***AUTHORESS NOTES***

I've decided to give you guys two chapters instead of one. It's my
apology to you for not updating that much. 

This story's going to start out a little slow, so sorry. Within three
chapters, the actual journey will begin.

Enjoy chapter 3, and thanks for all the support! And thanks to Furret
Queen, Raichu and Twisted Alyx for reviewing part 1.


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Chapter 02: Miss Maybe Not So Perfect


     Aaron's car turned out to a nicely aged Pontiac. "It took me
forever to save up for half of it. That was my deal with my parents."
Jenna just nodded. She probably had her own Mustang convertible, bought
just for her without her having to work an hour for it.

     "What kind of car do you have?" he questioned, even though he
already knew the answer.

     Jenna surprised him though. "I don't have a car yet. I'm not
allowed to have one until I leave for college. And I'm only fourteen. I
can't drive yet." Oh yeah. She was a freshman. He was a sophmore. Duh. 

     She opened the door for herself and slid in with ease. Yet another
surprise. He would've thought she would've expected him to chauffer her
or something.

     "So where do you live?" Aaron asked her. Probably the Labyrinth
Terrace. It was where all the 'Abecrombie whores' (as Nick
'affectionately' called Jenna and her pack of popular friends) lived.
Astrid, Emily, Alana, Ben, Bailey... 

     Jenna didn't surprise him this time. "Labyrinth," she responded.
"On West 52nd."

     He knew exactly where that was. The Pontiac grumbled a bit but
started with more ease than usually. It was like the old car knew that a
girl of class and wealth was in the car. But for being a girl of class
and wealth, Jenna Riley was astonishingly quiet. Aaron didn't know
whether he expected her to talk about the mall or clothes or money or
what, but he didn't expect quiet.

     At the second stoplight, Aaron looked over at his passenger. Her
arms were crossed over her flat stomach, and she was gazing out of the
window. Then she grabbed for the tote bag he had knocked over earlier.
She grabbed her cell phone out of a pocket and began to text message
someone. 

     A car behind him honked. The light had turned green. He began to
move. He was now just blocks away from where Jenna lived. He turned a
left on Eastman Way. Then came the yards of houses, expensive houses
with rolling green yards and flowerbeds that looked like they should be
in a gardening magazine. Some backyards had extraordinary ponds, ponds
that had an expensive look with crystal clear water and emerald moss
hanging from arches.

     "Right there!" cried Jenna, pointing to a perfect white house on
the corner. It had one of the front yards that went on for miles,
probably handled by a professional. He pulled into an empty driveway.

     "You can come in if you want," she offered. Aaron hadn't planned on
going in, but it seemed rude to after she had offered. She opened the
front door and let herself and Aaron inside. The carpet was pure white,
Aaron could see that. She took her shoes off on the linoleum in front of
the door and Aaron did the same. Her parents would probably have a heart
attack if anything got on the carpet.

     Jenna ran up a winding staircase, leaving him alone in the house.
He took a careful seat on a spotless white leather couch, trying not to
touch anything. The house was as quiet as a tomb. Everything looked so
flawless and brand new. It had no comforts of a home. How could Jenna
bear to be there? But then Aaron remembered: people like Jenna could
handle anything, as long as they could show off how perfect everything
in their life was.

     Footsteps blared through the house, the only sound he could hear.
Jenna appeared within seconds, matching the all-white decor of the
house. The jeans were probably Abercormbie, the tank top probably was
too, and the spotless white jean jacket probably finished off the set.
She took a minute to read a note on the counter, and then beckoned for
him to follow her. She slipped on white flip-flops and walked back to
the car. The Pontiac looked out of place in this ritzy neighbor, but
hey, he wasn't the one who lived there.

     Jenna sat down and began text messaging again. Her forearms were in
view and as Aaron looked over, something on the jacket screamed at him.
There was fresh blood on the left sleeve and older, more faded spots
around it.

     "Hey, how did you get cut? There's blood on your sleeve," he
pointed to the spot. Jenna looked from the cell phone to the sleeve and
then to Aaron himself.

     When she looked up at him, for a split second it was like she was
trying to tell him something. Her expression was kind of pitiful and sad
and she was practically telling him that she needed him to help her. But
as fast as the expression came, it turned into pure primal rage. The
anguish turned into fury.

     "That's none of your business," she hissed and glared at the taller
boy. She turned back to the phone, her gaze occasionally turning back to
the blood. Her expression clouded over when she did.