5150 Somebody Call The Popo Novels & Stories

"That’s cash, Poppy. So, if there’s ever anything you want to buy for yourself, you’ll have some money to use. Just don't tell anyone I gave it to you, okay?” Her lips slowly curved into a smile as she looked at me. “You’re really kind. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Thank you. You’re the first person to ever give me money. But when I start working someday, I’ll pay you back.” I chuckled a little at her words. “You don’t have to. I won’t charge you for it. Besides, Poppy… I do have a favor to ask you. Especially now that you have your own phone. I want you to know that if you ever have a problem or need anything, don’t hesitate to call me. And if not me, you can always reach out to Summer

Marcus returned and leaned in to me. “Hey Poppie,” he spoke softly to me so as to not draw attention. “You wanna make an easy $500?” “How easy?” I said sitting up. ” Wait a minute, I don’t know, I’m kinda tired.” I just had two guys and I wasn’t planning on a replay. “And you ain’t gotta fuck no Niggas,” he said. I looked at him strangely. “It’s some Bitches that wanna get with you.” I looked at him to see if he was serious - he was.

"My name is Peter. I am phoning from CallCom and I see here on our system that you are one of our valued pre-paid customers. "Yes?" Emily's voice is a little sceptical. "Emily, you might have seen on television and heard on the radio that CallCom will be giving away an amazing prize to celebrate our fifth birthday. Two million dollars is up for grabs!" "Yes," said Emily again. But it doesn't click for me if she really heard about it. "By the end of today, Emily, you could be the owner of that money. Just imagine what you can do with it. A new home, a new car. Clothes for the family. How does that sound?"

Twenty minutes later, Dilays replied, "Mia has a close friend named Mila." Peter frowned, he found the name familiar but for a moment didn't know where he had heard it, he brushed it off: "Give me her contact method." Five minutes later, Peter made a phone call. After a few rings, the other party received the call, before he could speak, a cheerful female voice rang out with a lot of noise and music: "Fuck, don't call me. This lady doesn't want to go home, don't call me too much, damn it!"

“No, no. I’m not saying that. But I just transferred money to my friend recently. I need to go outside to make a quick call. Just give me a minute.” Cathy bolted as though she was fleeing. In the next moment, Vincent’s phone rang.

So, the pair brought food from home and were finally on break to eat. Alexander stood at the counter, hands braced against the surface as he stared at his food circling inside. "The movies." Damon rummaged around his sack and pulled out beef jerky. He frowned as he ripped the package open and looked up from his phone momentarily to stare at the other man. "Wayment. I thought Big Boss said no movies?" "I would really like it if you stopped calling my counselor 'Big Boss'." "So, you're really going against her orders like that, shame, shame." His phone buzzed and Damon returned to his screen, knee beginning to sway lazily as he lost himself once more.

I suggested, trying to divert their attention. Mika perked up at that, her face brightening. “Can we make popcorn?” “Absolutely,” Mirabelle replied, smiling at her. “Yay!” Mika cheered, clapping her hands. Just then, my phone buzzed on the counter. I picked it up and saw a message from an unknown number. I opened the message: “Just checking in. Have you talked to Mirabelle? You need to know what she did.” Sighing, I typed back: “Who the fuck is this?”

“I don’t know whether to give you a high-five or smack you.” “Smack him!” Ryan and Jess say at the same time Ayo and Patrick say, “High-five!” I laugh, just as I feel my beeper vibrate. I grab it from my pocket and see the screen says “911.” It’s an urgent message from my house. “Hey, I gotta go find a payphone,” I say to Ryan. “Ok,” she says. I lean in and give her a kiss before heading to the bank of payphones at the food court entrance.

In a burst of excitement, Mike called our remaining buddies on a W******p group call. Thankfully, they were all online, and after the ringtone blared for a bit, they all joined. Mike: “Bros, wassup?” Alex: “We good, bro.” Dave: “We chillin’, man.” Pat: “Enjoying life over here.” Me: “When are y’all coming back to school?” Pat: “We here for now, but we’ll be back when tests start.”

His gaze was a laser-focus, a possessive, terrifying hunger locked onto me. He spoke. The voice was a low, resonant rumble that felt like a physical weight on my chest. "Fifty million." The room stayed silent. Not a single person dared to outbid him—or even look him in the eye. A panicked murmur broke the stillness, passing through the back rows like a contagion. “Romanov,” someone breathed, the name carrying the weight of a death sentence. “It’s Maxwell Romanov.” My heart didn't just skip; it stopped.