The janitor just wants the pest kneeling in the middle of the hall to stop blocking his way. He isn't very happy about polishing floors as a job, especially with having masteral degree and all.

When I finally reach the room, I spot Bailey and Kendra. They are chatting with-- OH MY GOD-- Catherine Jenkins. She's sitting on my seat! MY SEAT. I fume scanning the room for a vacant chair besides the one next to Catherine, but there is none. Guess I don't have a choice. I sit in that chair and pound the books a little harder than the norm to emphasize my presence. Their topic centers about some seniors who went clubbing, and got caught.

Too bad Catherine has her elbow propped up on her desk barricading me from any possible conversation with MY friends. NOT HERS.

5:14 PM

I seriously don't have a problem with her if she just doesn't leave me out all the time. Now, for example. Did I get a Catherine invite? No. Do I care? No. She can go and be child prodigy, Colin Singleton's twentieth ex-girlfriend for all I care. Though that way John Green would probably be banned from writing novels that make me cry at two AM anymore.

I stand up and inspect the room. Bethany's mom must be some overly-tidy control-freak. Everything is so neat and arranged. Spotless would be the correct word to describe every surface I land my eyes on. I don't see any of those stereotypical line ups of picture frames though. The house is practically picture-free. If I didn't know any better, I'd think I'm trapped on a lifestyle network show. The yellow pieces of paper are also a highlight of the interior. I read one and it says:

Arranged according to - GENRE>DIRECTOR'S LAST NAME>TITLE

Arranged as - COMEDY>DRAMA>HORROR>THRILLER>DEXTER's

Do Not Disarrange!

The note is placed beside an incredibly long shelf of DVD's, reaching up to the arch leading to the dining area. As I browse through them, I realize that the post-it note is not lying about the said arrangement. All the movies are in their places. They're pretty cool too, from George Romero zombie films to every single Adam Sandler movie I know of.

The collection of movies stop at the start of a genre named Dexter's. Apparently, this Dexter guy is some hard core video game junkie who also hoards recorded concerts of Blink 182, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Sum 41, Fountains of Wayne and some other bands I'm too uncool to know about.

I suddenly remember this boy from school, also named Dexter. Besides the fact that he's the drummer of some garage band whose name I keep forgetting, I don't know him at all. It's just that I often spot the aforementioned bands printed on most of his shirts.

"Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?" A piratey voice way fared from the television. The kid giggles as another episode plays.