Scarlet didn't hate animals, really. She just seriously didn't like them. Small phobia. Of course, if Paul Walker suddenly shifts into a giant wolf while they're doing the deed, well... that seriously doesn't help.


-"you would not believe your eyes
if ten million fireflies
lit up the world as i fell asleep
'cause they fill the open air
and leave teardrops everywhere
you'd think me rude but i would just stand and


I wasn't the original virgin. Alright, while I may be a bit more...worldly than some naive individuals who shall remain nameless (cough...Maria...cough) I wasn't the worst this world had come to.

Really. Four guys. Only four guys. That's not unusual.

Take a poll, man. The average is like, four. Maybe three. Two?

Alright, so at some schools most girls may still remain flowered (bah), but at the rest of them the normal girls have slept with about four guys, like me. I'm not slutty, just normal.

Four guys, alright. I'm normal.

Alright. Maybe five. But that's only one more than four. And that's one more than three, which really isn't that bad.


Fine. Si-seven. Nine, alright? Nine. I'm a super-fucking-slut!

Jesus. Well, I'd have to be, to do the deed with Paul Walker himself. Paul was cocky, Paul was pretty, and Paul wasn't tightly moraled. He liked loose women, so really. I'd have to be a ho to sleep with him.

Yes, I'm easy. I'm not ashamed of it. At least I don't charge the guys.

Yes, the glass is half-full.

Until you take a drink.


This story starts in my room. Not unusual, right? The situation was.

Paul and I were...having fun. And then, boom, the dude's a wolf. Why?

I have no fucking idea.

Dammit. I was supposed to say, I Paul Walker ate me out. Not, Paul Walker almost ate me. Honestly...

Who wants to know this?



"Scarlet! Wait-Scarlet!" Paul shouts after me, most likely grabbing the tattered shreds of his t-shirt and shorts. "Come back!"

Screaming my freaking head off, I had run out of the room and at the moment, am attempting to unbolt the door faster than the Hulk would slam through it.


The chain bolt is stuck.

He's running after me, I can hear his footsteps. He's rather fast, actually. I think he would be a wonderful addition to Forks' track team. But all that crashing into walls really isn't helping his image.


Open, little bolt. Release the door! LET ME OUT!

"Jesus-fucking-Christ, Halloway, shut up!"

Surprisingly, I do. I hadn't even realized I was still screaming. The only sound now is his third crash into my wall, his curse as he rams into my staircase's railing, and my desperate scrabbles at the bolt.


I see him at the top of the staircase. His eyes are narrowed but a little relieved. His hands are in fists and he's about crushing his teeth from the way he's gritting his jaw.

He found clothes.

"Scarlet, stay there. Don't move!"

His gracelessly flies down the stairs, and since my stairs seem to be lacking walls, he is impressively fast.

My hand grapples for a weapon. Anything-a phone! 911! Call 911!

Paul is in front of me. I start screaming again.

"Halloway, it's okay," he soothes. "I'm not going to hurt you." He reaches out to presumably stroke my hair.

I don't know why. I love my hair, don't get me wrong-it's a lovely dark red. It's brown, really, but I dyed it red. I didn't bleach it first, so it's kinda black. But it's still red.

My scream grows shriller and I jab his face with the phone.

It makes a sickening noise, and I throw myself at the door, unbolting the chain and flinging myself out into the world.

I manage a look over my shoulder without tripping, and I can see him gagging on the phone wire, the new super-small cordless choking him as he trips on my sister's umbrella.

Really, why is it near the door. Seriously, who does that?

Flinging myself into the rain, I am immediately drenched and promptly loose my footing. I regain it before I fall, and I put my running medals to use.

Well, they're not really mine. They're my mother's, but she gave them to me and I use them for buying cheap admiration. Quite useful.

I actually hate running. Major improvements to my diet are the reason I am not bloated and floating on a sea of loose fat.

Holy crap, I hope that phone keeps Paul distracted. The nearest safe haven (Maria's house) is a quarter mile away, and I'm already losing breath.

Run, Scarlet, run.

I manage to look back (did I really run that far?) and I see two figures arriving in front of my house, and entering the still-open door.

Idiot. My house will get soaked. The parentals will not be pleased.

A tree branch falls behind me, and I jump, shrieking.

I see one of them (the people) exit the house, turn slowly around, as if looking for something, and looks right at me.

I start running again.



Don't tell me the bitch is still asleep. It's three PM, dumbass!


I am having extreme West Side Story flashbacks.

I pick up a rock, and I shoot it at her wall. The last time I threw a stone at her window I had to spend a year's allowance.



A head of massive brown curls leans out the window.

Maria's hair is CURLY. Afro curly. Beyond curly. It's also brown, with highlights, like Dana's in Zoey 101, except with the bottoms tailed red.

"Mmmmhhh," she grumbles.

"Maria!" I celebrate.

It takes a few tries, but eventually recognizable words start sounding out her mouth.


"Maria, open your door. I NEED to talk to you."

"Open it yourself, Scarlet. I'm sleeping."

"It's three PM."

"I'm sleeping. Screw off."

"Maria, please."

"Go fuck a dog," she hisses at me.

I already have.

It's funny.


I start laughing.

Maria opens the door.


"Here, Scarlet. Drink this," Maria walks back into her room, and she hands me a cup of tea. She's obsessed with tea. I don't understand why, really. It's a little too bitter for me.

I sip it, and I choke.

The bitch observes me from where she's flung herself across her bed, over her newest copy of Seventeen. Jen's tear-struck face sniffs at me beside a three-year-old picture of Brad and Angelina macking. "It's liquid, Halloway. You honestly cannot choke on that."

I ignore her. The title written above Jen's face is HEARTBROKEN AGAIN?

Really. Do they ever have anything new?

Maria laughs at something. I glare at her.

The two of us make quite a pair, if I daresay. We met in sixth grade, when she still fulfilled the 'everything nice' recipe that made up every girl. Now she's a full-fledged bitch.

She looks at me, and raises her eyebrows.

I look right back.

Then she sighs, and puts down her magazine.

"You cannot honestly expect me to believe that Paul Walker is a wolf?" she skepts.

"He is!" I cry. "We were... you know, and then bam! He exploded. Into a dog!"

Maria's trying not to laugh. "Scarlet, I know you are a very expressive person. It's not in your nature to be literal. But really-don't you think this is a little far?"

It takes me a second to understand.

Perverted bitch.

"Maria!" I snap. She blinks.

"Paul Walker HONESTLY turned into a wolf. Right in front of me! He is HONESTLY a wolf, he is HONESTLY a monster, and I was HONESTLY not delusional in the throes of passion! Really!"

She scoffs.

I miss the sixth-grade Maria. She was so much nicer. I inform her of this.

Not one to lose, she rattles out her comeback. "Well, I miss the sixth grade Scarlet as well. She was at least not such a whore!"

I'm not offended. Neither is she. Maria and I are too alike to take anything personally.

"Really now, Maria, Paul Walker is a wolf."

She skepts at me. "Don't be so stupid, Scarlet Halloway. You know better."

"Thank you, mother."

She laughs, and turns serious. (She laughs at the stupidest jokes.)

"Really now, Scarlet, even if Paul Walker really was a wolf, you seem a bit too calm to me."

I shrug. "My whole panic attack passed with the screaming, my dear friend."

Maria raises her eyebrows at my new title for her. She passes it over. "So Paul Walker is a wolf, huh?" she hemms. "Like in the legends."

"What legends?" I ask.

"Blimey, Scarlet," she snorts. "The legends. Quileute legends."

Oh! I remember. I snap my fingers, and Maria raises her eyebrows once more.

Sooner or later they're going to get stuck like that, you know.

"I remember," I say happily, mollified.

Maria rolls her eyes. "Bloody hell." Maria flops onto the bed with a dramatic flourish and taking deep, deep, deep breaths.

She's going to explode. Really.

"You think he's a descendant of the leader bloke?" Maria asks.

I shrug. "Best possible explanation, right?" I figure, still doubting.

Maria hangs over her bed in an odd position where she'll choke, throw up, or turn an ugly red.

"I suppose," she says.

She is turning an ugly red.

That's called karma, bitch!

"The legends do say they transform unexpectedly when they're feeling...overemotional," she says slowly, raising her eyebrows at me. It looks understandably freaky.

It takes another second for me to understand this.


"At least you know you're a good lay," she snickers.



-"why do i tire of counting sheep
(please take me away from here)
when i'm far too tired to fall asleep
to ten million fireflies
i'm weird because i hate goodbyes
i got misty eyes as they said farewell
but i'll know where several are
if my dreams get real bizzare
'cause i saved a few and i keep them in a jar"-

fireflies, owl city


Oo-kay. First chappie of Scarlet-up. Tell me what you think. I was on a roll around the beginning, but I started lagging near the end. Tell me your honest opinion, though.

And I love Fireflies. Best song ever. Almost. I had 'Lazy Sunday' stuck in my head the entire time I was reciting the song, and it actually doesn't sound so bad with the drum beat.