Chapter 4
1629 Words
On my way to my bedroom, I was stopped by my i***t brother. "Van!" he shouted.
I turned and looked at him; it was obvious that he was annoyed. "Yes?" I grinned innocently.
"Can you not give my number to random strangers?" I smirked at his comment.
"I'll try not to," I turned to walk to my room but he stopped me again by grabbing my arm. Instead of shrugging it off, I turned and looked at him.
"The guy said that he met you at the library. What were you doing there?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He dropped his hand from my arm and stood there, his blue eyes curious. His brown hair was disheveled, telling me that he'd gotten up from a nap recently and was most likely studying.
"I was getting a book for school," I replied, blinking a few times at him. He nodded. "He just walked up to my table, sat down and hit me with a bunch of pick-up lines."
"Do you need me to beat the guy up?" Jeremiah asked, crossing his arms. He was over protective of me. He wasn't a player in high school, the place he'd been only two years before. He was actually a nice jock, one who looked over the younger students to make sure they weren't being harassed. He was a peer mediator, too. As you can tell, we're complete opposites.
"No, I think I got it covered," I told him with a smirk. He furrowed his eyebrows and wrinkled his nose.
"Do you like this guy?" he asked.
I scoffed at the question while shaking my head. "No, not at all; he's a new student and he follows me around. He's aggravating," I explained.
"Just like you," my brother snorted, a smile on his lips. He started retreating back to his room. "If he calls me again, I'm giving him your number."
"No, you're not!" I snapped, desperation in my voice. "Right?"
"Tell him to try me," my brother turned in his doorway with a challenging look. I wrinkled my nose.
"Would you like that?" I couldn't help but smirk as my brother rolled his eyes.
"You're such a loser." He sighed, shaking his head while I just smiled and began walking towards my room.
***
My room is an array of different colors; containing a bit of pink. I know, I know; I don't strike you as the girl who loves pink. That's because I don't. I just like the color; it goes well with other colors, too. There's also green, black, white, and blue.
I settled onto my bed and turned on my television, ready to play videogames when a knock came from the door. "Hey, honey. It's mom," she called. I was surprised she didn't just barge in. She does that a lot.
I opened the door to be greeted with my mother who had a box of half-eaten chocolate chip cookies. I immediately accepted her peace offering, not that there was a need to have one- my mother and I rarely argue. She laughed and entered my bedroom, closing the door behind her while I sat on my bed eating the cookies like a pig.
"How was school?" my mother asked and before I had the chance to close the door, there was another knock. I groaned, putting the cookies down and walking to the door to see my brother standing there.
"Phone call for you," he told me, holding out his iPhone. I took it in my hands. "You have 2 minutes to talk and tell him to stop calling for you."
"Hello?" I asked, leaning against my doorway.
"Hey, Savannah." Jonah greeted.
"Stop calling my brother's phone," I snapped, annoyed. I was hoping he'd say yes and hang up the phone but instead he laughed.
"Him?" my mother piped in, sounding excited.
I glared at Jeremiah who just shrugged, mentally telling me that he had no clue our mother was in my room. I held up my hand, giving her a polite smile and she rolled her eyes. She'd just wasted a good fifteen seconds.
"Why should I?" he teased and I glared at the floor.
"I told you to, that's why," I retorted and he laughed again.
"I'm afraid that's not a good enough answer," he replied. I clenched my teeth and rubbed the bridge of my nose.
"I will punch you in the face if you call again," I threatened and he laughed, again.
"Van!" my mother hissed and I shook my head in her direction.
"That's a chance I'm willing to take," he was obviously smirking.
"Don't you have someone else to annoy?" I responded.
"Not until four," he casually stated.
"Isn't that a line from Spongebob?" I asked him, my eyebrows furrowed.
"Yes," he answered.
"Is that what you do all day? Just sit around and watch children's television shows?" I snapped.
"And I think about you," he replied. I narrowed my eyes at the floor before my brother took the phone out of my hands.
"Times up," he pressed the phone against his ear. "If he calls again, Van, I'm giving him your number."
I had a feeling that my brother did that purposely so that the i***t would call again. I glared at my brother. "You wouldn't," I hissed.
"I didn't catch your name," my brother spoke, earning the attention of my nosy mother. "Jonah, you say?" my brother asked, smirking at me.
A moment later, my brother hung up the phone and what do you know? About 10 seconds after, his phone rang in his pocket and he gladly picked it up. "Jonah? How unexpected."
He then proceeded to deliver my number through the phone. I just watched in horror while my mom giggled girlishly. I tossed a glare her way and she winked. My phone started to ring from my bed.
Your subtleties,
They strangle me,
I can't explain myself at all.
And all the wants,
and all the needs,
All I don't want to need at all.
The walls start breathing,
my mind's unweaving,
Maybe its best you leave me alone,
a weight is lifted,
on this evening,
I give the final blow.
When darkness turns to light,
it ends tonight,
it ends tonight.
My ringtone, It Ends Tonight by The All American Rejects, was blaring. I stared at my phone in horror before I picked it up. "Savannah?"
"Eh, no, you've reached the pizza parlor!" I replied changing my accent from American to British to Italian mid-sentence. Let's hope he's as stupid as I assume.
"You mean the one in Saint Geraldo's place?" Jonah asked, amusement in his tone.
"Yes, that is the one!" I continued. I tried to make all of the words sound like the ones I hear from the imitators on television; it was hard when you're saying a different range of words.
"This isn't the number; we have the same area code. Saint Geraldo's is a town over," he explained.
"You remember the pizza place's phone number?" I continued, earning a chiding remark from my mother and a snort from my brother. Jonah laughed, too. "Or did you look it up?"
"I remember. But I am actually on my laptop scrolling on f*******:. Speaking of, do you have one?" Very subtle.
"No, I do not have a Face-a-book. Why would an Italian female co-owner of a three star pizza place add a random blabbering i***t on this, uh, Face-a-book?" I even winced at my terrible accent.
"I am not blabbering! Lose the accent; it's hard to understand what you're saying," Jonah snorted.
"It is hard to lose an accent after having it for 15 years. That is like asking you to drop eating pizza; you're so used to it," I grimaced at my worsening accent.
"You're 15?" he inquired.
"16 and 9 months, I don't know about you but I didn't pop out of the womb screaming 'pizza' in a thick Italian accent," I dropped the accent. My mother was staring at me with an eyebrow raised and my brother just shook his head before walking away, followed by my mother.
"That's a really nice image," he laughed and I rolled my eyes, turning on my MacBook. There's something we have in common; we both have MacBooks. That's probably one of the only things we have in common.
"I would love to think so," I responded.
"So do you?" He asked. I furrowed my eyebrows at his question.
"Do I what?" I asked.
"Have a Face-a-book?" I rolled my eyes.
"Why would I add you? I barely know you; you could be a stalker. Oh wait, you are," I told him.
"I'm a bit scared of you, actually," he admitted.
"And why is that?" I smirked.
"I've seen you make a guy bleed with one punch on the second day of knowing you; well, technically the first," he shivered.
"Well, have you made any friends?" For some reason, I didn't want to end this conversation. It's been a while since I talked on the phone. Aside from the odd conversation with Mere or my mother, it's been quite a while.
"I'd like to say two, but knowing you, you'd say 'one.' So, yes, I made one friend," he responded.
"Who?" I asked him, logging into my f*******:. I typed in his name in the search bar. Okay, he did his share of stalking. Can't I do mine?
"Some girl named Lindsay, or at least she gave me her number. She told me to text her," he explained and I let out a quiet 'Ahh' sound.
"That's Lindsay for you, jumping on anything fresh and male," I replied with a snort. "What are you doing sitting on the phone with me? Call her."
- Writer
