This is for my fiction technique class, it's written in the 1st person viewpoint so it's pretty conventional but there is a flash back sequence and I'm hoping it isn't an issue. It's far from completed,


It was August 4th, 2001. I was sitting outside on a wooden deck across from Chloe at Richard's Bar and Grill. Above us, shielding are bodies from the sun, hung the limbs of an oak tree. With long blonde hair and blue eyes, Chloe was beautiful, and I was completely miserable.
"How's the chicken," she asked, motioning her fork playfully toward my plate.
"It's all right," I mouthed in between bites.
"John, come on, really? It looks good."
"It's okay, if it was good, I would say hey, Chloe, you should have a bite of this but did I say that, no, I didn't."
"I'm just asking."
"Sure you are," I said before taking a defiant swill of ice water.
We took a sharp dive after I visited her place two weeks ago. That day, in her living room, I came upon a group of young men dressed in black suites and shinny black shoes. They were huddled together like a sandlot football team and if there was a spot of dirt I'm sure one would have drawn a play out to run. One of the guys, I took him as the quarterback of the group, came forward to shake my hand. Thinking that he was in need of a wide receiver I eagerly shook his outstretched hand.
"You must be Chloe's neighborhood friend," he said with a quick smile.
"Neighborhood friend?" I said. Looking for an answer and instantly hating that easy going smile, I fumbled in my pockets and watched the image of me making a diving catch evaporate like my childhood dream of being a living legend on the bass fishing circuit.
Still smiling, the young man turned toward Chloe for reassurance and she nodded her head in approval and then looked at me as if I had burned her stamp collection (a collection she will not admit possessing). The enigmatic sandlot team did not stay long.
"What was that about, that neighborhood friend crap?" I said as I made way to the door.
"It wouldn't be right for them to know that we're, you know, together, they just have a different belief system than you," Chloe said.
She followed behind me and reached up to hug me but I was not content with her answer and escaped the impending embrace with a quick and nimble step back.
"Than me," I said, striving for an answer, "What does that have to do with you wanting me to play the part of little Johnny who plays stickball down the road?"
Chloe apparently was not a fan of the little Johnny remark; her hands were resting on her hips and her eyes had taken a sharp, menacing glint. With cold diligence she said, "Did you notice anything unique, by chance, about them?"
I made an attempt at humor, which was my immediate thought and said, "Their fine suits and shinny shoes?"
"No," she said, losing patience, "they had a bible in each of their chest pockets."
"I don't follow," I said.
"They're missionaries John."
Sitting under the oak tree, I started to talk after placing my glass of water down, but Chloe looked away and shrugged her shoulders.
"I think I'm going to take off," I said, attempting to grab her attention.
"We're you headed?"

haha awesoem