It's Raining Jerks

Chapter 1

"Ready to leave this old trashcan?"

I look at the front of the building, admiring the view. Pink and red roses sit in a space of dirt just before the parking lot and next to the roses a big, green tree tries to spread its branches. A patch of spearmint also grows there next to a green bush. The building has bricks a light peachy color and an old-fashioned lamp attached to the outer wall, facing the street. The two-story building doesn't look like a trashcan, it is a lot cleaner than any apartments we have ever been before, but now it is time to start out fresh. A new start, a better one.

A hot breeze travels around me and lifts my hair from my sticky back. I smile at the building once, remembering the happy memories only, before sliding into the car's passenger seat. "I'm ready," I say.

It's been one month since my mom and me moved to a bigger place, one where we could atleast forget our demons. The apartment we live in now is two times the size of the old one and looks completely fine from the inside. One big living room, two small bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen, but from the outside it's a mess. No roses. No bushes or spearmint. No peachy bricks or old-fashioned lanterns. It's just a plain-looking, bright, orange building with patches of dry dirt and one baby palm tree.

"Hey, Lizzet?" A female voice.

I open one of my eyes. I was about to fall asleep after watching American Idol on tv.

My thoughts fumble together and I close my eye again. "Lizzet!"

I jump in surprise and my eyes fly open. I have a mini heart attack. "Yeah, mom?" I sit up on the couch, rubbing my eyes furiously. "Mom?" I hate when she doesn't respond when I don't respond after the first call, it's her vengeance. "Olivia?" I call out.

"Go throw away the trash! And don't call me by my name, young lady!" She screams it out from her bedroom.

"Mhmmmm," I say, silently rolling my eyes to myself.

"And don't you roll your eyes at me!"

I sigh deeply. "I'm not."

I walk to the kitchen, retrieve the smelly trash bag, and go to the bathroom, retrieving an even smellier bag. What? Expected excrement to smell like flowers? Not going to happen.

I open the front door to my apartment and walk down the stairs, careful not to trip myself. The cold air breathes on my skin, making goosebumps appear on my arms. I quickly walk barefoot on the pavement, I'm so drowsy that I forgot to to put on my slippers. The trashcan stands on the edge of the sidewalk and I throw the trash inside, ready to run back. But then.

"You don't mess with me, four eyes!" Three boys across the street stood in front of a body slung across the sidewalk. I freeze in place not sure if I'm still asleep, but the chilly night air feels too real on my bare legs.

"Hey!" I call out from across the street. All three boys turn their heads to face me and when they see the phone in my hand the guys all disperse like the little cowards they are. The body on the sidewalk, though, doesn't move a muscle. The greatest of fears passes through my mind: is he-- I swallow-- is he dead?

My feet swiftly move across the street, empty of cars, and to the body. A young man lays there, not much older than me, maybe even seventeen. His jaw is already swollen with a purple bruise and nearly-black blood drips from his nose which must be broken. I kneel down and push his body, hesitantly, so that his back is on the ground. His chest pumps up and down.

And I begin to breathe again.

The boy's hair hangs in stringy strands on his forehead and prickles of sweat climb his skin. His feautures are gentle and I'm so close to the boy that I could see a few freckles on his smoothly-curved nose. The boy's shoulders are broad, strong, and I frown. Why didn't he defend himself? Then again they were three and he was only one.