April | lrh

0.1

"Happy birthday!" Mercy called behind me, and I turned around just in time to intercept a very strong (and slightly pushy) hug.

"It's your birthday? Happy birthday." Florence congratulated me with a smile, to which I returned one. Today, I hated my classmates a little less than I ever had before. After all, we'd grown up together, and now was the final time that each one of us would be in the same room ever again.

"Olivia Acerman." Mrs. Dodge announced, and a shiver went through my body as I realized it was my turn next.

"April Blake." The next two minutes were a blur. I awkwardly climbed the stairs to the stage in the heels I really shouldn't have worn, with a dorky grin plastered on my face. I shook Mrs. Dodge's hand and reached for the little roll of paper that I'd spent 13 years of my life earning. I juggled it in my arm as my opposite hand clutched onto the railing by the stairs on my way back down.

"You did it!" Mercy whisper yelled, shaking my shoulder violently, and I widened my eyes and nodded.

"Hey, do you want to celebrate a little later? You are 18 now, after all." She continued to whisper.

"I don't know. What about my parents?"

"I already asked. They said yes." She smirked. I rolled my eyes but agreed, and she clapped her hands in excitement. A teacher shushed her, but she shrugged, not caring. It is graduation, after all.

As soon as they played to graduation song ( I think it starts with a p?) and we left, Mercy whisked me away, barely giving me enough time to say goodbye to my parents and remove my robe.

"Want to go to Lewee's?" She asks as I climb into her stinky old car.

"That's in LA, it'll take two hours." I remind her, but she simply smirks.

"You forget that we're graduated, April. And we're both 18. We can do whatever the h.ell we want." She laughs, slamming her foot into the gas. I squeal dramatically.

"Okay. I guess we can have some fun." I decide.

"You have no idea." I catch her whispering under her breath.

-

By the time we'd finally made it into LA, we'd been caught in a terrible traffic jam. And I mean terrible. You know how bad they usually are around here? Multiply that by 20. Mercy frustratedly slaps her hands on the steering wheel, and I glance at her curiously.

"What're you so worried about? It's not like we're on a schedule." As soon as she sends me an exasperated look without saying a word, I raise my hands up in surrender and go back to being quiet.

We finally make it through the agonizingly long line of cars when she turns the wrong way.

"Woah, you took the wrong exit! We're gonna have to turn around!" I announce. Yet, once again, she doesn't speak a word, and keeps driving forward. Where, naturally, there's another traffic jam, except this one is going into a parking garage.

"Where are you taking me? I need answers!" I demand, as soon as I realize that there was no way that she ever intended to go to Lewee's. I'm biting my lip with my eyebrows furrowed when I look out the window and notice something.

A huge cluster of hundreds of teenage girls stand in front of a humongous building, wearing flannels, holding poster boards, and chanting something.

"5SOS! 5SOS! 5SOS!"

It's finally clear to me when I read a poster that says 'Michael I love you more than pizza'.

"We are not at Rock Out With Your Socks Out!" I gasp, turning to Mercy, who grins like a devil.