Sunday, March 30, 2014

TRAPPED Sunday Serial Part 17 FINALE

Part Seventeen: THE FINALE
“No.” I bite the words down. “I will not. Steal. Anything. For. You.”
Her eyebrows raise, and Courtni gives a low moan. “Emily,” my sister says. “Do whatever she says.”
“No. I'm done doing whatever she's telling me. What everybody else is telling me.” I stomp my foot, aware that I look like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum. “I'm not doing what Amber Talina Sharpina Harttmin tells me to do.”
“Then I can have your family put away in a chamber and you'll never see them again.” She draws the word out.
“I have a couple of hundred animals, a six-year-old who was on the cover of People, and a bunch of friends who can kick backside.” I gesture towards Slick. Kenneth. The Kennedys. “You're not exactly in a position to argue.”
Her eyes narrow. “Just do it.”
I almost laugh. “You think I'm that weak, Amber? That weak? I'm a wimp, I admit it. But I've gotten stronger. Just because somebody has the ability to intimidate me doesn't mean I'm going to back down. Give me my family, or I'll sic some of my buds Oliver and Germy over here.”
“Germy?” asks Kenneth as Amber shoves my family at me.
I shoot him a look. “You got anything better?”
He just laughs. “No, Emily. You're boss.”
A little bubble of pleasure wells up inside me.
“One problem.” Amber speaks, and the side of her mouth quirks up. “How are you going to keep track of these two thousand people? You can't exactly bring us all to the police station. Guess you're going to have to let us go.” She toys with her long blond hair.
I look at Mrs. Kennedy.
She puts two fingers in her mouth and whistles.
Police cars, the SWAT team, and a bunch of army limousines rush up.

I cross my arms and look at her, my own smirk lighting up my face. “You were sayin'?”


“How do you do this?” I ask Kenneth Pearson, looking out the window. A bunch of screaming girls presses their faces against the tinted glass of the limousine. “Like, live with this? Breaking girls' hearts every day?”
“Flappy Bird.” He holds up his phone. “My life.”
“Autograph that, sell it on eBay, and you'll probably make around a million dollars,” I tell him.
He gives me a look. “You really think I'm going to do that?”
“No.” I've learned that Kenneth Pearson isn't really a ratty guy, despite his acting reputation. Actually, he's one of my best friends.
The limo shudders to a halt, and the chaffeur opens the door.
“Make sure that they don't stampede over me,” I tell Kenneth nervously as I walk down the aisle to the door.
“Are you really going to start that up again?” He slides his phone into his back pocket.
“No.” I grin and hop out.
The cheering hits me like a wave, and the girls start screaming, “E-MIL-Y! E-MIL-Y!” Of course, when Kenneth gets out, it's all over, but it's nice to know that the name Echo didn't catch on.
I walk up the red carpet, fidgeting with my sky-blue sequined dress and wobbling on my heels. My leg healed nicely, despite the fact that Amber hit it multiple times.
I start up the steps to the “Phantom FunPark Phantom-Free Pavilion,” which the owners instated after our little incident. The PFP PFP (as it's commonly known) includes a couple of rides, a haunt-free pizzeria, and a TeenZone, which is admittedly cheesy but better than the Phantom FunCoaster. Kenneth and the Kennedys—who arrived in their own limo—join me at the top. The owner of the PFP PFP says a little speech and gives Kenneth, Slick, and me giant scissors to cut the rope leading to the Pavilion.
With one slice, the red ribbon is cut, and the crowd cheers voluminously. I'm grinning so much, my face aches.
Then the owner asks me if I want to say anything. A pang hits me, and I cower in terror for a moment. Why do I always have to be chosen, picked out of a crowd? Why am I regarded as the “heroine” of this whole incident, anyway?
Maybe because I learned to speak up.
The thought gives me strength and steadies my wobbly ankles.

With a smile and a resolution, I step up to share my humble thoughts with the world.

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