Author's Note: Hi everyone, I'd just like to introduce myself. I'm a first-time author here, so I'd really appreciate any constructive criticisms or even better, encouragement/advice and comments from any readers. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.

Note: Line breaks mean switching characters' points of view, usually between Allie and Mello.

Chapter 1: Drama Queens

Bang.

I slammed my locker shut, angry that my best friend was still not getting it.

"Of course he's sorry, he got you those flowers, didn't he?"

"Roses aren't enough to – " I started, but Sara cut me off impatiently.

"Let's talk about this later, Allie. Come on, or we'll be late for rehearsal."

Twenty minutes later, ten pairs of eyes were trained on me in disbelief. I was slowly reddening under their shocked gazes. "I'm sorry, I'm just not feeling well today," I whispered.

Mr. Jones shook his head. "Allie," he said sternly, "I entrusted you with the lead role believing you'd be able to handle the extra stress. Go home and get some rest. If you're not ready by tomorrow, I'll have our lovely guest, Ms. Amane, stand in for you instead."

Misa Amane beamed, not bothering to hide her glee.

I nodded and grabbed my bag, dashing out of the auditorium before he could say another word, before anyone could see my tears spill over.

"Allie!" Sara shouted after me. I pretended not to hear.

"Matt," I hissed. "Matt!" I snapped my fingers in my best friend's face.

"W-what?" he stuttered, flinching. A loud beeping emitted from his game. "Oh shit, thanks a lot." He threw his DS aside. It landed in a pile of dirty laundry. I rolled my eyes.

"I'm out of chocolate," I snarled. "There were three bars this morning. Where did they go?"

"Oh. That. I, uh..." Matt muttered, tousling his red hair in embarrassment.

"What?" I pressed, my stomach rumbling. Matt turned pink beneath his freckles.

"I'm sorry, Mello. I got hungry while we were unpacking," Matt explained, hanging his head. "I'll go buy you some more."

I sighed and waved it off. "No, I'll just go myself. I want to try a new brand anyway."

Ten minutes later, I was roaring down the roads on my motorcycle. The traffic was unusually light today; I reached the 7-11 in record time. I set my bike against the store window before sweeping through the door.

"Achmed," I greeted the scowling cashier. I could tell that there was nothing the scrawny, bushy-haired man wanted more dearly than to kick me out, or at least call the cops. But I knew he wouldn't, because he knew who I was. He knew who I knew...

...or used to know.

Well, that's the shortest chapter in the story. Just to start it off with a quick, short, sweet bang.

Thanks for reading!