I walked inside the cafe, looking around. Every table seemed occupied except for one where a blonde-haired girl sat alone. "She looks unfriendly," I thought.
"Hello," I said to the girl, who was sitting in the opposite direction. She glanced at me and nodded.
"Why won't she reply?" I wondered
"I'm holiday. Please, what's your name?" I asked for her name. I rarely added the word "please" to my sentences.
She rolled her eyes at me. "Can't you be quiet for a second?" the girl asked sarcastically.
Hmm, I promised my mom I wouldn't be vile, but right now I can't help but be a little rude.
"Hello, Sandra Briggs," I said in a deep voice, then winked at her.
Her facial expression wasn't giving in; it makes me want to bust up.
"How do you know my name? Who are you?" she stammered.
"Mitchew, I told you my name is Holiday. I'm 18 years old. Mom's only child; no idea of a father," I said.
"These were my exact words whenever I introduced myself: 'Who sent you?' She pulled out a gun and pointed it at my face.
'Oh oh,' I wasn't afraid of guns. It's time to show the sassy girl a bit of me.
'Vendicero,' I whispered a spell, which made the gun slip out of her hands, now facing her."