Laila

   There was a loud knock on my door. I glanced up from Romeo and Juliet and checked the time on my cell phone. It was just a little after eight. We’d already eaten dinner; Kim was entertaining Mom with the latest drafts of her upcoming novel, Laurence was locked away in his study working on blueprints, Emma was at yet another friend’s house (this time the Yew family) and Justin was off somewhere doing God only knows what. Who would come knocking my door at this hour, unless it was Miranda or someone asking for something?

  When the incessant knocking started to get extremely annoying, I let out a huff and rolled off the bed before padding my way over to the door. Cracking it open, I arched an eyebrow in blatant surprise.

  “Can I help you?” I asked Justin, not unkindly. 

I hadn’t seen Justin since the day before – he’d gone off on some day-trip with a few of his buddies from school, into the city – and hadn’t gotten back until late last night. Long after I’d already turned in for the night.  

 It was pretty much pathetic to realize that I was still bowled over by how ridiculously attractive the guy was as I took in his appearance.

  He was wearing a black button-down shirt that’s sleeves were pushed up to his elbows. His hair was damp, like he’d just gotten out of the shower, falling across his forehead in waves, flopping into his bright emerald colored eyes.

  Oh. My. God.

Did this guy wield his gorgeous good looks like a dangerous weapon or what?

  “Get dressed,” Justin said in a brisk tone, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’re going out.”

“We’re going out,” I repeated flatly.

  The corners of Justin’s mouth turned up into a crooked grin.

“You heard me, sweetheart. We’re going out. So go change.”

  It was my turn to indignantly cross my arms, glaring up at him agitatedly.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

  Both of our attentions flickered down towards my outfit at the same time. He was definitely right about asking me to change, darn him. I was wearing a ratty pair of sweatpants and an old Beatles t-shirt. Knowing Justin and the people that he probably hung out with, my outfit was hardly up to their standards.

  “Go change into something…nice,” Justin ordered, reaching out to tug on a loose strand of my t-shirt. “And do something with your hair.”

  Now I was just getting pissed off.

 “I get your part about changing, but what’s wrong with my hair?” I demanded, resisting the urge to reach up and smack him.

 Justin’s smirk widened, his eyes glinting. “Just humor me, sweetheart. First impressions mean everything.”

I rolled my eyes. What a conceited jerk.

  “And if I don’t?” I asked defiantly, my chin jutting out. “What’ll you do? Make me?”

Justin arched an eyebrow. “I have no qualms about helping you change.”

  “God! You’re such a pervert!”

I reached out to slam the door in his face, beyond pissed off now, but he moved too quickly for me to stop him from catching the door with a hand.

  “You’ve got ten minutes. So hurry up, will you? I don’t want to be late, and nor do I want to waste my valuable time waiting for you.”

  His voice was deep and rich, enough to momentarily catch me off guard with how close he was. It was only when he was leaning back with a small, satisfied smirk in place did I realize how out of breath I was.

 “Whatever, Richards,” I huffed in defeat, averting my eyes. “Just let me change, all right?”

 “Don’t take too long.”

 I flipped him the middle finger before successfully managing to slam the door in his face.

  Now what the hell was I going to wear? Just what fell under the category of “nice”?  Nice casual, or nice formal, or nice… what?

  Whatever!  I huffed in defeat. I was going to wear whatever I wanted to wear and stupid, arrogant Justin Richards was just going to have to put up with it.

  “Don’t stare at me like that, Justin. It’s kinda creepy.”

 Justin Richards, for once, was actually speechless. He was leaning against the wall in the foyer, arms crossed over his chest again, looking bored. That is until he noticed me coming down the stairs. And I wasn’t kidding about the whole part where he was staring. Not that it was creepy or anything. More… uncomfortable. I don’t think I’d ever seen a guy stare at me like the way Justin was.

  In reality, though, I didn’t think there was anything wrong with what I was wearing. Justin had told me to put on something nice, so I did. I was simply wearing a pair of dark jeans and a form fitting blouse that was admittedly flattering. Not that I was conceited or anything. My hair, on the other hand, was pulled up into a twist, more wavy than normal. And for once in my life, I was wearing makeup. Not too much, though – just enough to show that I at least had eyelashes.

  “You look nice,” he finally said in a tight, flat voice.

 I smirked. “What, do I finally live up to your expectations or something?”

  Justin rolled his eyes and gestured over his shoulder with a thumb towards the front door. “Let’s get a move on, sweetheart. We’re already late as it is.”

   “Where are we going?” I asked again, more eager than before.

Now that I was dressed up so nice, I figured I at least deserved to know where Justin was dragging me out to.

  “Not now,” Justin snapped irritably. “Just wait till we get there, all right?”

  “What’s got you in a prissy mood?” I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes.

    The Oregon weather outside was surprisingly chill and cool for a summer evening. I breathed in the crisp night air in mouthfuls, sighing in relief. At least we were outside, so some of the tension that was noticeably between Justin and I would edge away.

  I hoped.

I stared down at my sneakers as Justin led me along a dirt path that stretched around their gigantic mansion of a house. Almost abruptly, we were standing in front of a truck. A dirty, rusting truck that was long since due for a fresh coat of paint and was splattered with several ridiculous bumper stickers from the 80s.

  I bent down by the bed of the truck to read a grimy sticker attached to the tail end of the bumper.

 It said:

 HOW’S MY DRIVING? CALL 1-800-F#@*K YOU TO LEAVE A MESSAGE

This was definitely Justin’s piece of crap car, all right.

  “Please tell me this isn’t your car,” I demanded hopelessly before I could stop myself.

Justin snorted out a laugh, giving me a crooked grin. “Okay. This isn’t my car.”

  “Really?”

  “No.”

 “You jerk.”

  Justin laughed even louder, bypassing me and heading around the car to wrench open the driver’s side door before pulling himself in. It was definitely childish of me to cross my arms and stay rooted to the spot, but I just couldn’t help it. There was no way on Earth that I was getting in that death trap of car, especially not with Justin Richards of all people.

  The jerk in question leaned across the seat and rolled the passenger side window down, peering out at me with a bemused expression.

  “Might as well get in, sweetheart, ‘cause I’m not leaving until you do,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice.

  I narrowed my eyes while his smile just widened, flashing his straight white teeth. When it became plainly obvious that I was so going to lose this staring contest, I huffed out a disgusted sigh and banged the passenger side door open before climbing in.

  “’Atta girl.”

  “Shut up.”

  Whenever I was in a car, it was normally a considerably peaceful, relaxed experience. I’d turn on the radio to my favorite classic rock station, maybe even peer out the window and take sight of my surroundings and remark on how picturesque and beautiful the scenery was.

  With Justin Richards being the one driving, though, that was totally impossible. And there was only one thing that could be derived from this occurrence:

  Justin drove like a maniac.

  He purposely swerved across the road to bounce over potholes, had to at least be going twenty over the speed limit, and even took a right turn so sharply that we almost went fishtailing off the side of the road.

  I scrunched my eyes closed and slunk down until I was practically in the fetal position, gripping the edges of the faded and cracked leather seat.

  “What’re you doing, Laila?” Justin asked, amusement evident in his voice.

  I ignored him and continued mouthing words.

  “What was that?” he pressed interestedly.

  “I’m saying a prayer,” I finally admitted.

  “What prayer?”

 “That prayer you say before you know you’re gonna die.”

 Justin burst out laughing, nearly banging his head against the steering wheel. I glared witheringly over at him, half expecting tears to be streaming down his face.

  “Keep both hands on the wheel, you imbecile!” I shrieked when he leaned over to ruffle my hair.

  “You know,” Justin commented, ignoring my furious shouting. “I sort of like hanging out with you, Laila. It’s hardly ever boring.”

  “Thanks,” I said acidly. “I’m glad to know I’m such a source of entertainment for you.”

  I didn’t have to be looking at him to know that he’d be rolling his eyes right then.

   Another bout of awkward silence passed.

“….Can you tell me where we’re going now?”

  Justin glanced over at me, his lips pursed. “You’re impatient.”

   “What can I say? You do that to me, Justin,” I said, pretending to get all emotional.

“You’ll see once we get there,” he answered, looking annoyed.

  Several minutes passed of him driving down road after road, each one more unfamiliar than the next, before he abruptly made a sharp right turn. I leaned forward, grabbing at my seat belt, my mouth dropping open at the sight in front of me.

  Justin was pulling up into the drive of a huge, looming house that had to be just as massive, if not more so, than the Richards’ house. There were pillars and columns, the sighting was dark, and there were several windows, a plethora of designer curtains in view. The only things that were missing were the turrets and flags.

  It didn’t even occur to me that music was blaring out from every possible speaker inside the remarkable house, or that there were several stylishly and fashionably dressed teens loitering about on the sloping front lawn.

  “Where are we?” I asked breathlessly, staring at Justin with wide eyes.

“Nick Petrolas’s house,” Justin said, cutting the engine of his stupid truck.

  “And who is that?” I snapped impatiently.

Justin remained silent as he unbuckled and slid out of the truck, slamming the door behind him. He walked around the truck towards the passenger side door before he wrenched it open, swiftly unbuckling me, tugging my hand and effectively pulling me out of the truck.

  “What the hell!” I screeched, trying to make him let go of me.

  “Take a look around, sweetheart,” Justin said briskly, dropping my hand.

 He didn’t need to tell me to do that. I wasn’t stupid.

    “We’re at a party,” I said through gritted teeth, suddenly very angry.

 “That’s right. And d’you know what we’re going to do now?”

   “Enlighten me.”

  “We’re going to have fun.”

  “But I – “

  “We’re going to have fun.”

Justin cut me off with a stern look and narrowed eyes. It was a look that plainly said “don’t mess with me”.

  Luckily for me, but unfortunately for him, it was my job to ignore everything he said.

I crossed my arms, my jaw locked, and stood beside the truck, rooting my feet to the ground. I was just going to stay in the truck all night if I had to, because there was absolutely no way that I going to some party with Justin.

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Uhm...yay or nay? Justin or Laila? Uhm...so, yeah, tell me what you think!