The Story Behind the Story

Ch1. Move-in

Allyson woke up on the bare carpet floor to the sound of a moving truck. She heard go past the house and then the loud insistent beeping that goes with backing up. Soon after, traces of conversation drifted up the stairs to her ears.

"Up to the top, first room on the left…"

"No, NO! take that box down to the basement…"

She heard footsteps racing up the stairs up to the top, a dull thud, and then the feet coming all the way back down.

Allyson sighed. She didn't want to get up. She hated moving days…and she'd done them seven times for the past 16 years of her life. Let the movers find her like this; she didn't care. She done a move just the year before and settled in, just to be picked up and moved again.

"Up the first flight of stairs, the middle door…"

Crap. That was her room. Allyson flipped over and laid very still, pretending to be asleep.

Feet clomped up the stairs and moved closer and closer to Allyson's room.

She heard the door squeak, the surprised breath, the gentle set down of the box, and then the quiet shuffle of feet back out of the room. The feet clomped back down the stairs to the lower level.

Allyson rolled over. At least the mover had been considerate; Some movers were just loud, and obnoxious, and loud…

She sighed and slowly sat up, resigning herself to getting up. She stood up and shut the door quietly. She reached inside her open suitcase pulled out Jean shorts and an aqua tank. She stripped out of her PJ's sand slid into her clothes. Then she walked back over to her sleeping bag, rolled it up and stuck it with accompanying pillow, right next to her suitcase.

She slid on her blue flip-flops, bent over and redid her ponytail, and then walked out of the room to face the boring and tiring day.

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"What's the number on the box? 273? Yeah, it goes in the dining room…right around the corner." Allyson sighed and looked up at the next mover coming in the doorway with a box. "Number?"

"277."

"Master bathroom, 2nd level on the right…"

The mover edged past her and up the stairs.

"Number?"

"282."

Allyson flipped the page on her clipboard and crossed off the number. "Basement." She addressed the next mover. "Number?"

"193."

Allyson flipped back a couple of pages and crossed off the number. "Attic." Allyson groaned as she flipped back to the first page counting the number of boxes left. She got to the last page and was surprised to find that there was only one box left…number 1…

"Number 187."

Allyson looked up at the mover and gave him a smile. "Kitchen," she said cheerily, crossing off that last number.

During the next several minutes, the remaining movers all came downstairs and left the house. Finally, Allyson's parents, followed by the last of the movers came down the stairs.

"Thanks for you help," said her father, offering the mover his hand.

"Your welcome," the mover replied taking it. "Good luck."

We all watched anxiously as he walked out the door. A couple minutes later, the truck pulled away.

"YES!" Allyson exclaimed jumping up in the air. Then she sat down. "I could use a nap."

"Time to par-tay," Her father said, collapsing on the still-Styrofoam-wrapped couch. He looked over at his wife. "You want to do something tonight?"

She smiled. "If it's just you and me." She looked quickly at Allyson. "No offense to you, Allyson, but I'd like some time alone with your father."

Allyson smiled tiredly. She waved her hand. "Go on; go have fun. I need some time to myself anyway. Maybe I'll explore the neighborhood."

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After her parents left, Allyson just sat drinking in the silence and emptiness of the house. She looked around at all the work that would be done tomorrow. I could use some fun, she mused. She got up from the chair she had been sitting on all day and took a shower.

Forty-five minutes later, Allyson walked out her front door, purse in hand. So accustomed to being with friends, she felt odd being by herself. Thinking about friends made her miss her old friends even more…but she quickly tried to stop thinking about them; it just made it hurt worse. First of all, I need to meet somebody.

Allyson walked out into the middle of the street and looked around. She noticed some loud music coming from a house diagonal to hers. Loud music teenagers, she thought. She slowly made her way towards the house.

She reached the front door and checked her reflection in the glass. She checked her eye-makeup and lip gloss and smoothed any stray wisps of hair. She raised her hand to the doorbell and then hesistated. It was all so awkward. It was like 'Hi, I'm lonely. Can you be friends with me?' Allyson shut her eyes, and pushed the doorbell.

She heard it ring, and, automatically, the music in the house turned down. Allyson smiled. Think I'm a cop, eh? Sorry, domestic disturbance is not my forte.

After a few minutes the music got louder. Allyson sighed and pushed the doorbell again. This time, the music stopped. She heard voices and then a 'I can handle it, all right?' The door opened.

A/N: I love cliffhangers! heheheh...R&R por favor!