Shivering now, I open the door slowly, trying to keep the old hinges from creaking. I step inside and wince at the noise of my heeled boots on the hardwood floor. I slip my shoes off and set them by the entryway sofa, hoping to quiet my footsteps. I grab one of the many baseball bats from the closet, one of the improvements my Dad made to the house to keep me safe before he disappeared, and tiptoe up the stairs, hoping the intruder doesn't know where I am. I make it to the top and step on the landing, breathing a too loud sigh of relief.

          Hefting the sparkly pink baseball bat over my shoulder, I raise my voice at the silent house: "Hello?" I wait a moment for an answer but none comes. Not even a rustle. Huh. I know someone's here. I  didn't leave the door unlocked. I make my way down the hallway, peering into each room for something amiss. I finally reach my bedroom, and walk inside.  I glance out the window, and all of a sudden there is a flurry of movement.

          I whip around to see a  tall guy around my age. He must have been hiding behind the door. This must be a robbery. Opening my mouth to scream, I'm stopped by his hands placed over my mouth, which appear out of nowhere. I drop the baseball bat in surprise. Shoot, there goes my only defense.

          "Don't scream. I am not going to hurt you but don't scream. I will explain why I'm here if I can trust you. Can I?" he asks, his voice quiet.

          I nod my head slowly, not taking my eyes off of him. The weirdo is asking me to trust him?  I'm not the one who broke into a random house. He is not getting any trust for a long  time.

          "Good. I am going to take my hands off of your mouth now. Do you promise not to scream?"

          Another nod. Don't upset the robber, Kyla. Don't be an idiot. You don't want to die, do you?

          Carefully he removes his hands. I rub my mouth to get the weird feeling to disappear. His hands better have been clean. 

          He wipes his hands on his expensive - looking black jeans. Not a robber than. Those pants look like they cost more than my entire wardrobe. And I don't mean just the clothes I'm wearing right now. He wouldn't have broken in to steal my cruddy stuff. "I didn't want to scare you, but if you screamed I would have a lot more explaining to do when the neighbors called the police," Pretty boy jeans chuckled. That was his explanation? I don't think so. I sat tight though. I'm in no hurry to die.

          I raised one eyebrow, the least confrontational thing I could think of doing. Shows I'm not convinced he's okay, but isn't as likely to get me killed as yelling.

          He sighs at my expression. "You want an explanation. I get it. I barged into your house, acted like a kidnapper. So I will explain. However, I can not explain quickly enough here. Is it possible you can trust me enough to leave this house? 

          I start to speak in anger, throwing my rules about angering the crazy guy to the wind, but he stops me with a raise of his hand. 

          "There are people following me. Bad people. The longer we stay here, the longer you stay here, the more likely it is that they will find us. And you do not want that." He looks around, his eyes stopping on my dresser. "I know how I can get you to trust me."

          Uh huh. Sure you do pretty boy. You definitely can get me to trust you, the guy who broke into my house. I'm sure you have a reasonable explanation, that you -

          He cuts off my sarcastic inner monologue by walking over to my weathered dresser and taking out one of my shirts. What does he want with that? My question is answered when in seconds he morphs into a perfect clone of me. My mouth drops open, not believing my eyes.

          "You can trust me because I am like you."

Sorry guys for the short chapter. I know what happens next and you guys definitely want to check back here on Friday for Chapter Three. Any suggestions for Pretty boy jeans? What do you guys want his name to be? I'm drawing a blank :/