Knights And Pawns

Chapter 4: Welcome Ms. Sansters

After lunch, Ben borrows his foster father's car as I hopped in, strapped my seatbelt, and watch as his pale hands grips the steering wheel.

"Are you good?" he ask.

"Yeah," I replied.

With the swivel of a car key, Ben backs out of the weed infested driveway, and drove straight onto the gray concrete. 

My hair flutters against the angry breeze, as the tip of my pinkie rub against my top lip.

My brown eyes stare blankly at the moving road, while my feet made its home on the black rug.

"So, where are we going?" I ask.

"Be patient," said Ben. "I will tell you later."

I hate it when he says that.

"Can you tell me anyway?" I pleaded.

"No," he answered. 

"It's a surprise."

"But I hate surprises," I pouted.

He sighed for a moment then reached for my left hand.

"I know," grunted Ben. "But be patient, Gorgeous."

I huffed in response, but rubbed his fingertips.

"Fine," I insist. "I'll be patient."

The English boy nods in approval then changes the subject. 

"How are you feeling?" he ask. "Did your mother see the news?"

I shook my head sadly. 

"She is having another late hour meeting," I explain. 

"And besides, the news would have turn her into one of those unbearable, overprotective parents you can't stand."

"What about your foster parents?"

Ben only rolled his eyes.

"The only show they're focused on is, Monster Trucks Extreme."  he grimaced.

"Trust me, the last thing they care about watching is the news."

In order to pass to the time, I brought up the topic of the English project next Thursday.

"How far are you in Ms. Whitman's project?" I ask.

The project is to type a 10,000 word essay to discuss the summary of the novel, Lord of the Flies.

To everyone in class, it seemed like an ordinary school paper. But here's the catch: the essay counts 40 percent of our English grade.

It was ten times brutal than high school.

"It was easy," said Ben simply. "I already turn it in to Ms. Whitman last week. You?"

My face suddenly deflates itself like a balloon.

"I started on my paper," I grumble. "But so far, I have typed five hundred words."

Ben smile as he kissed my cheek.

"That's good," he said. "You just need five hundred more."

"I know that, Sherlock-" I began, but that's when Ben shushed me.

His pale finger pointed at the attractive blond woman, clothed in a black Vera Wang business dress.

Her black heels clicked on the white concrete, as her butter colored hand dipped into her red clutch.