4. Lonni ~part 1

Alright, I'm sick of the cliche beginnings of stories, so I'm just going to start this out like I was taught in third grade English.
Hello.
My name is Lonni Creever, and believe it or not, I am your completely average teenager. I'm about to finish my third year of high school, and truthfully, I've no idea what I'm going to do over the summer. Even though I have a sorry excuse for a car, I don't have a job yet, and my folks say that if I don't get one soon then college is looking pretty far away, even though right now it's hard enough to see as it is.
"Just get a job, then," my acquaintance (okay, friend) Emmy from first period history says to me constantly.
On other occasions I would just shrug the suggestion off with a snort, but today I meet her gaze loosely and ask, "Do you know where I can find one?"
That's how I ended up where I am now, standing in front of a large (and almost threatening) office building. I gently tap the toe of my boot against the sidewalk.
"Newspaper, eh?" I question indirectly, looking down the sidewalk on both sides. Finding it empty, I take a step forward and wrap my fingers around the door before turning the knob.
I call into the foyer of the building, or at least, I would've if a hand hadn't hastily snatched mine.
"Hel-."
I'm tugged away from the door and pulled a bit further down the walk, away from the building. I require a moment to come to my senses before tugging my hand away.
"Let go of me!" I try to hide the rising terror in my voice, which fades as soon as my hand rests again at my side. My captor turns to me, and I promise, I don't lose my breath, even though I want to very badly.
The boy looks at me, tossing a long tail of black hair behind him and focusing his dark eyes on my own green. For a moment, the message they send is urgent, screaming. Then he softens and looks away.
"Sorry about that," he says, "it was uncalled for."
I look at him for a moment, then see the packet in his hand not unlike the one gripped in my own.
"Hey," I say, "If you want the job instead, go for it."
He doesn't meet my eyes, only raises a hand to rake his fingers through his hair, causing a few wispy strands to fall from the tail. He doesn't really seem like the chatty type, so I decide to finish it there, as much I think I'll regret my choice later.
"Go ahead," I say, "I'll back off."
He shakes his head slowly, eyes still refusing to meet mine again. I bite my lip.
"That's not what I pulled you away for," he says, obviously staying quiet out of confusion, not because he's shy.
"Well, whatever the reason, it's okay," I say, turning. "It's okay."
"Sorry," he says again.
"It's cool," I call back without turning. Little did I know that the headache and fever that will settle in later tonight will not be caused by stress, but because that boy had grabbed my hand.