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[sub]{“If life were [color=#7A2528][b]predictable[/b][/color] it would cease to be life, and be without [color=#7A2528][b]flavor[/b][/color].”}[/sub]

[img]https://66.media.tumblr.com/a54e83bf6a2d235d15e0370756712139/tumblr_ppde2yNr4a1y0cv5co1_400.gif[/img] [img]https://66.media.tumblr.com/81f2c7f367c148f8b8d8792918637374/tumblr_ppde2yNr4a1y0cv5co2_400.gif[/img][color=#7A2528]▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔[/color][/center][indent][indent]When Makyla Jones woke up that Wednesday morning, her limbs felt strong, and her muscles no longer felt rusty as they had the first time she'd started living in the Redwood apartment complex; they felt clean and ready. There was a residue of feeling right. See, most people would complain that the morning after they partake in strenuous body conditioning and half-hour long weight training, they feel like lead. But the mornings after Kyla works out, she feels like quick-silver; she feels alive. Throughout her entire life, exercise was one of the only things that kept her going; it was what kept her sane. There was simply something therapeutic about the sound of her shoes thumping as they glided across the treadmill or the slight burn she felt in her tricep muscles when she did a few bench presses. Throughout these last few months that she has spent in the small town of Silvervale, Louisiana after leaving her beloved home city behind, exercise often seemed to be one of the only glints of light in her lopsided life. Well, that and booze.

Every weekday was the same for Kyla: her cell phone alarm would wake her up at precisely seven o'clock, prompting her to quickly slide out of bed, take a shower, throw on a clean outfit, and shove whatever she needed for class into her over-sized purse. She'd then go on to spend the first portion of her day down at the university; if she wasn't in class, then she was brainstorming ideas for whatever YouTube video she planned on filming later on in the afternoon. Hours would go by before Kyla would begin her walk back to the apartment complex, and even then she would only have a little over an hour to herself before she'd have to change clothes once more and shoot her latest video. 

Being in front of a camera wasn't too hard of a task for someone like Kyla; she had the charisma and people skills necessary to keep her targeted audience entertained while earning just enough money from this side hustle to keep her bills paid. And although she loved making others laugh, Kyla certainly didn't have any plans to continue filming these videos after she accomplished her actual career goals; she always reminded herself before pressing the record button that all of this was just temporary. [color=#7A2528][b]"You'll be out of school and designing clothes before you know it,"[/b][/color] she'd tell herself as she sat in her stool and peered into her handheld mirror. [color=#7A2528][b]"This is just a little pit stop on your journey to the stars..."[/b][/color]

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It wasn't uncommon to find Makyla Jones cooped up in her bedroom after coming home from class. If you just so happened to be the poor soul who was unfortunate enough to live in the room directly beneath hers, you'd eventually grow tired of the thumping of her sneakers against the wooden floors as she did a few jumping jacks. You'd probably bang on your ceiling, yelling at Kyla to cut it out; but chances are, she probably wouldn't hear your protests over the music that blared through her mounted speaker. Exercising was something that Kyla did fairly often to clear her head, which meant that it was all she did whenever she had free time; she especially needed to get in a few reps that night in order to burn off the cinnamon pancakes Junhoe had prepared for she and Nadia earlier that morning. In fact, the only reason she decided to end that night's session off earlier than normal was because of something she'd noticed on the bulletin board a couple of days before. 

Of course, Kyla made sure it was known that she'd be attending. There was no way she'd pass up a good party, even if it was just a small one that would be held on the rooftop. After tossing her Air Jordan's into her closet, Kyla hopped into the shower once more. By the time eight o'clock rolled around, she had just finished touching up the makeup that she'd nearly sweated off during her workout session. Once she was sure that everything was in its rightful place and condition, the young woman grabbed an unopened bottle of liquor from one of the kitchen cabinets and made her way up to the rooftop. [color=#7A2528][b]"I brought some booooze!"[/b][/color] Kyla announced in a sing-song voice to the small group, holding up the bottle as she made her way towards the nearest table. Setting the bottle down, she looked up at the rest of the tenants with a smile before adding, [color=#7A2528][b]"My mom used to always tell me to not show up to a party empty-handed; 'Southern Hospitality' or something like that, even though we're not even from down this way..."[/b][/color]

Kyla's voice trailed off as she took a quick glance around the rooftop area. Her eyes almost instantly landed upon Bert, who stood near the karaoke machine with a screwdriver in his hand. Standing close by was someone whom Kyla easily knew to be the new girl from a couple of doors down the hall; while she couldn't recall her name, she did recognize her face. Nick Blackwell stood on the other side of Bert, and he'd just opened his mouth to speak when Kyla decided to focus her attention back on the unopened bottle of booze she'd just supplied them all with. [color=#7A2528][b]"Guess I'll go ahead and get an early start while I wait for everyone else to show..."[/b][/color] the young woman muttered under her breath before picking up the glass once more and heading off to find the plastic cups.
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