'Hey, wait up!'

'Hey!'

'Hey, Abercrombie!'

'HEY!'

Oh my god, he's got Airpods in. He can't hear me, oh my god!

I have half a mind to teleport to inches from his nose and scare the shit out of him. That would be fun. 

Instead, I take the normal, boring route and run after him, as he walks out of the building into the parking lot. 

The parking lot is deserted, save for my jet black McLaren MP-4 12C. I know, I know. That one is ridiculously expensive for a teenager in high school, but I'm way older than I look, with a hell of a driving experience, along with money to actually buy it and, it's got a twin-turbocharged V8 engine.

So, I'd say it's a win. 

The guy I'm following stops at the sight of my car, taking out his earphones. 

I smirk. So you like cars, yup.

'She's mine.' I say, finally catching up with him. He raises his gray eyes from my car, his expression morphing into distaste as they land on me. 

'Of course. The spoiled brat needs a ridiculously expensive car.'

I cock my head to the side. 'Ouch.' 

He doesn't look impressed. He rolls his devilishly handsome eyes,and turns away from the car.

'Wait!' I exclaim, grabbing his left arm on an impulse. He hisses, and pulls out of my grip, his eyes flashing with rage.

'Don't you dare fucking touch me.'

Okay, he's rude for a human.

I tut. 'I'm sorry. I just wanted to introduce myself.'

He rolls his eyes again. 'I know who you are,' he declares, carelessly. 

That backtracks me. He knows me?

'You do?'

He does? Wait, how does he know who I am? Is he an angel? But that still doesn't explain why I can't hear his thoughts.

'You are Deanne Warner.'

Phew.

There is something about the way he says my name. Yeah, it isn't my real name, but it has been my name for about twenty two years now. He says my name slowly, as if trying to understand it.

'You are kind of famous,' he continues, looking pointedly at the car. 'It's not hard to imagine why.'

I wouldn't say I'm famous. Okay, maybe I was. I think it's got something to do with the fact that I'm the most rebellious teen there is, in all of California. That, and how I seemed to get away with doing whatever I want, wherever I want, whenever I want. Perks of being a Moirai, and having an angel best friend, but no one knows that.

To the human eye, I'm probably a spoiled, spoiled brat.

Do I care?

What a joke.

'Huh.' I reply, setting my hands on my hips. 'That's cool, dude. But I have no clue who you are. Who are you?'

Heat flares in his gray eyes. The corner of his lip pulls upwards in a half-hearted smirk, and oh mahn, he is devilishly handsome. He leans forward, his nose inches away from my nose, his mouth almost brushing my ear. 

'I'm someone you should be staying far away from.'

I grit my jaw. He smirks, and then abruptly snarls. 'Don't mess with me, shortcake.'

He turns on his heel, jamming the earphones back in, and walking away at a leisurely stroll. 

Shortcake? Really?

My hands subconsciously moves to my strawberry blonde hair. Nobody, I repeat, nobody calls me Shortcake and gets away with it. 

Well, maybe except Abercrombie, just because he is too far away for me to throw my shoe at, and actually hit him.

And I'll get him back tomorrow.

Hopefully.

/*\*/*\

Darn. The era where a fuckin' celestial has to work for a human's attention.