D for Delinquent

Water Towers

Coven's P.O.V

As I opened my locker a small note fell out. It was crumpled, and looked like it was written on the back of somebody's math homework.

Stuffing it into my pocket inconspicuously, I grabbed my history and science notebooks and headed out of school. 

People eyed me as I strided out of campus and onto the peaceful streets of Kansas. 

I smiled at people on my way home, knowing it would scare the shit out of them. Terrible, I know, it wasn't exactly my best fright. Although, I don't think anything could beat that time I pulled the fire alarm, but started a fire outside instead.

I waltzed into the cozy kitchen and took a bite out of a grammy smith apple from the nearby fruit bowl. Opening the note in my left hand, I read the neat, cursive hand writing carefully.

Coven, come meet us at the Old Valley water tower at exactly eleven o'clock. Fail to do that and I'll skin you like a carrot.

Wonderful, I thought. I make an acquaintance with someone and they threaten to peel the skin off my body.

I made sure to tuck the note into my pocket securely, my parents would probably light up two kingdoms and an ocean if they heard I'd been participating in likely illegal activities once again.

• • • • 10:30 P.M • • • •

I snuck out of bed quietly, silently unlatched the window and slipped outside. I reached for a popsicle stick inside my sweatshirt pocket and put it on the windowsill, making sure that the window would look closed, but it was actually open so I could climb back in.

Hiding in the shadows as I walked torwards my destination, I looked at people who were having a late night drink at the local bar and a few shop owners closing their shops. Lights were still on in people's houses and nosy Bertha Lodgings was staring intensly from her balcony, trying to catch anybody who dared to trample her prized lavenders. 

An alleyway light flickered on, and my heart stopped beating for a second. I hid behind a dumpster as someone pranced outside, whistling. A stout man with a dirty white apron and black shoes that had a lump of pesto sauce on it came out from the kitchen of the town's italian restaurant. He dumped a trash bag that actually smelled decent into the dumpster and walked back inside.

I let out a sigh of relief and made my way to the water tower. 

Now, I believe people are more suspicious now that I'm back in town. It's either that or one of them is trying to catch Santa Claus.

Ms. Jenkins was double checking if her cake shop was locked, a couple of supermarket employees were standing guard while their co-workers were wheeling in the outdoor fruit stand, and I'm pretty sure Mr. Matson's apartment complex didn't have nine locks last time I checked.

I approached the water tower with five minutes to spare, but nobody was there. A pair of dark brown eyes appeared from a nearby oak tree, and soon enough i saw Mr. Pineapple Hair live, in the flesh.

A smirk crossed his freckled face. "You came after all."

"Well," I drawled. "There's honestly nothing better I have to do." I stared straight at his glistening brown eyes. "Besides, maybe if you guys seem up to my standards, I actually might sit with you and your precious friends at lunch."

He snorted. "I'd have to decline that offer."

"I don't take declines, somebody offered me a spot, and I might snatch the seat if you guys seem to be worthy."