Chapter One

Beep, beep, beep.

I sighed loudly and turned over on my stomach to turn it off. As my hand knocked random things down from my bedside table, I fluttered my eyes open. I was about to snooze the alarm but 3 red giant digits on the clock stopped me from doing so. 8:30 AM. I shot up, my fly-away hair in my face, and I murmured, “Oh crap,” as I turned to look at the clock to see if the clock did have those 3 damned numbers placed in the order I saw them in. And, unfortunately, it did.

I scrambled out of bed, stepping on the random objects I had knocked over before, and I winced in pain. I wondered what to do. I didn’t have time to go to the bathroom to wash up. I cursed, again, and ran to my closet to find something to throw on myself. I found a pair of old, ragged jeans, thrown in the corner a week before, and a black halter top that was in the middle of the floor. Then I put on my signature item. My black converse. I walked past my mirror, but then something caught my eye. I walked back to it and faced the mirror. I groaned, instead of looking 17, I looked like a 50 year old woman. I quickly smoothed out my hair. It looked better, my brownish-red curls fell loose onto my shoulders. Then, I breathed onto my hand and then smelled it. Smelled fine, perfect.

I know it’s bad for the hygiene and all that, but I seriously had no time. I was a half an hour late to work and I didn’t know who would scold me. My father or my boss. Unfortunately, in my case, my father was my boss.

I grabbed my keys and wallet, stuffed them into my tote bag and ran out the door. I ran to the elevator and pressed the button. “Shit,” I muttered, looking at the screen that flashed the floor that the only elevator my apartment had was on. The 16th floor, and poor, unfortunate me, was on the 5th. And also, to top it all off, the sign said it was going up.

I sighed furiously as I looked down at my watch that read, 8:45. I ran down the 5 flights of stairs and ran out the door that led me to the parking lot. I got into my car and jammed the key into the ignition. My father/boss came to work at 9:00 and I had 15 minutes or even less, to get to work before he did. Not to mention I lived about 20 minutes away.

I sped off, turning right and left at the accurate streets. Everyone had honked at me. No wonder, at this time of the day, everyone was speeding off to work. Also not to mention that I live in Manhattan where its basically impossible not to hit traffic. It’s actually ironic because I live about 10 blocks away and yet still, it takes me 20 minutes to get there. At 9th or 10th Avenue, my car suddenly stopped short and made the loudest groan. I flung forward but then the air bag flew in my face. Annoyed as I was, I flung the air bag out of my face and literally jumped out of the car.

I hit a car. No wonder. Well actually, the car in back of me, hit me and then I hit the car in front of me. The car in front of me was a Lexus and out came the most well dressed woman I’ve ever seen. And I live in Manhattan, where everyone dresses so businesslike. Except me, of course. The lady stood in front of me, looked down at my feet at my dirty converse and then back up and gave me the most disgusted look. I rolled my eyes. She would be surprised to know what I really am. But I looked down at my watch, 8:55. And then I looked up, surprised to find that I had made an accident, right near my work.

As I began to run off, the lady ran after me. “Excuse me, young lady, I think you need to get out your car papers,” she yelled out.

As I almost entered my work building, she grabbed me by my sleeve. “Excuse me,” she said more disgustedly. “You are not about to tell the police that I did it. They won’t believe you anyway,” she sneered, waving me off.

I hated people like her. I hated women and men who thought that they had all the power in the universe. But I always had a way to make them shut up.

I pulled out my wallet, flipped it open and shoved it in her face. Automatically, her face changed, just like I had hoped. “I’m Detective Martinez and I’m pretty sure that no one will believe you,” I retorted. And I turned around and began to walk away. “I’ll send you my papers although, I’m innocent. And you do not have proof, at all,” I added over my shoulder, with her still standing there, in complete and utter awe.

I walked quickly through the glass-covered doors and under the sign that said, NYPD.