FicWad

My pencil snapped.

Sitting alone in my apartment I wondered how many dollars the pencil companies made, cheating good and honest people out of their money by selling them shitty pencils that were sure to break once you sharpened them to a desirable length.

Cursing any and all the corporations that I knew of, whether they sold pencils or not, I sharpened my pencil again. And then it dawned on me. No wonder the man who made pencils was so rich. The pencil companies made crappy pencils that broke whenever they were sharpened so one sharpened them again, the pencil getting shorter each time. Eventually the pencil became so short that it was unusable. Then you bought a new one.

Perhaps I should start my own company, selling pencils.

I set my pencil down on the pad of paper, scribbling away in my untidy scrawl. A soft scratching sound filled my bedroom as I wrote though I took no notice of it, having been consumed by the art of writing.

An unexpected knock at my bedroom door made me jump and my pencil snapped again. I muttered profanities as I crossed the room and opened the door. My sister was stood in front of me in all of her beautiful Miss Not-Messed-Up-Daughter and straight edge glory. She was holding the handset with her hand outstretched. Her eyes were wide and her face looked pale.

"Be more careful next time," she whispered before walking back down the hallway. I immediately recognised her vague comment as a reference to the night before. She knew what had happened during my three-hour lapse. I wanted to call after her but someone was repeating my name and I could hear him or her through the handset.

Putting the phone to my ear I said, "Hello?"

"Is this Miss Charlotte Parker that I am speaking to?" An authoritative male voice asked from the other end.

I nodded, lost for words, but then, remembering that whomever I was talking to couldn't see me, I replied, "Yes, it is."

"This is Officer Dean speaking. Miss Parker, would you please come to the police station as soon as possible, please and thank you m'am."

"Okay..." I hung up and put the phone down on my desk. I looked down; I was still in my pyjamas. I hurried around the room, gathering articles of clothing and putting them on quickly. I slipped on some ballerina pumps last and hurried to the front door, wondering why I was wanted at a police station.

When I reached the front door I turned to the coat rack, expecting to see my green coat there but it wasn't. I gulped, wondering what had happened to it and knowing that it had something to do with last night.

When I reached the police station in downtown Winnetka, which wasn't saying much because Winnetka was classified as a hamlet due to its dwindling population, I instantly recognised some of the faces I saw there.

PJ was there, with a look reminiscent of a lost puppy dog on his face, and so was Jeffers and stood next to her was another guy whom I recognised but I couldn't remember where'd I seen him before. Maybe at the party last night?

A large man appeared behind me and said in his deep, gruff voice, "Please stand next to your friends, Miss Parker." I did as I was told because I got the feeling that the large man might beat me if I didn't. His facial expression screamed, 'Fuck human rights!' Which was, as you can imagine, kind of scary.

He stared at all four of us and PJ, Jeffers and Mister Anonymous all cowered. I didn't because I had no idea what I'd done wrong. I was hoping someone would explain to me. PJ would afterwards. It looked like Mister Big was going to give us a long lecture.

I glanced around as the big man in uniform paced back and forth in front of us. I bit down on my lip, wondering if I'd committed some kind of heinous crime last night that I couldn't remember.

"Kids," the large man began.

"I'm eighteen," I said in a feeble whisper. I could tell that Mister Anonymous wanted to smack me and give me a lecture about not interrupting the authorities but the intimidating air of the large man in uniform silenced him.

"Kids," he continued, shooting me a glare. "Last night I understand there was a party. At around one in the morning things started to get out of hand. Everyone was 'smashed' and free of inhibitions. Are you all aware that trespassing is a criminal offence and can result in the offender sued for monetary damages and, or can result in the offender being charged?"

We all nodded in unison. I was biting down on my lip harder and harder, it was a wonder that it didn't start spouting blood.

"Mister Winsfelt woke up to find an outside wall of his house covered in a spray paint drawing that included obscenities and nudity," he paused for dramatic effect. "Mister Winsfelt's living room window was smashed and there is now a gaping hole in his patio. If there is one thing I will not abide it is teenaged delinquents who are too irresponsible to consider the thoughts and feelings of others. At the scene of the crime we found a pair of women's jeans, size five, a baseball bat, a large coat and a mobile phone. Luckily enough, all of these pieces of evidence meant that the culprits could be brought to justice."

Pause.

"Before I continue, would you like to tell me the names of anyone else involved?" There was silence. I guessed that neither Jeffers, PJ nor Mister Anonymous was going to grass up the other participants. I couldn't grass anyone up either. I couldn't even recall myself committing the crime, let alone anyone else committing the crime alongside me.

"Whilst Mister Winsfelt is not going to press charges against any of you for the damage done to his patio and his window, the law requires that you are charged anyhow. You shall all be receiving a letter in two to three weeks stating the time and whereabouts of your trial." He exhaled audibly. "You may leave and collect your items on the way out."

Outside the police station, I exhaled too.

"PJ, what happened last night?" I asked.

"Come on, Char -" I silenced him with my, 'I had a black out' look. "Oh. Basically we got shattered and trashed this old guy's patio and broke his window and sprayed his wall silly. Some of the guys took off their pants and went around the neighbourhood moonying anyone who was unfortunate enough to be awake. And some," PJ shot a look at Mister Anonymous, "Were too drunk to go back and get their pants and walked home in their boxers."

"Real mature for a man of twenty-three," Jeffers muttered, flicking her hair in a I-dislike-you-so-much way. PJ sighed heavily and started walking faster to get in front of us.

Looking from PJ to Jeffers to Mister Anonymous, I found myself thoroughly confused.



Author's Note: Ooh... and we still don't know why Patrick hates her... ooh the drama! Can you handle it?

Now rate and review biznatches.