((HISTORY IS KILLING ME. Seriously. No,
literally. My teacher is absolutely insane about the Civil War....and divided our classroom into the Union, and the Confederacy. I'm in the Confederacy.

And I got killed brutally in the Battle of Gettysburg on Little Round Top.

In real life, I got smacked in the face by a wiffle ball.))
((On the Brightside, I got to talk with a fantastical Southern accent! I was General Robert Lee. And I had the sexiest mustache EVER.))
"Why, of course, Dexter!" Monica's grin resembled that of the Cheshire Cat. "I'm an assassin! How do you think I get around?" She crinkled her nose, disgruntled. "I'm not legally old enough to drive a car. Technically, I'm eighteen, but physically, I'm fourteen." She grabbed Dexter's hand and looked discreetly around the crowded parking lot. After a hasty scrutinizing, she pulled him into the tight crevice behind two buildings.
"Uh...Mon," Dexter said uncertainly, blinking around at the dark space. "Just hold on to my hand." Monica bubbled, gripping his hand even tighter before black flames engulfed them both with the sound of a light breeze.