Young Writers Society

Arthur awoke the next morning, his alarm clock blaring. He sighed and rolled over, clasping his pillow over his ears. his nose was smashed against the sheet. He took a deep breath. The sheets smelled of daisies. He had washed them four days ago. Why did they still smell of daisies? He was a guy and guy's didn't have things that smelled like daisies.

This paragraph seems repetitive. You use he over and over. Don't be afraid to use Arthur again. Or you could rephrase the last sentence into a joke, "Daisies... if the other guys were here they would laugh at him until the day he died." or something like that.

He suddenly heard his door open. Footsteps tread across the carpet. Arthur debated the idea ofgetting out of bed. He decided not to, however because he had not gotten to sleep until 2 in the morning. Max had him on some wild goose chase to find one of the Main's highest members. It had taken at least three hours just to track him down. Then there was the fight to keep him quiet.

you need something where I put "the idea of" feel free to use that or something else but without a transition, it seems unnatural.

An angry hand slammed down on the alarm clock making Arthur jump.

"Damn it, Arthur. I've been calling you all morning and now you let your alarm ring forever? Some of us find it quite annoying!"

Arthur knew that voice. He threw the pillow off of his head and sat up, untangling himself from the blankets. He stood up and came face to face with Max, his boss, "Sorry Max," he said. Max's black eyes glared at him.

A question here is raised: how does his boss have access to his room? Where is he? Is he sleeping in a secret head quarters? A hotel?

"Sorry ain't gonna help our campaign now is it? Get your lazy ass ready and meet me in my office for breakfast."

For a grown man to say butt... it seems so childish. So I changed it to a swear, vulgar yes, but much more believable.

Arthur watched his boss leave the room. He yawned and picked up his phone. He pushed the center button, but nothing happened. He looked at it curiously. Was the battery dead? He had most definitely left it on while he was sleeping. He must have turned it off without remembering.

He pressed the power button and waited as it powered up. It was taking longer than usual so Arthur began to get ready. He looked into the mirror and cringed. His cruly, brown hair was a mess, the right side sticking straight out as if it had been sprayed with hair spray. The wide tooth comb was cold in his hand as he ran it through his hair.

This paragraph provides the description of Arthur. You may want to take it another notch forward and describe more than just his hair.

Turning to look at the shower he pondered whether or not he should take one. He sniffed his armpits in turn and grabbed a stick of deodorant. He didn't smell too bad, he could get away without a shower. He went back into his room and grabbed the phone off his bed. Slipping on his shoes, he walked to Max's office. When he got there he typed his code on the pad outside the door, the numbers beeping with each touch.

The third sentence seems conflicted. It is a bit hard to understand. A better way to say that is, "While he did smell bad, it wasn't overpowering enough to demand a shower." The way you put it is like two negatives. He walked to Max's office in the course of one sentence? So does that mean he was really close?

"Arthur," Max boomed as the door swung open. "Come in, sit down, have a donut." Arthur wandered in and sat in a chair across from his boss. He eyed the donuts, but didn't take one.

"So, right to business," Max said as he stuffed a donut in his mouth. "How'd it go last night?"

"Well, it took us forever to find him," Arthur started. "You had us tracking down a professional spy. I hope you understand that."

"Yes, but you're one too! You should've been able to find him faster."

"I'm not a spy. Anyway, when we finally caught him he was rightly annoying. He wouldn't stop screaming and clawing at our faces. He claimed he was going to call the cops, but it was an empty threat. We had confiscated his cell phone as soon as we had a hold on him. But we finally got him to stop fidgeting and--"

An obnoxious ring tone filled the room. The phone in Arthur's hand was vibrating in rhythm with the song. Looking down, what he saw on the screen was suprising. A young girl, looking to be in her twenties, was standing on the beach, hugging a guy. He stood taller than her and was leaning down for a kiss.

"Who's calling you, Arthur?" Max demanded.

"Don't know," Arthur responded as he quickly pressed the end call button. Turning the phone on silent, he shoved it into his pocket. Whose ever phone that was, it wasn't Arthur's. But whose was it? Better yet, who had his?
Dun, dun, duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun!