Clementine Gardner was asleep on the couch, one hand still clutching the television remote. A blanket was half-on, half-off her and the TV chattered away in the background. Last night, she had fallen asleep watching movies till all hours, her own little celebration of graduation.

Clem was two weeks from her eighteenth birthday, and she wouldn't have been surprised if she was the youngest graduate there. Clem had only just managed to slip into the same Year group as all her friends -- it was because her birthday was in an awkward place.

"Clem? Clem, honey?" her mother called as she entered the lounge, seeing her daughter sprawled on the three-seater. She rolled her eyes and went over to shake Clem gently by the shoulder.

"Wha...?" the seventeen-year-old mumbled, stirring slightly and opening her eyes a crack.

"You fell asleep on the sofa." her mother told her. "I told you to go to bed at one o'clock."

Clementine grimaced. "Whassa time?" she slurred, her voice heavy with sleep still. She sat up and opened her eyes fully. Her grimace deepened as she saw the clock on the wall. "Gross."

Clem had just struggled to her room, blanket in hands and still wearing her pyjamas, when her phone (which was on her desk) beeped twice, alerting her of new messages. Clem dropped her blanket on the floor and went over to her desk, picking up her phone and flipping it open.

She had two new messages, both from Adrien.
The first read: Bonjour Clem!, and the second said: R u up yet?

Smiling slightly, she keyed a reply:

Yup. Im up. Nt by choice tho - mum wke me up coz i fell asleep on the couch lst nite. Lol. Hav u heard frm Beth r any of the others?

Clem pressed send, toying with the idea of having a shower (though she didn't usually have one in the mornings) as she waited for a reply.

One moment there was complete darkness surrounding Marcel as he slept. Dreams of girls and foreign places drifted in and out of his mind as he lay deep in sleep -- his eyelids fluttering ever so slightly as he slept.

Then, out of no where, sunlight flooded the room. It was sharp and painful to the eyes even though Marcel's eyes were shut. Slowly he allowed his eyelids to become slits and realize that day had broken a while ago. He lay still as stone -- the red satin sheet draped over her left leg and covered nothing else. His smooth olive toned back parts exposed in the shimmering light of the morning sun. His head lay resting on his bend arm, "Miss Callie -- Do you mind not opening the windows so early? I was up late."

"Yes sir. I will try and remember that next time. For now, I am sorry." The maid said politely to the young master.

Marcel rolled over onto his back -- not caring if the sight was pleasant or not. If she didn't want to see it -- then she shouldn't have came in, was his thought. His finely toned torso moved gently up and down with the light breaths that he was taking. Then a long sigh came from within -- his chest puffed then collapsed. Rolling onto his side and fumbling for something on the cherry oak night stand beside his bed -- his hand grazed a pack of cigarettes and he picked them up. Flipping open the box top he pulled one of the short sticks out from the pack and took the lighter out of the pack as well. Holding the black lighter in his hand he flicked it to life -- the small flame dancing as he placed it to the end of the cigarette. The end came to life as he inhaled deeply turning it a bright orange. Laying the pack of smokes and lighter back down on the night stand he grabbed the ash tray and laid it on his bare chest. Laying in bed smoking as he thought of the long trip ahead of him. He hadn't realized how long it had actually been since the whole group had gotten together. It would be so nice to finally be able to just hang out without the bother of school and other things in the way.

Miss Callie was roaming around his room picking up the dirty clothing on the floor that Marcel had just stripped off in the middle of the night as he was coming home late from a pub downtown. He couldn't quite remember what all had happened -- he had seen a lovely young girl in there by the music player but other than that... he had no memory. Drinking was a vile habit that he had picked up -- though he usually only did it on the weekends. Smoking was one thing... but drinking was completely different. Speaking of, Marcel got up from the crimson red satin silky sheets and pillows of his bed and walked out of his room leaving Miss Callie to do her job in peace. Still bare bottomed and full frontal he walked down the many hallways of the mini mansion and into a 'smoking room' as his parents liked to call it. Though they were never at home much to enjoy any of the rooms in the house. He stood in front of a cabinet that held various liquors and drinks. Opening up the cabinet revealed his favorite drink -- Jack Daniels. He took off the top of the bottle and chugged on it for a couple seconds. Letting the bitter sweet drink flow down the back of his throat. That should take the hang over away, or so he thought.

Walking back towards his room he turned into a smaller room. Inside contained a large garden tub and stand up shower. He turned the nob on the shower and steam began to fill the large bathroom. He threw his cigarette butt into the toilet and then stepped into the shower. Letting the warm water run down his bare body.

After his shower he went back to his room -- Miss Callie had left and moved onto a different section of the house. He closed the door behind him and walked over to the closet. Inside was an assortment of clothing -- anything from grunge rocker to preppy school jock. He had it all.. and each outfit was as if it was a new role he had to play. He decided to go with a nice and light red and black flannel button up with a white beater underneath. Along side with this he pulled on some loose fitting jeans that seemed to be a little faded with fringe around the foot of the pants. Then he wrapped an old black leather belt around his waist, pulled on some white socks, and then slipped his feet into some old worn out black Chuck Taylors. Walking over to his dresser he picked up some large black aviator sunglasses and placed them on his face -- tossing his hair around a bit it laid itself down in perfection. Picking up his wallet he shoved it into his back pocket, threw his keys in a front pocket, and then clipped his cell phone to his front pants pocket.

Leaving the house was as effortless as going in. They never locked their doors -- mainly because they didn't care if people stole their stuff or not. Nothing in that house couldn't be replaced and his parents always made sure of that. He walked down the driveway towards the shed that held all of their cars. Opening up the garage like structure he walked towards his black mint condition trans am. Opening up the door revealed smooth red leather interior -- he plopped himself into it and started it up.

His stomach growled and howled at him for something to eat. He decided to go to this little cafe downtown -- he had been hitting on a waitress there recently and almost had her accepting his offer of a date.

His foot was like lead on the gas peddle -- he zoomed down the road... barely looking for other cars or people.

"Cause we all just a wanna be big rock stars and live in hilltop mansions driving fifteen cars," Riley's cell phone blared Nickelback alerting him that a call was coming through. A massive heap of blankets, pillows, and clothing shifted around on the bed a sickly groan emanating from it. A mop of tousled, red hair appeared from the heap, a freckled face screwed up in nauseous pain following.

"Mother F***ing hangovers....," Riley cursed quietly reminding himself for the millionth time to quit drinking, he never did. Slouching against the wall Riley screwed his eyes shut against the light that filtered into the room from two separate windows. Reaching out he fumbled for his phone which rested on his night stand. After knocking down his lamp two empty beer bottles, and a stack of book he finally retrieved the phone. Clicking the green answer button he spoke weakly into the phone, "who is it...," he moaned out.

Marcel had zoomed into the parking lot unnoticed by any authorities. The cafe was small and a sort of home spun diner type of thing. He liked having lunch here for some reason. It felt a little more alive than sitting alone at a long table with a full spread of things the chefs had made with no love at all. At least here there were people and a deliciously greasy bacon cheeseburger. His stomach made a growl at him as he entered the door.

A blond haired girl came up to him. She seemed to be no more than sixteen. Her long hair was pulled up into a ballerina bun on her head with a few fly away bangs. Bright blue eyes shined from under pale white skin. Her pink lush lips glittered with pink lip gloss and a cute yet prominent dark brown mole rested above her upper lip off to the left side. Being so petite and only about 5'4" -- she was cute -- but obviously too young. He damned himself at the thoughts that ran through his head -- he just let it off as a male thing. Her smile grew as she realized who it was under the aviator glasses, "Marcel! How are you today sir?" even her voice was petite and near girly.

"I told you not to call me sir. I'm only nineteen. Nineteen year old's don't go by 'sir'. But nonetheless I am good and yourself?" He let a sheepish grin escape past his lips at her near excitement at just seeing him. Realizing that the workers here was what he loved the most. They all knew him by name even the manager. He'd been coming to Pops Cafe since he was a kid -- back when his parents thought it was essential to screw with his thoughts.

"Yes sir... not again sir." She poked at him with a childish smile. The innocence she held amazed him -- he missed such innocence. She led him to his usual table -- a little table for two. Though, usually, no one else ever joined him.

"Hey, Crissy -- is Jillanna working today?" He said with a sly and slick smile. Hoping that she was. That was the waitress that he had the hots for -- if you could even call it that. He tried not to be a womanizer but didn't really know how else to be. He'd never really seen how his father treated his mother and vice verse. He hadn't really ever cared for a girl before -- he barely even cared for himself.

"No, Jill called in sick today. Jimmy is going to be your server today." She smiled at him with a wink -- as if it was supposed to be some inside joke between them.

"Oh, alright, thanks babe" He said as Jimmy, the server, approached the table.

"Aw well you're welcome!" Jimmy said in a mocking tone towards his customer. Marcel laughed a little.

"I wasn't talkin' to you Jimmy -- though you would think you were a babe wouldn't you?" He chuckled again.

"Of course! Heh... no really, what can I get for ya Sparkx?" The nickname rang clear -- Marcel pondered a bit as if he'd have anything different from what he normally ordered.

"The usual -- greasy bacon cheeseburger, keep the tomato, garlic fries not seasoned, and a --" He had been cut off.

"Root beer. Got it." Jimmy strutted off in the direction of the kitchen. Marcel finding it a bit sad that every server knew exactly what he wanted. Maybe next time he'd switch it up -- try something new.

Then his phone began to vibrate and beep -- someone was calling. Picking the phone off the clip the display read "Beth". He touched the screen and the iPhone came to life. Holding it up against his ear he said in his deep and masculine voice, "Amidead Funeral Home -- We put the fun in funeral. Could I possibly interest you in a deal? Where you get ten minutes with the body for only fifty dollars? It's our best deal this season!" His voice was a little over exaggerated and he hoped that she'd get the joke -- he was always trying to do that... make people laugh somehow. That's how he had broken his arm -- trying to do some stupid stunt and ended up getting hurt. Then again the best jokes were the ones ending in a hospital visit.

He waited for his food and drink -- along with the person on the other end.

In the midst of Beth's laughter at his comment Marcel's food was placed in front of him and the waiter Jimmy walked away silently knowing he was on the phone. He was started munching on his garlic fries -- the taste running over his tongue and the spud texture mixing around with saliva. Heaven was what it was at the moment. He listened to Beth as she greeted everyone with a wide smile on his face. He picked up the cheeseburger and plunged into it. The taste was amazing -- all the different flavors of the beef, onion, and bacon combined. Then everything got better -- Her father had purchased a VW for their road trip.

"Thas grut!" He tried to push out with a mouth full of food. But then, just before she could finish the phone had gone to static, he swallowed the mouthful, "Beth? Hello? Beth? -- Damn cell phone reception."

He tried dialing back the number -- busy. What the hell had happened?

"HOLY SHIT," the yelp reverberated through Riley's head, groaning he set his phone dow the call having been abruptly ended. Laying his head on a pillow for a moment he tried to recover, rubbing his face ruefully as if trying to massage the hangover away. After a few moment of vigorous facial stimulation Riley slowly eased himself out of his bed and plodded toward a large oak dresser on the other side of the room.

The trek seemed like a hundred miles to Riley, but finally he was stabalizing himself against the cool dark wood of the dresser. Forcing open the top drawer he dug through an assortment of socks, shirts, pants, and underwear. Pulling out an empty bottle of tequila he grimaced and slung it across the room onto his bed. After producing several other empty vessels, he finally acquired a half full bottle of scotch.

After sipping half the contents, he corked the bottle and made his way to a pale gray door, the entrance of his personal bathroom. Inside he stripped down, and reaching into a small freezer that he kept in one corner for just such occasions he produced a bag of ice. Dumping the ice into the sink he added water, then plunged his head into the icy water.

After being submerged for half a minute Riley appeared again, after towling off he put on cologne, deodorant, his class ring, and a gaelic symbol necklace. He was dressed shortly afterwards and made his way downstairs, and out the door to his Triumph Thruxton 900. Soon his helmet was secured, and the bike was roaring down the road. Riley didn't even bother to head to his favorite pub and get food, he knew it wouldn't stay down with the amount of booze he had the other night. Turning the bike in the direction of Beth's house he cranked on the gas and flew.

Marcel looked down at his phone and what was once a full reception bar was now saying he had no reception at all.

"That's odd -- I usually always have reception in here..." He said thoughtfully to himself. He turned the phone off and then tried to turn it back on but nothing happened. He began to get frustrated with his phone and just put it back into it's holster. He'd figure it out later.

Looking down at his plate he had noticed he'd barely touched a thing. One lone bite taken from the large burger. He picked it up and continued stuffing himself with it. Occasionally he'd shove a couple fries in his mouth and swallow down some rootbeer.

Jimmy started heading in his direction -- a smile beaming on his face -- he tended to be a little odd sometimes. After reaching the table he looked down on Marcel enjoying his meal.

"So, would you like anything else Sparkx?" Jimmy said in a sly tone.

"Yea," He picked up the menu and turned it over to the deserts -- Marcel was no stranger to eating large meals and gaining nothing at all -- he pointed at the brownie sundae on the menu "I'll take that."

Jimmy was a little surprised. Usually Marcel just said he was finished and needed the bill -- but today was different. Marcel was still hungry. As Jimmy walked away to have the dessert prepared Marcel shoved the last bit of burger into his mouth and washed it down with his drink. The ice cold rootbeer was refreshing and tingled the back of his throat in a good way.

Picking back up his iPhone he looked at the dead black screen. He could see his reflection -- he took off his sunglasses and his perfect emerald green eyes. His short choppy fell around his cheeks and down towards his eyes. Noting that he needed to shave a little before he went on the trip -- then he realized what was wrong -- one of the balls on his lip piercings had fallen off. Putting the phone down and moving things around on his table he heard a tiny clank as it rolled off the table and fell to the floor. The texture of the floor allowed the little bead to bounce for a little bit in place then land perfectly still down at his foot. He picked it up and briefly dusted it off with his shirt before screwing it back onto the other half of the lip ring.

By this time Jimmy had come back and placed the brownie sundae down in front of him and removed the other plate from the table, "Want a refill?" he said to Marcel looking down at the empty rootbeer mug.

"Uh, yea, please." Marcel had glanced up away from the huge brownie sundae that sat in front of him. Chocolate ice cream mixed in with the chunks from two double chocolate chip brownies, hot fudge generously poured down over top of it, and then a couple scoops of peanuts over top. It looked like a huge helping of PMS relief -- and oh so delicious. He took hold of the long spoon that was placed at the side of the bowl and dug in -- taking a huge bit of the chocolaty goodness.

Then his phone began to vibrate -- he looked at the screen and it was still black. It stopped vibrating and he continued to finish up his dessert. Careful not to get chocolate everywhere.

Jimmy filled up his cup full of rootbeer and Marcel kept going.

The Triumph purred like a lion, eating up the suburban road as Riley rode towards the outskirts of town where Beth lived. Riley lived in the middle of Dover on a street lined with apartments, to which his mother referred to as Irish Lane. Riley was proud of his Irish heritage, he didn't have the thick Irish brogue like his parents, but he did have a slight accent that broke the dominant British accent. Riley was often involved in fights at the pubs with drunken men putting down on the Irish.

Riley was in a half daze as he cruised along half his brain driving the other half asleep. Suddenly the bike coughed and sputtered, then the engine died. Quickly the motorcycle lost momentum and Riley had to pull onto the meridian. Climbing off the padded leather seat he cursed, flipped up the visor of his helmet, and began inspecting the bike. Tank was full, all the fuel lines attached, alternator still hooked up, everything looked fine.

Mounting Riley kicked the starter pedal and the bike roared to life like nothing had happened. Shaking his head he flipped down his visor and took off again, this was odd he always kept his bike in perfect condition it had never done anything like this before. Putting the incident in the back of his mind he turned the handle bars sending the bike roaring down Beth's driveway. Coming to an abrupt halt in the backyard, a slight trench dug in the grass from the quick loss of momentum; Riley dismounted and pulled his helmet off looking around for Beth.

Spotting the VW he walked over to inspect it, waving a greeting to Beth's father, but not saying anything else. "Ewwww....," Riley thought to himself. He didn't have a problem with VW's, but wow what a paint job. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be seen riding in it. "It's like a circus mobile...," he mumbled under his breath continuing his inspection.