Chapter One: Thinking About Math Homework
 
 
     I didn't get what was going on. My whole life was getting majorly screwed 
up and that evil old man expected me to do math homework? God, Mr. Garcia was 
being more evil than he had been before the invasion. I hated that old man, but 
so did the rest of my math class. 
 
     I have always hated pictures. Most people do simply because they don't 
photograph well. That's not my problem. Most of them turn out really well. I 
just hate looking at them. There's something about looking at photos that make 
me scream. It's evil. Pure evil. I do have one photo that I still look at 
regularly. It is one of me and my brother and my sister. Most people don't look 
at those pictures as special. I do, because my siblings are dead.
 
     Bobby was 16 and Brooke was 17 when they were viciously murdered by Team 
Rocket. It was all my fault that they were killed, too. We had gotten in another 
fight that day. It was a simple fight about doing the dishes between me and 
Bobby. Simple brother/sister fight until Brooke got involved.
 
     "You two always side together!" I had yelled. "It's like I'm not even your 
sister! I hate you and I wish you were dead!" At that moment, I flung a pink and 
white checked dishtowel in my brother's face.
 
     He flung it back at me. "Screw you! I'm going to Andrew's house!" he yelled 
behind him as he stomped out of the back door. I felt horrible but yet proud of 
myself somehow. Brooke also stomped out, saying that she was going to Devinne's.
 
     And that left me home alone, holding a pink and white checked dishtowel 
with my light brown hair MAJORLY screwed up. I scowled at the thought of my 
siblings. I hated them.
 
     I didn't feel like doing the dishes, so I flopped down on our leather couch 
and started watching TV. I was laughing my head off to a Spongebob cartoon when 
suddenly a news broadcast interrupting my show. I cursed under my breath about 
annoying TV reporters and then suddenly I dropped the remote.
 
     "We have just been informed of a Team Rocket attack near South Street in 
Sunnydale," reported probably the most annoying reporter ever, Chad Spoonful. 
"Only two teenagers were killed in the attack: a Robert Frost and a Brooke 
Frost. No bodies have yet been found." 
 
     I grabbed the phone and dialed my mother at work. "Mom!" I screamed. "Have 
you seen the news?" My eyes filled with tears suddenly as I remembered my last 
words to them. 'I hate you! I wish you were dead!'  My parents had always told 
me, be careful what you wish for. It was too late now. They were gone forever.
 
     "Team Rocket killed Bobby and Brooke," I told her quietly. She didn't say 
anything, but simply hung up the phone. But I had been too upset to care. All I 
could think about was the fact that if I had just agrred to doing the dishes, 
they would still be alive. I hated myself so bad at that time. I was never going 
to forgive myself.
 
     And here, 2 months later, I still hadn't forgiven myself and neither had my 
parents. They think that if they were home now that they couldn't prevented the 
two from going anywhere. They didn't know about our fight. They were never going 
to know. Not ever.
 
     I finished up my math worksheet, positive that I had failed it. But hey, I 
did it so that Garcia couldn't throw a fit at me. He didn't say I had to PASS 
it. I shrugged and put it in my binder and threw my binder against the wall. 
Screw Team Rocket. They're SOOOOO going down!!