Forks

by A.E. Davis

nineteen

  I stared down at the culprit of my screaming fit.

  “Stupid book.”

  I was going to have to swear off Twilight for a while since my dreams were turning everyone I knew into some kind of creature from Twilight. I glanced over at the remnants of my cereal. It was probably a sugar comma dream. Too much Captain before bed turned my dreams into blood oozing nightmares.

  I glanced over at the clock and the little angry numbers said it was only three thirty in the morning. Reaching over, I shut off my lamp and fell back in bed. I made sure none of my body parts were in the danger zone—(which meant hanging off the bed in anyway) that way nothing could get me. Right. I covered my head and eventually drifted back to sleep.

  Approximately two hours later, my alarm buzzed. Rolling over, I groaned and shut it off. I climbed from bed and shivered. It was freezing in my room. I looked up and my window was once again open, a frigid breeze gusting through the opening. Wrapping my comforter around me, I stepped forward but then stopped. Red Hots were scattered across my floor. “What the--?”

  “Amber,” Mom screamed, her voice shook.

  I jumped—my heart almost seizing. “What?” I screamed back, not meaning to but she scared the beejeebies out of me.

  “Are you awake?”

  “No!” I gritted. Wrapped in my comforter, I hobbled over to my window and slammed it shut, twisting the lock this time. My weird dream hung on the peripheral of my mind trying to gain entry once more. I ignored it.

  “Amber,” Mom called again, this time not so screechy.

  “I’m coming.” I grabbed my stuff and went down to take a shower.

  After I showered, I came back to my room, with a little broom and dustpan, prepared to clean up the Red Hot mess, but when I walked across the floor, there were none. I even lifted up the edge of my white shag throw rug, but there weren’t any there either.

  “What is going on?” I shook my head. “I must have still been dreaming….” I said just to placate myself, and keep the creepy feeling at bay, even though, deep down, I knew I had seen them. I tried to think about the day ahead and made sure I dressed carefully—which meant I wanted to look good. I blew out my hair and tried to flatten out my curls as best as I could. It was raining so I knew this would not last long, but hey, I made the effort anyway. I wore a white men’s undershirt, and a button down shirt and pulled a black v-neck sweater over my head. I was going for casual, comfy, not trying too hard look. My skinny jeans were still damp from the night before so I settled with a pair of faded blue jeans that hung on my hips, cuffed at the bottom and my black converse. I wasn’t going to win any awards for my fashion choices but I was warm and comfortable and at the end of the day isn’t that all that mattered? I thought so.

  I grabbed up my books and the paper I did with Viktor the night before and put my books in my messenger bag and the paper into a clear plastic folder to give to the turtle, i.e. Ms. Campbell. We posed good arguments for both sides and I felt like we should get at least a B, hopefully higher. I could use an A to bolster my deteriorating GPA.