"...eighteen year old Jericho Lee, who was pronounced missing three days ago, was found dead by tourists near the rocks below the Golden Gate Bridge. The young man's cause of death seems to be unknown-"
"Turn it back on!" Melabee Samuels cried out, reaching for the remote. As she clawed for the controller, her nails found the skin of her friend, Ellie Jacobs, instead.
"Ouch! It was on accident!" Ellie jumped from the bed, away from his best friend's vicious fingers. "I'll turn it back on, jeez."
Melabee became still as the buzzing of the television followed by the voice of the reporter replaced their bickering.
"...lungs were not filled with water and there were no signs of blows to the head that may have caused him to fall unconscious. Investigators do not think that Lee's death is connected to that of thirty-three year old Mr. Jennings, who was also found dead with no symptoms near the coast of Blue Lagoo. The families of the victims are both angry and grieving to find no answers regarding the death of their loved ones. Until further evidence is found, all we can do now is hope. This is Chanon Lancaster from Channel 5 reporting live in San Francisco, California. Back to you, Nick."
"That's scary," Ellie mumbled, his eyes glued to the screen.
"I know," replied Melabee in the same low tone. "Who do you think's doing the killings?"
Ellie finally turned to look at Melabee. He shrugged his broad shoulders, a clueless expression on his face.
A moment of silence fell upon the two, each pondering in their minds about the mysterious killings.
As they surrendered to their own imaginations, the sudden slam of the front door below shattered Melabee's concentration and earned a shriek from Ellie.
A pair of fast feet clicked against the marble staircase, the rhythmic thud getting closer to the room Melabee and Ellie occupied. Within a moment, the door knob turned and the room's door was slammed against the wall, causing a picture frame to fall to the carpeted ground.
In the doorway, a slender girl stood, hands on her hips. Her brown hair, gracefully and neatly curled, cascaded down her back and stopped at her small waist. She wore a pink flowery dress that stopped short right above her knees. Her outfit was finished with a pair of three-inch white stilettoes.
"Quick, I need lip-gloss," she strode towards the dresser, her high heels leaving impressions on the carpet. The moment her long fingers touched the surface of the wooden dresser, her hands fumbled in the cabinets, her eyes in search for her lacking necessity.
Melabee and Ellie stared at the girl, still processing the alarming entrance of their unexpected visitor. Moments passed until finally, Melabee spoke.
"Come in, Max," she said in a sarcastic tone. "Thank you for knocking."
Max Evans, ignoring Melabee's sarcasm, paused to scan the room. Her eyes fell upon the cabinet beside the queen sized bed, the small bookshelf against the corner of her room, the desk below the open window, and finally, her narrowed gaze switched from Melabee to Ellie.
"You guys are not dressed," she stated, pointing a manicured finger.
"Max, my birthday is tomorrow," Melabee pointed out, grabbing the remote from Ellie and turning to switch the channel.
"Yes, I know," Max said, making her way to Melabee's bed. She plopped down ungracefully next to Melabee, dragging Ellie down with her. "I was just pointing out you guys aren't dressed."
"And you're overdressed, as usual," Ellie said, fiddling with Max's elegantly curled hair. "I love your hair."
"I told you to get a weave," Max replied. "But your masculine gayness gets in the way of your desires."
