Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Yay!!!
I just had to annoy you all right now... Les Miserables is tonight!!! Yay! Cross Country started today which on top of everything should lead to a rather busy summer. Also, Yellowstone should be interesting this year...There is still ice on the lake, but who cares!
Monday, May 30, 2011
Well...
First of all, I am so sorry this post is late. I do have an excuse...like always... I was kidnapped (willingly) and hauled off to enjoy a secluded place in Idaho and all the snow that came with it. There were happy moments, card games, raspberry shakes, M.A.S.H. marathons, reading my book by a warm toasting fire, looking a wildlife...sigh*** Okay, anyways!!
Like so many of you I just wanted to say goodbye and thank you for a wonderful year of Honors English! I hope that you will all keep posting so we can keep in touch. Thank you to all of you that have commented on my blogs. You kept me going and I really appreciate all of the feedback that I got. You're all amazing! Good luck in High School! - Cassie
I haven't gotten a chance to go back and proofread a lot of this, I've been busy on the next chapters, but I really wanted to put the next chapter up for my last "official" post, so don't be too harsh! (=
Pulling into the large garage she hopped out of the car. Running towards the winding black staircase she caught Frank on his last step.
"How long," she asked the nerves evident in her eyes?
Something had gone wrong. She was soaking wet, shaking in small convulsions. Hesitating he handed her the cream folder, "30 minutes." Nodding dutifully she took the folder and turned, her wet hair spindling out behind her. She ran down the three flights of stairs, the light dimming with each level she reached. Running down the hallway she entered and closed the heavy marble doors that led to the shower room that was made of the same heavy grey and white marble. Turning on the white polished sink she put her red hands under the cold water and scrubbed. With silent sobs racking her body, she writhed her hands together. She watched as the color ran off to the waters safety. It would be safer there then on her hands. Splashing water on to her aristocratic face she looked up to the mirror. Pain shot through her, she knew this would be the last time she would see that same face and be free. Traitor, she cursed. Peeling off her clothes she popped into the shower, wrapping herself into the warm, fluffy bath towel that had suddenly replaced her clothing. Walking into the shower once more, she pushed open the right wall that doubled as a hidden doorway. Silently walking down the mahogany floor she came to the opening at the end of the hallway. The room changed to a white tile. The room generated a bluish light from somewhere. A light that seemed to put a trance on the room from a ceiling that moved like flowing waves and pushed water down the sides of the walls. She felt the water start to gush over her bare feet, moving towards a drain in the center of the room, away from her, it ran away from her too. Assassin. Walking over to the high chair by a sink she placed the creamy file onto a tile table and watched as a large hand grabbed it, replacing it with a hair dryer, scissors and dyes.
Like so many of you I just wanted to say goodbye and thank you for a wonderful year of Honors English! I hope that you will all keep posting so we can keep in touch. Thank you to all of you that have commented on my blogs. You kept me going and I really appreciate all of the feedback that I got. You're all amazing! Good luck in High School! - Cassie
I haven't gotten a chance to go back and proofread a lot of this, I've been busy on the next chapters, but I really wanted to put the next chapter up for my last "official" post, so don't be too harsh! (=
Pulling into the large garage she hopped out of the car. Running towards the winding black staircase she caught Frank on his last step.
"How long," she asked the nerves evident in her eyes?
Something had gone wrong. She was soaking wet, shaking in small convulsions. Hesitating he handed her the cream folder, "30 minutes." Nodding dutifully she took the folder and turned, her wet hair spindling out behind her. She ran down the three flights of stairs, the light dimming with each level she reached. Running down the hallway she entered and closed the heavy marble doors that led to the shower room that was made of the same heavy grey and white marble. Turning on the white polished sink she put her red hands under the cold water and scrubbed. With silent sobs racking her body, she writhed her hands together. She watched as the color ran off to the waters safety. It would be safer there then on her hands. Splashing water on to her aristocratic face she looked up to the mirror. Pain shot through her, she knew this would be the last time she would see that same face and be free. Traitor, she cursed. Peeling off her clothes she popped into the shower, wrapping herself into the warm, fluffy bath towel that had suddenly replaced her clothing. Walking into the shower once more, she pushed open the right wall that doubled as a hidden doorway. Silently walking down the mahogany floor she came to the opening at the end of the hallway. The room changed to a white tile. The room generated a bluish light from somewhere. A light that seemed to put a trance on the room from a ceiling that moved like flowing waves and pushed water down the sides of the walls. She felt the water start to gush over her bare feet, moving towards a drain in the center of the room, away from her, it ran away from her too. Assassin. Walking over to the high chair by a sink she placed the creamy file onto a tile table and watched as a large hand grabbed it, replacing it with a hair dryer, scissors and dyes.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Two Moons
Ok... So right now I'm running on three hours of sleep plus what I was able to manage on the airplane so I'm going to post this instead of the second chapter of my story. Feel free to comment...hint hint. Thanks!
Walk Two Moons
“How about a story? Spin us a yarn.”
“Instantly, Phoebe Winterbottom came to mind. “I could tell you an extensively strange story,” I warned. And that is how I happened to tell them about Phoebe, her disappearing mother, and the lunatic.
Written by Newberry Medal winning-author Sharon Creech, Walk Two Moons is a fictionous tale of just that, the story of Phoebe, but more importantly a story in which through the telling of Salamanca Hiddle finds herself and the truth of her mother’s sudden departure. This book, though it may be simple, was definitely a worth-while and enjoyable read that made me really look at some points of my life differently. It was definitely worthy of a Newberry Medal. Yet, more importantly this book tales a tale for readers of all ages about the inner workings of man, and how you should never judge a man until you have walked two moons in his moccasins.
Traveling with her grandparents to find closure Salamanca Hiddle is just an average girl. But she holds a secret, a secret deeper to her heart then any blackberry stained bush, dark brown hair, or sweet raspberries. Forced to leave her one hope to proving the secret wrong she moves Lewiston, Idaho where she meets Phoebe Winterbottom, her new and yet slightly eccentric best friends. Suddenly Salamanca finds herself facing her worst fears as she watches Phoebe enter into the same predicament she once was in, but would there be as many tragic results this time? The same pain and denial? Or maybe this time she may just find a little redemption waiting for her instead at the end of the road.
The tantalizing part of this book to me was the continuous mystery that was lurking and dripping behind each work, twist and turn. But to me my favorite part was how everything could be connected to human emotions and feelings. From the famous “Don’t judge a man until you walk two moons in his moccasins,” to “ Everyone has his own agenda” My personal favorite is not a secret message "My father started chipping away at a plaster wall in the living room of our house in Bybanks shortly after my mother left us one April morning. Our house was an old farmhouse that my parents had been restoring, room by room. Each night as he waited to hear from my mother, he chipped away at that wall. On the night that we got the bad news- that she was not returning- he pounded and pounded on that wall with a chisel and a hammer. At two o'clock in the morning, he came up to my room. I was not asleep. He led me downstairs and showed me what he had found. Hidden behind the wall was a brick fireplace." I like this passage because the wall to me symbolizes ourselves. During harder times things pound on us and pound at us. Sometimes with a chisel, that slowly sinks into us, and other times with a hammer that almost seems to knock us over. When the layers are finally taken off most commonly we find something we didn't know we had, something that is far more beautiful than what is on the outside. But unfortunately, people can ignore that side and shape it into what they want to think of you. They cover you up with something they want to see and they place another plaster wall in front of you that you will eventually have to chip down and wait for it to be torn down once again.
The characters in this book I thought were perfect. The grandparents were just goofy and I felt helped to make any slow parts of the book to gain momentum. I thought it was interesting how all the adults seemed flawed. Phoebe’s father cried, Salamanca’s father took her away, the mothers left, etc. I really think that it helped the book to be told from how a girl Salamanca’s age would have really seen it.
While I can’t say my mother has ever left, one thing I can relate to is Salamanca blaming herself for her mother leaving. I do this, but it made me realize that I can’t take the blame for people making the decisions that they do, and while they may hurt me, I should move on. I also loved the quotes that were continuously left at Phoebe’s house. One of my favorites, as I already mentioned, was probably “everyone has their own agenda”. It to me ties back to the fact that we can’t hold ourselves accountable for other people’s actions.
Salamanca’s story is one of redemption and resolution, sorrow and hope. In that way it is real, the book will never seem truly fiction as it can pertain to each one of our lives individually. It is just that, our stories told through the eyes of young girl, with dark brown eyes, who loves to kiss trees, and be with those she loves the most.
Walk Two Moons
“How about a story? Spin us a yarn.”
“Instantly, Phoebe Winterbottom came to mind. “I could tell you an extensively strange story,” I warned. And that is how I happened to tell them about Phoebe, her disappearing mother, and the lunatic.
Written by Newberry Medal winning-author Sharon Creech, Walk Two Moons is a fictionous tale of just that, the story of Phoebe, but more importantly a story in which through the telling of Salamanca Hiddle finds herself and the truth of her mother’s sudden departure. This book, though it may be simple, was definitely a worth-while and enjoyable read that made me really look at some points of my life differently. It was definitely worthy of a Newberry Medal. Yet, more importantly this book tales a tale for readers of all ages about the inner workings of man, and how you should never judge a man until you have walked two moons in his moccasins.
Traveling with her grandparents to find closure Salamanca Hiddle is just an average girl. But she holds a secret, a secret deeper to her heart then any blackberry stained bush, dark brown hair, or sweet raspberries. Forced to leave her one hope to proving the secret wrong she moves Lewiston, Idaho where she meets Phoebe Winterbottom, her new and yet slightly eccentric best friends. Suddenly Salamanca finds herself facing her worst fears as she watches Phoebe enter into the same predicament she once was in, but would there be as many tragic results this time? The same pain and denial? Or maybe this time she may just find a little redemption waiting for her instead at the end of the road.
The tantalizing part of this book to me was the continuous mystery that was lurking and dripping behind each work, twist and turn. But to me my favorite part was how everything could be connected to human emotions and feelings. From the famous “Don’t judge a man until you walk two moons in his moccasins,” to “ Everyone has his own agenda” My personal favorite is not a secret message "My father started chipping away at a plaster wall in the living room of our house in Bybanks shortly after my mother left us one April morning. Our house was an old farmhouse that my parents had been restoring, room by room. Each night as he waited to hear from my mother, he chipped away at that wall. On the night that we got the bad news- that she was not returning- he pounded and pounded on that wall with a chisel and a hammer. At two o'clock in the morning, he came up to my room. I was not asleep. He led me downstairs and showed me what he had found. Hidden behind the wall was a brick fireplace." I like this passage because the wall to me symbolizes ourselves. During harder times things pound on us and pound at us. Sometimes with a chisel, that slowly sinks into us, and other times with a hammer that almost seems to knock us over. When the layers are finally taken off most commonly we find something we didn't know we had, something that is far more beautiful than what is on the outside. But unfortunately, people can ignore that side and shape it into what they want to think of you. They cover you up with something they want to see and they place another plaster wall in front of you that you will eventually have to chip down and wait for it to be torn down once again.
The characters in this book I thought were perfect. The grandparents were just goofy and I felt helped to make any slow parts of the book to gain momentum. I thought it was interesting how all the adults seemed flawed. Phoebe’s father cried, Salamanca’s father took her away, the mothers left, etc. I really think that it helped the book to be told from how a girl Salamanca’s age would have really seen it.
While I can’t say my mother has ever left, one thing I can relate to is Salamanca blaming herself for her mother leaving. I do this, but it made me realize that I can’t take the blame for people making the decisions that they do, and while they may hurt me, I should move on. I also loved the quotes that were continuously left at Phoebe’s house. One of my favorites, as I already mentioned, was probably “everyone has their own agenda”. It to me ties back to the fact that we can’t hold ourselves accountable for other people’s actions.
Salamanca’s story is one of redemption and resolution, sorrow and hope. In that way it is real, the book will never seem truly fiction as it can pertain to each one of our lives individually. It is just that, our stories told through the eyes of young girl, with dark brown eyes, who loves to kiss trees, and be with those she loves the most.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Sunday, May 8, 2011
The Jensen Family Shootout...(Blog for week of May 15)
I've already blogged for the week, but I couldn't resist doing another one, so enjoy! I would love to get some comments, critiques, and suggestions for two of my other posts- "Target Down" and "Brown". Thanks!
Waking up my body screamed at me with exhaustion, mentally and physically I hurt, but that didn’t mean anything, it hadn’t for the last few days. I’d been trying purposely to get my knees to bend backwards, I hadn’t cared if I could feel muscles ripping when I stretched, but then again I never really do. I was bruised mentally and physically from a prior experience this week, but it wasn’t going to matter, I would not let it. I went back into the piano room where I had departed only to go to bed last night, and to take small breaks. I played the same things I have been for the past few months, after today I wouldn’t have to play most of them again. Quickly I hopped into the shower and then got dressed into my long red, Russian looking skirt and DownEast top and screwed my hair into a tight bun, and pulled my bangs of to the side. I managed to get two pieces of bacon down, brushed my teeth, grabbed my music, and went to the car. Hopping in I could feel some nerves trying to twitch through, but mostly I’m laughing with my mom about how desperate my whole family is for this to be over. Winding up the road to the browning center it’s hard for me to realize that I won’t be getting on the stage this time. That I wouldn’t be running downstairs into a crammed dressing room and putting on my point shoes. Instead I hike my skirt up and climb the stairs so I can go check in and then head up the next level to be seated in front of Practice Room number 2, which is closest to the end of the hall by the window. I have multiple memories of that window, both from the inside and outside and so I focus on them. I’m a bit nervous now, but mostly I’m just happy about how nice everyone is, that I finally get to perform, that this will be over with, and for what was coming later that afternoon. They send a little girl to sit with me who didn’t receive a time. They want to slip her in front of me and I enthusiastically agree to the arrangement. Silently laughing to myself that this eight year old is the epitome of fake confidence and teenager knows best, but she calms me down and silently goes through her folder and looks at her sight reading piece copying me. As the student comes out of the room, though I failed to see his expression, I stand up and bring the girl with me. Push comes to shove and they won’t let her slip in front of me, but that’s just because performing in front of your mother on level 1 would probably not be fair. So I wait and then go in after it’s all cleared up. I do my thing, I screw up a bit, I do really well for another bit. I sit there and laugh and talk with the judge, and then try to shake the nerves out of my fingers. Next comes sight reading and I head down the stairs laughing with my mom. I head to the same place as last year, a hallway by the lobby, and go over my piece. Someone walks into the hall and I look up to see if I know them. I don’t. They’re looking for a Taekwondo competition so I “unselfishly” agree to be their guide. I lead them downstairs. I don’t know where it is there looking for, but I knew that after hanging around this basement for eight years I probably could figure it out. I need to get away, and I’m always happy to go down there. But, I couldn’t find it, so I find my mom and pass them off to her. They found it eventually (they were in the wrong building). I find my friend and we chat. One after the other we play our piece and then we both leave. Now comes the fun part.
The Jensen Family shootout at the Mantua range. It was my first time shooting and I was ecstatic. My favorite was the AR 15, the big black one that I’m sitting down with. I also shot the 22 and apparently did well with that, but it wasn’t as much fun. The other fun one was the Kazool (spelled totally wrong), which was at one point the most powerful pistol in the world. Originally my cousin and I decided that it was a “we are too small to shoot gun”, but we did it anyways and after her experience that my grandpa decided he needed to hold me (and I am grateful, also there was another gun, but I can’t recall the name)! It was a ton of fun and a great rest of the day with my family!
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Brown
It’s all I’ll ever see, staring in the mirror, dancing curiously. I grab the pink hair brush, though I would really prefer blue, and grab my tangled, curly, brown, gold, and now coppery red mess. The brown guides each of my strokes, makes me mad when it laughs at the lumps, upsetting me to the point where I know that I’m going to have to fix unless I want blue and green laughing at me at school.
Out of all those colors, blue, green, hazel, I get stuck with brown. I always will, I guess there’s no point to changing now. But, I like the brown, how it hides me, it shields me, it guides my steps, the steps of a small and little child ascending from the darkened night into my father’s arms.
Brown’s my best friends; they’ve seen everything I try hide. Yet, the traitorous things just love to tell others my secrets. Okay, they only give subtle little ones. But those who I don’t want to tell are the only ones they show. But without them, I’d be lost.
I’d lose my rough pine oaks, and soft fluffy dew-dripped grass, my teasing pine needles as I run up a trail. The squirrels as they giggled and said hello, to the hide and seek birds that play in the trees. So, maybe it’s okay if I let them tell. I dip my hand into the drawer and let go of wrong colored brush, only to pick up a pair of Native American earrings that the brown decided I should wear. Ouch! I gasp, and of course the brown flinched as well as I tried to wriggle the hoops into my almost closed ear.
Then again maybe it wasn’t that bad. It was always there, the brown knew exactly how I felt. They were the only ones who had seen me when I lost my dreams. They saw me that morning and I knew how it looked. That bleeding brown, wincing and plummeting to the ground, gasping, silently screaming as I take that first morning step. They saw me when I was broken, shook, and torn to small, individual pieces for my friends to each boast over. They’d seen me fall, and scream, and kick.
In return it had given me the faces that I needed to see, produced my loving mother. They give me the ones that I love. My brother, my sister, my mom, my dad, my grandpa and my grandmas. Maybe one day they’d let me see the man I hadn’t seen for years. The man that death stole from me, brown knows that I want him back.
It gave me my music, sweet as tears. My dance, my one true love. They give me the stage, where I truly belong. Glancing in the mirror I look back at them. I love them. Grabbing the mascara I figure I’ll let them shine, despite the annoyance I feel putting it on. They deserve it, to be crowned a bit. I quickly put the black cylinder back in my drawer and look up. Both of us smile with approval. Taking one last glance I know they’ll be with me, betraying all my secrets of the day, laughing and crying. Then quickly I run out the door, into the Honda, out of my cul-de-sac when I hear my mother call, “Little Miss Brown Eyes, it’s time to go.”
Out of all those colors, blue, green, hazel, I get stuck with brown. I always will, I guess there’s no point to changing now. But, I like the brown, how it hides me, it shields me, it guides my steps, the steps of a small and little child ascending from the darkened night into my father’s arms.
Brown’s my best friends; they’ve seen everything I try hide. Yet, the traitorous things just love to tell others my secrets. Okay, they only give subtle little ones. But those who I don’t want to tell are the only ones they show. But without them, I’d be lost.
I’d lose my rough pine oaks, and soft fluffy dew-dripped grass, my teasing pine needles as I run up a trail. The squirrels as they giggled and said hello, to the hide and seek birds that play in the trees. So, maybe it’s okay if I let them tell. I dip my hand into the drawer and let go of wrong colored brush, only to pick up a pair of Native American earrings that the brown decided I should wear. Ouch! I gasp, and of course the brown flinched as well as I tried to wriggle the hoops into my almost closed ear.
Then again maybe it wasn’t that bad. It was always there, the brown knew exactly how I felt. They were the only ones who had seen me when I lost my dreams. They saw me that morning and I knew how it looked. That bleeding brown, wincing and plummeting to the ground, gasping, silently screaming as I take that first morning step. They saw me when I was broken, shook, and torn to small, individual pieces for my friends to each boast over. They’d seen me fall, and scream, and kick.
In return it had given me the faces that I needed to see, produced my loving mother. They give me the ones that I love. My brother, my sister, my mom, my dad, my grandpa and my grandmas. Maybe one day they’d let me see the man I hadn’t seen for years. The man that death stole from me, brown knows that I want him back.
It gave me my music, sweet as tears. My dance, my one true love. They give me the stage, where I truly belong. Glancing in the mirror I look back at them. I love them. Grabbing the mascara I figure I’ll let them shine, despite the annoyance I feel putting it on. They deserve it, to be crowned a bit. I quickly put the black cylinder back in my drawer and look up. Both of us smile with approval. Taking one last glance I know they’ll be with me, betraying all my secrets of the day, laughing and crying. Then quickly I run out the door, into the Honda, out of my cul-de-sac when I hear my mother call, “Little Miss Brown Eyes, it’s time to go.”
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Target Down
I've added this to the Discussion board and have changed it a bit on there.
“Target down,” she said with her eyes still glistening. Taking a step backward she looked down and gently nudged the body with her stiletto, leather boots. Still breathing. Of course he was she thought, shaking herself out of her trance. It was a perfect shot, close enough to the nerve to keep him alive, but enough so he wouldn’t be able to play football with his little nephews for months, maybe years. Lowering her pistol with a steady hand she looked at her hands wet with his blood. Her heart pace lowered and her breathing rate, well, she mused, it never changed. This was her job, why should it bug her. Subtly glancing around the underground parking lot she scanned for any sign of the incoming whirlwind. Flipping her rich chocolate hair over her shoulder she bent down and took a small needle out of her jacket pocket. Quickly she injected the small chip into his shoulder.
“Kat, we got trouble,” the small listening device whispered in her ear. Touching her long, blue painted fingernail to it she looked down with sad crystal blue eyes on her fiancées face. He hadn’t deserved this. He was handsome with dark honey-brown hair and luscious eyes that matched. When she met his parents she had heard them talking in another room about how they were the perfect match. They both loved sports, especially horseback riding, and she fit in perfectly with the family. Her 6 foot structure had made it so she was the first girl he had not made dwarfed with his 6’4 frame, and personality wise they were the best match. The best one the company had ever put her with. Would he even remember me? Would he be sad he lost me? Of course he would remember her, but not as the person who had just ruined his life. He would know that she had been shot and killed by the same man that had attacked him. They’d give him back his million dollar ring, act sorry, and it’d be done with. One more job taken care of.
“Kat?”
Snapping back to life she took one more glance at the body with her dark brown eyes, disgust evident in her raised eyebrows.
“Send them in.”
Hopping into the car she knew she had five minutes at the most. Breaking into the Ferrari was any but a challenge however hotwiring this thing would be. If you even could. The car had a hand touch memory on the steering wheel and while playing fiancée to a rich, handsome, bachelor had its perks- driving the car wasn’t one of them. Throwing the door open she walked in frustrated to the trunk. Picking the lock would take about ten seconds she figured pulling her tool from the half of her hair that had a bun in it. Once opened, she searched the trunk to find her options. Choosing her “weapon” she grabbed the crowbar.
“Maddy,” the husky voice moaned, “Maddy, where are you?”
She froze, that was one thing she’d never get used to. The lies, always the lies, only this one she had almost believed herself.
“Sir, she’s here,” the receptionist said as he walked into the neatly furnished room. The man who sat anxiously behind the desk glanced up, and then checked his watch.
“She’s getting faster”, he said with a smile as he straightened his grey suit coat and practically ran to the stairwell outside his office. The receptionist simply smiled. The director was only like that with Maddy. With any other agent he would have finished what he was doing and meandered over to talk to them in about an hour. Maddy on the other hand was a different story. The boss had been waiting for her to return since she’d left on her “date” an hour and a half ago. Of course he’d never admit that to her, but it was fun to watch. Maddy had that effect on most people.
“Target down,” she said with her eyes still glistening. Taking a step backward she looked down and gently nudged the body with her stiletto, leather boots. Still breathing. Of course he was she thought, shaking herself out of her trance. It was a perfect shot, close enough to the nerve to keep him alive, but enough so he wouldn’t be able to play football with his little nephews for months, maybe years. Lowering her pistol with a steady hand she looked at her hands wet with his blood. Her heart pace lowered and her breathing rate, well, she mused, it never changed. This was her job, why should it bug her. Subtly glancing around the underground parking lot she scanned for any sign of the incoming whirlwind. Flipping her rich chocolate hair over her shoulder she bent down and took a small needle out of her jacket pocket. Quickly she injected the small chip into his shoulder.
“Kat, we got trouble,” the small listening device whispered in her ear. Touching her long, blue painted fingernail to it she looked down with sad crystal blue eyes on her fiancées face. He hadn’t deserved this. He was handsome with dark honey-brown hair and luscious eyes that matched. When she met his parents she had heard them talking in another room about how they were the perfect match. They both loved sports, especially horseback riding, and she fit in perfectly with the family. Her 6 foot structure had made it so she was the first girl he had not made dwarfed with his 6’4 frame, and personality wise they were the best match. The best one the company had ever put her with. Would he even remember me? Would he be sad he lost me? Of course he would remember her, but not as the person who had just ruined his life. He would know that she had been shot and killed by the same man that had attacked him. They’d give him back his million dollar ring, act sorry, and it’d be done with. One more job taken care of.
“Kat?”
Snapping back to life she took one more glance at the body with her dark brown eyes, disgust evident in her raised eyebrows.
“Send them in.”
Hopping into the car she knew she had five minutes at the most. Breaking into the Ferrari was any but a challenge however hotwiring this thing would be. If you even could. The car had a hand touch memory on the steering wheel and while playing fiancée to a rich, handsome, bachelor had its perks- driving the car wasn’t one of them. Throwing the door open she walked in frustrated to the trunk. Picking the lock would take about ten seconds she figured pulling her tool from the half of her hair that had a bun in it. Once opened, she searched the trunk to find her options. Choosing her “weapon” she grabbed the crowbar.
“Maddy,” the husky voice moaned, “Maddy, where are you?”
She froze, that was one thing she’d never get used to. The lies, always the lies, only this one she had almost believed herself.
“Sir, she’s here,” the receptionist said as he walked into the neatly furnished room. The man who sat anxiously behind the desk glanced up, and then checked his watch.
“She’s getting faster”, he said with a smile as he straightened his grey suit coat and practically ran to the stairwell outside his office. The receptionist simply smiled. The director was only like that with Maddy. With any other agent he would have finished what he was doing and meandered over to talk to them in about an hour. Maddy on the other hand was a different story. The boss had been waiting for her to return since she’d left on her “date” an hour and a half ago. Of course he’d never admit that to her, but it was fun to watch. Maddy had that effect on most people.
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