Three months ago, four kids were run off the road by a drunk driver and pronounced dead at the scene, leaving their families to grieve and wonder why accidents had to happen.
The four left behind families, and namely, five specific siblings: all sen...
It was a terrible thing that Roland hated to admit, but his parents were incredibly biased on the point of wealth in their community. They only socialized with those who were at least on their approximate level of inheritance and they were known for dismissing anyone who tried to approach them if they didn't meet the Green standard for being the best and the brightest. The most ironic part of the entire thing was that, although they were easily the wealthiest family in Easton, neither parent could support their lavish lifestyle on their own, so the two were always miserable—divorced and living in the same home.
"To Lindsey Marcum's house." Roland repeated to his mother, "I just wanted to let you know before I left."
"And may I ask why you are associating with someone of Lindsey Marcum's...status?" Cynthia Ryle asked her son, "It doesn't seem like something you would be interested in."
"I don't really care about that stuff as much as you and Father do." Roland replied, shrugging uncomfortably. "They're just people."
"I know that, Roland." Cynthia shook her head, "But to be quite honest, I'm not sure if your father would be very alright with your going to that house in particular."
Roland's eyebrows furrowed.
"Why not?"
His mother was quiet for a moment, her eyes travelling from Roland to the ground and back again before she spoke.
"Never mind, dear." She shook her head, "It's nothing. Just go and be home at a reasonable hour, please. You have school tomorrow."
Roland nodded his agreement.
"Yes, Mother."
He turned around and grabbed his car keys from the counter before exiting through one of the three front doors, closing it gently behind him. He certainly hoped that this wouldn't be an enormous waste of his time, although it very easily could turn out to be.
Roland was settled into his car when his phone buzzed. He turned it over, rolling his eyes as it was most likely his mother reminding him to be safe. As if he needed a reminder nowadays.
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Roland felt his eyes grow wide. He had seen one too many horror movies to know that he absolutely did not want to answer that text message.
He also knew that in every horror movie, the white people were stupid and answered the murderers anyways. So he might as well continue the traditions of his people.
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