High by @((Y^!@ Allyvia (motivational novels for students txt) 📕

Nora, looking between the two men, nervously placed a hand on his shoulder before Jack nodded towards the door. Reluctantly, she edged towards the door until she was almost hugging the entryway. Nick, steeling himself, grabbed the tupperware conainer from the fridge, filled with old, jiggly molded gravy and cold roast beef. After plopping it onto a plate, and grabbing a dinner roll from the container on the counter, Nix all but threw it at the older man.

"Eat up, asswipe," he grimaced, watching as those bloodshot eyes wavered before landing on the cold, unappetizing plate.

"Kid, I'm not after your mother for her week old roast beef and hockey-puck biscuits. Get me a beer, and a piece of hot bread. I'll make a sandwich," Jack growled, glaring at Nick before crossing the kitchen.

It was a tiny space; not enough room to have a proper fight in, Nick figured. If he was going to beat the snot out of the creep, he'd need much more room. The tile counters took up enough space so the two were basically brushing arms when Jack crossed the room. Before he could react, Nick found himself falling, the tight fabric of his collar digigng into his neck.

 Jack, dangling the jock by his collar, grit his teeth and clenched his jaw in anger. "You really should watch out for your family, Nicky boy. Your mother is just so fragile, and those bratty siblings sure are a pain in the ass. I'd hate to have to kick one of their asses, too." Spit freckled Nick's face, as Jack pulled him just a bit closer, growling through clenched teeth and slurring through the drunkeness.

Nick, lunging even though the older man held him at a distance by his collar, felt his stomach dropping and the urge to kick the living crap out of the guy growing stronger and stronger with every syllable that slipped from Jack Henry's lips. Jack, his mother's common-law husband of almost thirteen years, had never liked the Nick and it was vice versa, from the minute Jack and his tobacco stained teeth set foot in their home, thirteen years ago in Minneapolis.

~~~

 Amy, finishing the corner of her pinkie toe, smiled at the cherry red nail polish that gleamed on her fingers and toes. Nix loved red; it was his favorite color. Grabbing her landline phone, she twirled the cord around her finger and dialed Amanda, frowning when her friend didn't pick up. What would she and Stoner Kingsley be doing that was so important she couldn't answer her best friend's call? Pouting a bit, Amy tried a different number.

"'Ello," a rumbly, deep voice said through the phone. Amy smiled, trying to swallow the excitement that had crept into her voice.

"Nix, hey," she beamed, tossing her hair over her shoulder despite the fact he couldn't see her. She sat up in her royal purple bed and twirled a strand of red hair around her finger like a love-struck teenager... which she might as well have been.

"Oh, Amy, hey," he managed, his voice sounding strained and distracted. She could just picture him, playing video games in that mansion she figured he lived in, on some big plasma screen TV. No one had ever been to Nix's house, not even Amy or Matt.

"So, about that date that I mentioned in class," she smiled, scooting over as her white Persian cat Champagne curled up on the end of her bed. Scratching the fluffy cat between the ears, Amy waited for a response. After a few moment of silence, she figured to continue. "Well, Nix, you never gave me a definite answer. And, I'll need to know so we can get you a suit, and a tie to match my dress. It's kind of formal, and my mom's been blathering about how this could be great exposure for Swank, so you'll need the works: the gold cuff links and gelled hair and-"

"Look, Ames," Nix sighed, his voice sounding so tired and upset, "can I call you later? I'm kind of busy-"

"Oh! Uh," Amy, not prepared for rejection, nodded before realizing he couldn't see her. "Yeah... yeah, call me later. I'll, uh, be waiting!"

And with that, Amy hung up the phone. After glancing at Champagne, who looked at her lazily, Amy sighed frustratedly. "I'll be waiting," she mimicked in a bubbly soprano voice, rolling her eyes, "Jesus, I sound like a stalker!"

Just then, the knocking at her bedroom door made her sit up, careful of her still-wet toenails. Her mother, smiling fakely, stood in the doorway. Sometimes, Amy figured, it was good to be adopted. At least she didn't have her father's fat genes, or her mother's thin, weak blond hair. Amy was actually grateful of her birth mother, who gave her pretty blue eyes and a great figure. Unlike her adopted mother, who was part robot or something, Amy always thought her birth mother was young and made a simple mistake. Amber Herring, who was still standing in the doorway looking kind of pitiful and stupid, had been declared a perfectionist, cyborg by the time Amy was nine.

 "Sweetheart, do you have everything ready for the opening tomorrow? Your father and I simply can't do all these errands for you, when I still have to check in the with caterer and call the band," her mother began, another rant Amy was familiar with.

"Yes, mother," she groaned, grabbing a pillow and placing it over her eyes as though to shut out the sound of her mother droning on and on about another party.

 Amy just rolled onto her back and toyed with the phone cord, twirling it around her finger and smiling at her newst daydream. In this one, she and Nix would be walking around the gallery when he suddenly spills that incredibly bad-smelling, incredibly expensive white wine on her dress. In a flustered rush, he'd accidentally make the strap of her pretty dark blue gown fall, revealing a pale, smooth shoulder he wouldn't be able to resist, and simply would kiss. Hesitant, Amy would wait the appropriate amount of tentative time before forgetting Matt and enveloping her lips with Nix's...

"Amy? Are you even listening," her mother asked, standing in front of her, hands on hips in a motherly fashion. Amy rolled her eyes and nodded.

"Of course, Mother. Now really, I have to finish my nails, and I know how the fumes give you migranes," Amy insisted in a fakely sweet voice before shooing her mother out of her room. Only after the door shut behind her and Amy layed back down did she let herself continue daydreaming about Nick Keatings.

Amanda finished her round-off with a big 'Go Bulldogs!' and cheesy, cheery smile. Saturday practices were always the worst, she figured, but afterwards she felt motivated to work out even more. Working out was Amanda's way of life, it seemed. Sure, puking your guts up after every meal made her skinny, but she needed to keep her muscle tone if she wanted to keep her position as base.

"Go Bulldogs," Kristin and Jessica mimicked, smiling just as cheesily and cheerily. Amanda looked back just in time to see Hannah, their flyer, land a perfect pyramaid top. After a few unneccessary backtucks, the cheerleaders let their perfect stances fall and all tiredly smiled.

"Well, I think I'm done for the rest of my life," Erica James dramatically sighed, shaking her hair out of her ponytail and plopping onto a pile on the floor after a long drink of cool water. Everyone laughed, and Coach Donnahue shook her head.

"Alright, ladies," she chuckled, before glancing at Mike and Ricky, "and gentlemen, practice is over. I want you guys to work on that dance I taught you last week though."

Everyone grumbled and nodded in response before gathering their bags and water bottles. Amy hadn't even come to practice today, Amanda thought annoyedly. She knew this 'date' with Nick was a big deal for her friend,  but so was cheerleading. Coach Donnahue had been pissed when Amy hadn't even bothered to tell her she wasn't coming to practice, and decided Amy would spend an extra fifteen minutes working on her hands and motions next practice before doing a solo jump-line performance.

Amanda was just bugged she'd be sittting at home all weeekend. All of her friends were busy: Nix and Amy were going to Amy's mother's gallery opening, Matt was spending his weekend hanging paper lanterns and streamers for his cousin's sweet sixteen. Even her parents had plans! Amanda never seemed to have excitement in her life without some friend nagging her into doing something slightly reckless, like speeding five miles over the limit or agreeing to go on a date with that football player who's been after since the first game of the season.

 Slinging her duffle bag over her shoulder, she barely made out Mike and Erica's conversation. "-so be there at ten. The whole team is going to be at this party- there's supposed to be some great shit there."

Amanda, halting, looked over at the two. Where was the whole team going, and why hadn't she been informed? Tapping on Mike's shoulder, Amanda out on her best Miss. America contestant smile and asked in a peppy voice that betrayed her annoyed thoughts, "Where is everyone going?"

Mike, nervously glancing at Erica, scratched the back of his neck, his green eyes flickering to Amanda's hazel. "Well, uh, we were all going to go to this party in Ridgemont... we just figured you wouldn't want to go because there's supposed to be some drinking and... other stuff."

Amanda arched a brow and rolled her eyes. "Mike, I can handle some pot and tablets. Where is this party? I need some excitement in my life, anyways."

Erica, smiling, peeped up now, jumping as though she just had the greatest thought ever. "We'll pick you up! At nine-thirty; we don't want to be the first people there," she said airily, smiling at Amanda. Mike nervously looked at Erica, probably wondering if Miss. Perfect would be up for getting wasted at some house party without any parental supervision.

"Great," Amanda grinned satisfactorily, glad she had found some excitement without Amy's help, "I'll see you at nine-thirty."

 ~~~

Lucy sat in her room, at her father's house, basically twiddling her thumbs. Her bedroom was actually okay, she had decided after seeing what Liza had done with it. A white wood vanity sat opposite of the giant mural her father had let her paint on the wall. Not to toot her own horn, but it was something she took a lot of pride in, and thought it was probably her best piece of artwork. When her father saw it, he smiled and said, 'I see you and your mother are becoming more and more alike with each year'. It was a rainbow silhouette of the tree at her mother's house, her tree, with a little silhouette bird perched on a branch. It made Lucy feel better just by looking at it.

Her bed spread was a teal sillky material, piled high with comfy pillows and fluffy blankets and cuddly stuffed animals that sat int he palm of her hand. The wall behind her white painted desk was full of pictures, ones she had snapped of Kingsley and flowers and butterflies and her mother dancing