Will it work?_You Actually Did It_Hear it all ticking away_Running Around for Rent
Catalog Guide:
Will it work?
In my sophomore year of high school, I had a short-lived friendship with this girl named Korie Hamilton. She was nice enough. A little too much purple eyeliner, a few too many likes sprinkled throughout her constant chatter, but we had every class together our first semester, so we kind of became friends by default. Anyway, Korie was forever yammering on and on about how her best friend on the entire planet was Stephen Daniels, a boy she’d known for all of four weeks before promoting him to BFF status. Apparently, it was, like, ohmigod, like, the best thing ever to have a guy she could talk to...
You Actually Did It
“Sigh, seriously? Again? You’re really doing this again?” questions Gabby to her friend and ouwww.onedoor.ccr main character Justin. “Yes! I swear to you Gabby, this year’s gonna be different.” says Justin. “You say that every year Justin. Doesn’t it get old?” questions Gabby again “Not to me it doesn’t. If you believe enough in your heart that it can come true, then it can come true!” answers Justin enthusiastically. “Oh dear Lord. Here we go again.” says Gabby with some level of concern.Justin Sky and Gabby Crimson have known each other since they were twelve years old. They’ve practically been inseparabl...
Hear it all ticking away
What was the date?Lara paused her typing for a moment. She looked at her calendar, it was the fifth. In June.When did it become June?She stopped her work, stretching out her back hearing several pops caused after sitting in the same position for so long. Lara stood and went out of her room taking large steps to avoid piles of dirty clothes in the hallway. She made her way to the living room and sat on her couch with her legs folded in an attempt to try meditation. It was supposed to help your mind relax or something. Plus she had been doing online work for so long that she wanted, no, needed...
Running Around for Rent
“I’m sorry, ma’am. We don’t have any postage stamps,” the lady says in her bored voice, standing on the other side of the counter in her baby blue polo. A plexiglass shield separates us and I glare into my own reflection, brow furrowed and mouth open. The coffee stain on my tanktop has leaked into my opened blouse, staining it a muddy red, even though I tried to blot it away with an old math assignment in my car. I blink three times. I’ve been waiting in the line for nearly an hour. “Can’t you just print out a sticker and I give you fifty cents?” I ask as I drum my fingers on the counter. ...