I drove down Troven Avenue and took a sharp left onto a tarred driveway leading up to a house swimming in obnoxious yellow covered paint, which was chipping at the edges of the square home. The trim was far worse, painted a blaring white with spots of dark brown creeping through the not completely covered areas. The house as a whole didn’t look too bad . . . from a FAR, but up close it looked like a square-shaped popcorn doused in butter.

I turned off the engine of my sparkly blue jeep, keeping my eyes glued to the horrific house in front of me and reluctantly climbed out of the car. The door slammed behind me, and I walked forward as I clutched my keys, clicking the button. Two beeps, signaling the car was locked, followed directly afterward. I threw the keys into the air, hoping to catch them and stuff them into my pockets, but my clumsy fingers propelled the keys ahead of me, instead of above me.

“Ouch!” Samantha yipped as I watched the keys land on top of her head and bounce off onto the ground with a loud jingle. “What the hell?!” she screamed as her hand flew up to the hit area.

Samantha was a “tomboy”. She had an endless supply of shirts dedicated to various bands, usually consisting of Nirvana or Gorillaz, flannels tied around her waist all the time, and dark blue-jean shorts, even in the middle of winter. She didn’t leave the house without her soul black combat boots and a weird black wool woven bracelet with a skull embedded in the center. Her muddy brown hair was always tied into a messy ponytail with small strands sticking out in all different directions. She was . . . beautiful in a rugged sort of way.