Terrible Things ( Deeply being edited but hope you enjoy!)

Chapter 2

    I paused as I stood on the unwelcoming front porch of my home. I wonder if my father was even home. Was he away again? Did he even care to come home and notice for once that he had a daughter? Tears formed in my eyes and I felt angry. I shouldn't be crying. There's no reason.

A little insight on my life: I raise myself. My father is hardly home. He has "work" as he says. The only time I really get to see him is if he's sleeping. I do wish I could see him more often, but I guess it just " doesn't work out that way, " as he once told me.

Oh well. Anyways, my porch really is unwelcome. The crisp, white paint has started to peel off, and literally there are people who think that my porch is their personal trash bin. Soda pop cans and gum wrappers litter it. Whatever, I'll clean it later. I stuck the key into the shaking door handle and flung open my door.

The inside of my house, I say is pretty nice. The walls are a cream color, and it really is nice if you were to see it.  The floor has a luscious brown carpet, extremely soft. Our furniture is wooden and very stable. My father had built most of it. Our couch is the same color as the walls and a comfortable place to sit when you've had a long day.

I collapse onto it and sigh. No better feeling than this. Oh wait! I open my bag and snatch my ipod with it's lavender casing. I unlock it and zoom through my songs until I get to, my favorite band of all time,

Coldplay.

Okay, so I lied earlier. There is color in my life. Coldplay is one of the only things that brings it to life and lets me know why it's worth it to have ears. I smile as Chris Martin's voice soothes me.

" What if there was no light,

"Nothing wrong, nothing right."

I sing along with him as I open my textbook and stare down at the fallen piece of paper that had floated to the ground. I pick it up.

It was that guy's number. I frown and go to close my text book when I notice that it's not MY textbook at all. It's someone else. A boy named Michael Oliver. I snort. This idiot. Did he really switch our books just so I could know his name. I picked up my phone. I had to call him now. I wanted my textbook back. 

It had my homework.

The phone rang for a few seconds, and for a moment I thought he wasn't going to answer. " Hello?" asked the oh so familiar voice.

" Give me my textbook back," I said firmly.

He laughed. " Oh, so it's the lovely Ms. Emery. How're we doing today ma'am?"

"Not so great. You have my textbook, and it has my homework. I need it. "

" Well, you should learn not to leave papers in your textbook. Good day."

" WAIT!! " I groaned. " Please, I really want it back, okay? "

 He paused for a bit then sighed. " But, wherever can I give it to you? It seems as though the only time I CAN give it to you is at school, but I won't have you until after this class. " Algebra. " Hmm, what a pity. Guess the only thing you can really do is either come over, or I come over, or you just fail the homework assignment. "

" In no way, shape, or form, am I failing this assignment because of you. You are definitely not coming over! And-" I stop as I realize the only other choice I had left.

" Yes?" he questions.

I groan again. " Where do you live?"

" I'll text you when you're done talking. "

" Please tell me you are not home alone."

" Would it make a difference if I was?"

" Mm, yeah!"

" Okay, haha. My mom's home. Don't worry."

" She better be. See ya then."

" Have a lovely day, Emery. "

My face turned red when I hung up.