Sappy Heartwood

3: Who Doesn't like a prick?

The adventure isn't your destination; it's the journey <3

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Chapter Three

Who Doesn't like a prick?

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Racing back into the cafe, I almost knocked Angel over. She looked confused. "Zippy, what's wrong?" I didn't answer her question but ran to our locker room, grabbed my bag, and tossed the apron on the floor. "Zippy?" She tried again.

"I gotta go!" I told her, rushing out the door. "Please tell Mr Richard it's an emergency!"

"Wait! I have to tell you something about that detective! Zippy! Wait! He's the—" The wind carried her voice away.

Admittedly, I wondered what she said. However, I had more pressing concerns. What was going on at Mrs Smith, Rachel's mum's house? And why was the global defence force in town? Shaking those thoughts away, I concentrated on running.

Hmm, come to think of it, I don't remember seeing the detective anywhere when I left. Ugh, don't worry about that man. Think about Rachel and her mother.

Pole! My subconsciousness screamed out, but it was too late.

Wack!

"Fuck sake, who put that pole there?" I grumbled, rubbing my aching forehead. I was sure it would leave a mark.

An elderly woman stared at me. "Young people these days, never watching where they're going. This generation is disgusting." She said to her husband, who gave me a death stare.

What's so disgusting about walking into a pole? Unless someone pissed on it, of course, then yes, it would be gross.

I decided against my better judgement to keep my mouth shut. I could've called the woman every curse word I could think of, but my mum taught me to treat others as you want to be treated. So I flashed her a smile and continued my journey.

I'm nowhere near the fittest person in Heartwood; therefore, running isn't my favourite. I blame my love of cake for that. Mum is always warning me to get off my see-food diet, get it? Because I see food and eat it.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I swipe the screen to call Rachel. "Answer! Come on! Answer!"

Of course, it rang, and she didn't answer, so it went to voicemail.

"You know what I hate about voicemail messages? They go on and on, wasting your time. I mean, all they really need to say is, 'We aren't in, leave a message.' That's why I've decided to keep mine simple and short. I pledge you will never have to suffer through another long answering machine message when you call me."

If there is one thing I dislike about Rachel, it is her choice of voicemail greetings. "Why do you never answer your bloody phone? Or when you do, you're either in the shower or having a shit!" I shouted into my phone. "I get you're—"

Beep.

"Piece of shit! Why can I never leave a longer message? Gah!"

"Is everything alright?" A postie, short for a postman, asked while walking to his car.

I cleared my throat. "Yes, sorry, I wasn't shouting at you. My friend isn't answering."

"Try texting?" He suggested.