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evie
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"This is like, what, the third time you've made me watch this movie?" Clarie groaned, screaming into my pillow, I quickly hushed her, bringing my finger up to my lips. (Even if she couldn't see me).

"As in third time tonight!"

"This is my favourite part, here it comes!"

"Good lord." She cried, slouching back over until her head rested (was buried) into my white plush pillow.

Heath- or better known as 'Patrick Verona' slid down a pole effortlessly as he begun singing.

'You're just too good to be true,'

I squealed, reaching over for the large blue bowl full of popcorn aimlessly.

Once my hand had got in contact with the bowl I searched around for pieces of salty clouds.

Frowning, I peered down into the bowl only to be welcomed by a empty blue tinted see-through bowl.

"We ran out of popcorn the first time this movie ran." Clarie exasperated.

"Oh come on, you love this movie." I rolled my eyes playfully as she looked at me sternly.

"Loved. Eve. I loved this movie, not love."

I paused the movie as I had thought I had heard a mumble.

"Girls come down!" Dad called out from down stairs.

Clarie and I both stare at each other knowing something is wrong because this certainly wasn't a dinner call, it was only two O'Clock.

We hopped off my bed, more so unwilling as we slowly, quietly, walked down the flight of stairs to the kitchen (where my parents were found).

"God..." Clarie gushed, as she took a step back.

There was a plate full of macaroon's laid out on a tray on the kitchen bench.

This only could mean two things.

A - we were in deep, deep trouble. And they'd send me off to my room without dessert. It was their way of punishing me, some parents would ground their kids, make them sit in a corner- but not mine, this was their very effective way of doing so.

Or

B - something bad was about to be announced and they'd win me over by shoving some coloured sweets at me.

I wrapped my fingers around Clarie's wrist. Giving her a look that clearly said 'don't-you-dare-leave-me'.

She gulped, the lump in her throat clearly visible. As she moved onto her tippy-toes looking over my shoulder.

As she sent a more then put on smile at my parents sitting in the kitchen.

"They know. They know." She started panicking as I bit down on my lip.

"Just smile. And wave. Smile and wave." I joked, a large forced smile tugging back at my lips.

We walked into the kitchen, wide smiles, all pearly whites showing and a set of train tracks.

Arms linked I walked around to mum.

"Mother dearest." I spoke, planting a kiss on her cheek before doing the same to dad.

I looked over to find Clarie literally smiling and waving at a wall.

Quickly, I pulled her arm down.

"It's the Buddha statue." Clarie whispered. "It's defiantly it."

Last summer Clarie and I may have or may not have been playing soccer in the back yard and knocked the head right off of mum's precious Buddha statue that was shaded under a baby palm tree.

"No. It can't be. You super-glued it back." I grumbled.

"The China pot. The China pot!" Her voice began to raise as I placed a hand over her mouth.

So, Clarie and I had gotten carried away. We moved our game inside, and, well, that led to several unfortunate events- one being mum's favourite China pot.

This was before my dad spoke up. He cleared his throat, stood up straight (as per usual) and begun.

"So, girls,"

"Can't be either. You super-glued that one too." I whispered back in response to Clarie still keeping my eyes on dad.

"We need to discuss an issue."

Lord, I beg you, please save me. Not only because I want those delicious treats on the table but because I don't want to spend the rest of the school year grounded.

"Yeah... About that." Clarie laughed quietly, nervously.

Oh. My. God.

"In my defence I ran out of super glue so I just 'glued' the pot back."

I coughed, out of breath. Sorry, make that the rest of my school years.

"What'd you do? Glue it back together with a glue stick?" I groaned.

Dad raised an eyebrow as he noticed the 'irrelevant' conversation between Clarie and I. We quickly smiled intently at him.

"You may know what..." He spoke in all seriousness.

"Not exactly..." Clarie replied, continuing our conversation. She begun waving.

"Stop that. I was kidding." I gushed pulling down her hand. "Don't tell me. You used PVA glue." She smiled weakly at me.

"Well, most of it anyways." She confessed. "I ran out half way."

How does that even happen?

"Well, you know, ever since grade five I've got that habit of putting it on my hands and waiting for it to dry so I can peel it off." I must have said that out loud, I groaned.

But I'll admit, peeling off PVA glue was the 'Shitaki mushrooms' in grade five. So, in a sense I can somewhat see where she's coming from.

If you were wondering where I was in the midst of all of this (While Clarie was glueing Buddha's head back onto his stone body or when she was glueing back 'the' pot with PVA glue) I was busy distracting mum and dad coming up the drive way. Talk about bad timing.

"Your soccer team."

He's going to kick me off the team. He's going to make me quit because of that stupid -not really- green, Nike soccer ball that was a mean-green-fighting-machine.

"I won't be able to coach anymore."

"Thank god." Clarie and I cheered.

"Pardon?" Dad frowned as I shook my head, quickly.

"No, no, no! Not you, we were just thankful you didn't mean the Buddha statue and-" I covered Clarie's mouth once again as her eyes grew wide. Knowingly.

Dad watched us, waiting for her to continue.

"I've said too much." She hissed through the gaps of my fingers.

"Right..." Dad laughed uncertainly.

After realisation hit, and his words had finally sunk in, I found myself -once agin- choking for air.

"Wait. What?" I choked as Clarie started hitting my back in the least most comforting way.

"I won't be able to coach the soccer team this month. But, I'll find someone more then capable to do so, if not, better."

I stared at dad blankly. Lifeless. The colour had officially drained from my face.

Clarie bit down on her teeth, she quite frankly resembled an emoji. Before she started clicking her fingers in my face.

"Macaroon?" Mum cheered, awkwardly holding up the plate of colourful macaroons.

-

I for one, did not sleep too well that night. With a total of only three hours of sleep is was only expected I'd fall asleep during maths class.

That night, I dreamed about getting knocked out by a soccer ball. But, what seemed to be a nightmare; wasn't- with a turn of events, Dave Franco was in the crowd, cheering me on, as he ran down from the bleachers to my rescue. But, this was where my dream was ruined (again), my alarm clock went off.

So, in all honesty, was it a sweet dream or beautiful nightmare? I've got no clue.

So here we were, after a tiresome day of school, we were all rounded up, sitting on the sympathetic grass of the soccer field.

"God, how'd you sleep through maths and not get lectured?" Aquisha questioned, enviously.

"Well, this is the teacher who 'accidentally' hooked her laptop up to the assembly screen (projected in front of the whole school) and showed us all the site she was on, quote 'How to be a cool-hip mum and popular teenage slang'."

Aquisha laughed at this nodding her head.

"Meanwhile, back in room N45 I'm stuck with Ms. Collins breathing down my neck." Aquisha spoke in an almost 'news-anchor' manner. She shivered at the thought of room 45 and Ms. Collins.

"And, here come the contestants." Quisha murmured, eyes focused behind me.

There, were found several guys from all different year levels dressed in soccer gear. (Which was ironic because they weren't going to be playing any of it, they were applying for the job as our new coach).

Although dad couldn't coach us and that was a devastating blow (considering he led us to victory on several accounts) he'd let the team choose who we wanted as coach, so these, were all the applicants.

I smiled weakly at all of them before getting to my feet.

They were all a minute or two late. Some still hadn't even arrived.

"Alright," I cleared my throat talking in a calming tone.

I jumped up, clapped my hands as I started circling the group of guys.

"So you think you have what it takes?!" I yelled. Okay, so this wasn't 'the biggest loser' and I certainly wasn't 'Commando' but it felt right, and sure as hell felt good.

Some guys winced at my loud tone, but I didn't care.

"Yes ma'm!" A red haired boy screamed back, as if he was from the army. He stood extremely straight, like a ruler and had a hand to his head before doing the iconic movement of a soldier to their commander/instructor.

And that, was the attitude I was looking for. So maybe try-outs weren't going to be so bad after all.

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H E Y   G U I S E !
Sorry this is such a short chapter but this really is for the sole purpose of filling the audience in on what is happening. Next chapter is when the real fun begins!

Oh! And yes, I did change the titles name to 'Bad Influence' to 'The Screw Unscrewed' hope y'all like the new name x

(AMAZING COVER MADE BY standbymichael thank you, you all should check out her amazing graphics!)

- Kylie