Taking Mona home is always fun. Just one of the perks of knowing a girl who loves dick jokes as much as you do.
As we pull up to her house, Mona gets quieter.
"Can we just not get out?"
"Well that's up to you."
"Ok...let's not."
...
A while later we just looked at Each other. I run my hand through her hair.
"We could go to my house."
"Okay."
...
"Hey guys, how was the picnic? How are you Ramona?" My mom, 50 years young , found us walking in the front door.
"It was good Ms. Miller, and I'm fine. Thank you for asking."
"Alright mom, we're going to the basement. Call us if you need us!"
...
Mona's hair always smells like vanilla. And oranges. Even in the mornings. It's always peaceful to wake up to vanilla and oranges in your face.
Her eyes open up a little.
"Good Morning Ducky." I said while running my hand through her hair.
"Morning love." Huge yawn.
Then she falls back asleep.
I guess it's too early to smell good.
It's too early for anything.
Except for calling my dad.
That has to happen.
It's been about a week since I've spoken to him.
I go to the bathroom so Ramona can't see.
I dim the lights.
"Simnioa Retus!"
In a flash, the mirror morphed so there was a portal. A dark figure popped up. It was the devil.
Or my dad.
Oh yeah, I forgot all week.
I'm the son of Satan.
