Blockquote x SEVEN >:D

The soft breeze whips my light blonde hair behind me. God, I can see everything from up here. There's the "Justice" Building, the town square, and the market. Everthing. I like it better up here, perched in my tree, than at my house. 

Of course no one's out here yet. I'm not that stupid. Maybe for once the damned Peacekeepers decided to give everyone a day o-- damn, nevermind. I forgot I was at the back of the orchard. Right now I can see the workers walking in. Being only sixteen, I usually only come in on weekends. Sometimes. Usually I go get stoned with Nate. Sometimes we even get wasted. 

I like getting high. The world is full of pretty colors. The apples are too red, the sky is too blue, and the trees are too green. I don't really mind. My life is a whole lot better when I'm high and/or drunk. There's no crazy family, sick brother, or annoying best friend. God, Nate really is annoying, isn't he? Sometimes I only think I'm with him because he occasionally gives me a discount. Of course, there is that other option. 

Actually, I've been thinking a lot about that option for a little while now. Would it really be so bad to have sex with Natey? It would probably be really awkward afterwards, but I've heard he's pretty good. But it would be really awkward. But I want to sell so badly. I need the money and so do my parents. Okay, so mostly me. Yeah, like I'd actually give away my own money. 

Then it hits me. He was supposed to take me on deliveries today. Damn it, I need to get out of this tree. Before I hop down, I pop a few apples into my burlap sack. What? It's not like anyone's going to notice that they're gone. As soon as my feet hit theground with a thump, I take off running, the sack flappin behind me. Finally, I hurdle over a row of bushes, and I'm out of the field. 

About ten minutes after running out of the orchard, I quit running. Nate's house really wasn't all that far from where I had been, so I was approaching his house quickly. I try to quiet my heavy breathing, but it's difficult considering I just sprinted over a mile. Soon the little one floor thing comes into view. Our homes really were about the same size, but mine always feels a bit smaller and more crowded with an extra sibling. There was no telling where his brothers were at the moment, but they were most likely not home. His parents probably were, though. Good, let them hear us.

Going through the front door isn't an option considering his parents hate me. Like seriously, they hate me. Every time I'm at his house while they're there, I get glared at constantly. That's why I usually wait until they're asleep at night to waltz in. Today, I don't feel like waiting. Hey, sometimes I don't feel like getting The Glare of Death more than I need it. Nate's window is usually open. I'm not sure if it's for me or one of his prostitutes, ahem, girlfriends, but I could really care less. I dig my hands on the dirty bottom of his window to find some purchase. My hands finally wrap around the handle and pull the grimy square window up and open. 

I poke my head into his room. There's his bed in the corner, the dresser on the wall, and the table on the other wall. The only problem is that there's no Nate. That could actually be considered a godsent, but I digress. Where could he be? It's not like he has any friends other than me. Of course, he could always be having sex behind a bush somewhere. Or he could-- oh, hell no. He went on the delivery without me! I'm going to kill that short little bastard. No, I can't kill him. Then I won't have a supplier. I can just get revenge. 

Pulling m head out of the window, I stick my leg through instead and pull myself through. I stumble a little at the end because my ankle caught on the frame. It's okay, though, because I fall right into his dresser. Ah, the dresser. The idiot keeps his main supply with his underwear. I pull the knob towards my stomach and open the mahogany drawer. Swiftly, I ransack said drawer. Let's see, tidy whities, boxers... and a pair of panties. Wow, Nate. Just... wow. Ah, here we go. It's good that he's so OCD because he keeps all the pot in these little bags. I snatch one of the bags ou of the drawer and grab a lighter and pipe off the top of the dresser. 

Now I need to figure out where to do it from. His floor is covered with random crap, and I hate smoking standing up. Oh, I can smoke off of his bed. It's relatively cleaner than the rest of the room. Without another thought, I pull the ratty blanket off the bed, exposing the old sheets. Placing the bag on the mattress, I lower myself onto it and sit cross-legged. The bag makes a snapping noise as I open it and push marijuana into the pipe. With the lighter, I light the end of it and stick it in my mouth tasting sweet free revenge.